"You didn't have to say that you did. I do like being with you, even if we don't do anything."
"I was thinking of something else — business."
You bet she liked being with him, Hale thought. Anything was better than having tht incredibly painful longing gnaw at them. They couldn't brush their teeth separately without feeling depressed and almost frantic at a few minutes' separation. So, rather than suffer that horror, he took her wherever he went.
But he couldn't bear staying home with her any more than he could help. She would knit and talk about subjects they had exhausted long before, and grow resentful if he read or listened to phonograph records. Or, from boredom, she might call up her friends for a party. Normally he would have been able to escape into another room, but his damned spell wouldn't allow him to, no matter how much he hated the noise of silly chatter and dance music.
"Let's go to a movie," he said.
"Oh, darling! There's a cute picture at the State, and they have vaudeville. Don't you love vaudeville?"
"Yeah," he muttered. There was a French film at the Playhouse that he had been conniving to see. But Gloria didn't understand French and refused to read subtitles, and, anyhow, she disliked foreign pictures to the point of tears if he tried to force her into going. He couldn't even sneak off by himself to see it. They'd never be happy apart.
He slammed the office door loudly enough to startle the staff. It was the first time he had seen them look up from their work. Oddly, that made him feel better.
For several days he avoided the office. They got up late, dressed and ate quickly, and left the apartment. He could have used his cars, or the yacht, or his recently acquired airplane, to escape the dread Johnson's desk aroused in him. But swift, aimless travel for its own sake had ceased to be entertaining.
He began to prefer walking. He liked the Haroun-al Raschid feeling that mixing with his subjects, unbeknownst to them, gave him. But — Gloria was not an athletic girl. She preferred high heels to walking shoes, and after ten blocks complained until he called a taxi. Nor could he leave her and walk alone. They'd never be happy apart.
Gloria did let him take her to a serious play. Considering that he had promised not to try to change her, he thought he had done pretty well. It was a great change from movies, musicals and farces, and he enjoyed it. But when they left, Gloria was sullen.
"What's the trouble?" he asked.
She thrust out her chin. "I don't know much about plays, but —"
"— but you know what you like," he finished for her.
"Yes."
He lit a cigarette and asked: "What didn't you like about it?"
"I don't like that deep stuff. What have I got to do with the Irish revolution? I like plays —"
"— that remind you of us. Isn't that right?"
She looked hurt. "You never let me finish —"
He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to, but, no matter how much she annoyed him at times, his love for her kept his tongue in cheek. He said: "Don't you ever get tired of that subject? It isn't inexhaustible."
"It is to me. Love —"
"I know. Love is a woman's whole life." He put his hands on her shoulders. "I don't want to hurt you, darling, but I honestly don't think we're important enough to occupy your whole mind for the length of time you're going to live."
She pressed her fist against her face to keep from crying furiously. All the way home he had to protest that his nerves were touchy and that he really loved the nickname, and her, and the inexhaustible subject of themselves.
He wished Johnson would hurry his reply to the letter. Johnson would know how to fix things. It wouldn't be so bad if he could only have some time to himself. Like most people, Gloria was good enough company when taken in reasonably small doses. But twenty-four hours a day, every day, would wear anybody's company thin. If only Johnson would deliver him from her damned bridge parties, her shopping excursions, and the afternoon teas she was going in for! He didn't object to them, for her. But, hell, she might show a little consideration for him.
Every man settling into marriage routine has to make some sacrifice of bachelor privileges. But nobody in history ever had to contend with as much as Hale.
Chapter XVI
A call from the clipping bureau brought him down in a hurry. With Gloria hanging on his arm he burst into his private office, ripped open the letter, and frenziedly read it without stopping to sit down.
Dully he heard Gloria ask: "What's wrong, Billie-willie?"
He collapsed into his chair and read the letter again. But nothing in it had changed:
In the future, William, I can only ask you to be more cautious in employing your catalytic power. For the present I must admit myself as powerless as yourself, and can only offer my deepest sympathy.
Please do not let your unfortunate situation dishearten you. Though we generally live to regret our romantic outbursts of emotion, they also have their pleasant aspects. If you will concentrate on your wife's charmingly affectionate nature, and the undeniable gratification of an eternal love, I believe you can learn to tolerate the smaller inconveniences.
Hale stared blindly at the letter. He was tied to her and her stupid little feminine amusements forever, and nothing could be done to correct his insane blunder.
"Is it very bad news, Billie-willie?"
Billie-willie — Billie-willie
He was standing before her with his right fist cocked, and she was recoiling in startled terror from the threat. It shocked him almost as much as it did her. He poured out apologies and tried to take her in his arms. It got him nowhere.
His mind was quite clear, though that didn't make him hate himself any the less. He hated that beautiful, imbecilic face; but he also loved it so that the thought of marring a line of it horrified him. He hated her eternal presence — the swift clatter of her heels, her meaningless soprano chatter, her enormous cowlike eyes — but he also loved her for these things. That, he thought, had been part of his spell. He'd hog-tied himself beautifully. He couldn't get away from her; loving her as he did, he couldn't have the satisfaction of slapping her down when she drove him frantic, or at least cowing her into not calling him "Billie-willie"; and she'd never change.
That had been part of the spell, too. Of course, she had no doubt had some ability to learn at the time the spell was cast. Did that mean that she still had that ability, since she was supposed to be the same, or did it mean that she couldn't learn because learning would mean changing her nature? It was a nice paradox; the kind that Hale had once enjoyed teasing his brain with. But he didn't feel much like logical riddles just then. Time would tell about Gloria, and meanwhile there was more to Johnson's letter. He mumbled, "I'm sorry," and sat down.
Since there is nothing to be gained by further dwelling on that subject, permit me to go on to another matter. Our plans for a loan, through the bank we control, to the dictatorships, and the ceding to them of colonies that produce vital raw materials, are progressing splendidly.
You already know that America's aid to the democracies, may, unless counteracted, have the undesirable effect of forcing the aggressors into war, economic paralysis, or revolution. In Washington a movement will shortly arise to fortify certain Pacific islands. The primary purpose of this is to create another crisis between the isolationist and interventionist camps, but it will have the secondary effect of diverting armaments to some extent from the European democracies.
Should the movement succeed, it would be a serious blow to the aggressor bloc. At present their energies are concentrated on isolating a single important colonial empire — the one we were discussing the day before I left. The western trade and military routes of this empire can already be shut off instantly. The only route left open to defend it is through the Pacific.