What a fool I was! In no time I had grown too big for my own shoes. Nature wasn't enough. I craved the life of the city. I regarded myself as a cosmopolitan spirit. To rub elbows with fellow artists, to enlarge my ideas through discussion with intellectuals, became imperative. I was hungry to see the great works of art I had heard so much about, or rather read about, for no one I knew ever talked about art. Except one person, that married woman I told you about once. She was a woman in her thirties and worldly wise. She hadn't an ounce of talent herself, but she was a great lover of art and had excellent taste. It was she who opened my eyes, not only to the world of art but to other things as well. I fell in love with her, of course. How could I not do so? She was mother, teacher, patron, lover all in one. She was my whole world, in fact.
She interrupted herself to inquire if she was boring me.
The strange thing is, she resumed, that it was she who pushed me out into the world. Not her husband, as I may have led you to believe. No, we got along well, the three of us. I would never have gone to bed with him if she hadn't urged me to. She was a strategist, like you. Of course, he never really got anywhere with me; the best he could manage was to hold me in his arms, press his body to mine. When he tried to force me I pulled away. Evidently it didn't bother him too much, or else he pretended it didn't. I suppose it sounds strange to you, this business, but it was all quite innocent. I'm destined to be a virgin, I guess. Or a virgin at heart.
Oof! What a story I'm making of it! Anyway, the point of it all is that it was they, the two of them, who gave me the money to come East. I was to go to art school, work hard, and make a name for myself.
She stopped abruptly.
And now look at me! What am I? What have I become? I'm a sort of bum, more of a fake than your Mona really.
You're no fake, said I. You're a misfit, that's all.
You don't need to be kind to me.
For a moment I thought she was going to burst into tears.
Will you write to me some time?
Why not? If it would give you pleasure, why of course.
Then, like a little girl, she said: I'll miss you both. I'll miss you terribly.
Well, I said, it's over with. Look forwards, not backwards.
That's easy for you to say. You'll have her. I'll...
You'll be better off alone, believe me. It's better to be alone than with some one who doesn't understand you.
You're so right, said she, and she gave a shy little laugh. Do you know, once I tried to get a dog to mount me. It was so ludicrous. He finally bit me in the thigh.
You should have tried a donkey—they're more amenable.
We had reached the end of the bridge. You will try to raise some money for me, won't you? she said.
Of course I will. And don't you forget to pretend to change your mind and stay. Otherwise we'll have a frightful scene.
There was a scene, as I predicted, but the moment Stasia relented it ended like a Spring shower. To me, however, it was not only depressing, but humiliating, to observe Mona's grief. On arriving we found her in the toilet, weeping like a pig. She had found the valise packed, the trunk locked, and Stasia's room in a state of wild disorder. She knew it was quits this time.
It was only natural for her to accuse me of inspiring the move. Fortunately Stasia denied this vehemently. Then why had she decided to go? To this Stasia lamely replied that she was weary of it all. Then bang bang, like bullets, came Mona's reproachful queries. How could you say such a thing? Where would you go? What have I done to turn you against me? She could have fired a hundred more shots like that. Anyway, with each reproach her hysteria mounted; her tears turned to sobs and her sobs to groans. That she would have me all to herself, was of no importance. It was obvious that I didn't exist, except as a thorn in her side.
As I say, Stasia finally relented, but not until Mona had stormed and raged and pleaded and begged. I wondered why she had permitted the scene to last so long. Was she enjoying it? Or was she so disgusted that she had become fascinated? I asked myself what would have happened had I not been at her side.
It was I who couldn't take any more, I who turned to Stasia and begged her to reconsider.
Don't go yet, I begged. She really needs you. She loves you, can't you see?
And Stasia answers: But that's why I should go.
No, said I, if any one should leave, it's me.
(At the moment I really meant it, too.)
Please, said Mona, won't you go too! Why does either of you have to go? Why? Why? I want you both. I need you. I love you.
We've heard that before, said Stasia, as if still adamant.
But I mean it, said Mona. I'm nothing without you. And now that you're friends at last, why can't we all live together in peace and harmony? I'll do anything you ask. But don't leave me, please!
Again I turned to Stasia. She's right, I said. This time it may work out. You're not jealous of me ... why should I be jealous of you? Think it over, won't you? If it's me you're worried about, put your mind at ease. I want to see her happy, nothing more. If keeping you with us will make her happy, then I say stay! Maybe I'll learn to be happy too. At least, I've grown more tolerant, don't you think? I gave her a queer smile. Come now, what do you say? You're not going to ruin three lives, are you?
She collapsed on to a chair. Mona knelt at her feet and put her head in her lap, then slowly raised her eyes and looked at Stasia imploringly. You will stay, won't you? she pleaded.
Gently Stasia pushed her away. Yes, she said, I'll stay. But on one condition. There must be no more scenes.
Their eyes were now focused on me. After all, I was the culprit. It was I who had instigated all the scenes. Was I going to behave? That was their mute query.
I know what you're thinking, said I. All I can say is that I will do my best.
Say more! said Stasia. Tell us how you really feel now.
Her words set me back on my heels. I had the uneasy feeling that she had been taken in by her own acting. Was it necessary for me to be put on the grill—at this point? What I really felt like, if I dared to speak my mind, was a scoundrel. An utter scoundrel. To be sure, it had never occurred to me, in making the suggestion, that we would be obliged to carry the farce to such lengths. For Stasia to weaken was one thing, and in keeping with our bargain, but to be exacting solemn promises of me, to be searching my very heart, was something else. Maybe we had never been anything but actors, even when we thought we were sincere. Or the other way round. I was getting confused. It struck me with force, suddenly, that Mona, the actress, was probably the most sincere of all. At least she knew what she wanted.
All this ran through my head like lightning.
My reply, and it was the truth, was—To be honest, I don't know how I feel. I don't think I have any feelings left. Anyway, I don't want to hear any more about love, ever...
Like that it ended, in a fizzle. But Mona was thoroughly content. Stasia too, it seemed.
None of us had been too badly damaged. Veterans, that's what we were.
And now I'm trotting around like a blood-hound to raise money, presumably so that Stasia may take off. I've already visited three hospitals, in an effort to sell my blood. Human blood is at twenty-five dollars the pint now. Not long ago it was fifty dollars, but now there are too many hungry donors.