Rudy consoled a frightened group in one corner, with, — You know, he's the kind who knows art but doesn't know what he likes.
Don Bildow watched apprehensively from the other side of the room, where he had retired, and did not see Anselm who watched, silent and attentive. Mr. Feddle, clutching a book, had gained the front row. The back of Maude's neck was being manipulated by strong fingers, stronger perhaps but not so vigorous as those twisting Stanley's hand. He looked at Agnes and looked away quickly, as though afraid to provoke the tension in her face to burst in confidence to him.
A high voice broke the silence as Benny paused for breath. — So there! And that goes for your cat too! It was the Duchess of Ohio, who scurried back to cover.
The tall woman told someone that she and her husband were going to Spain in the spring, though she had hoped to be in Hawaii right now; someone said, — She rubs you the right way, does she? talking to someone else about someone else; Sonny Byron said, — Wake up, baby, the floor show's over, and stroked Arny Munk's forehead; the author of the best seller Trees of Home, who had kept his back turned to the room all this time, pretending conversation with Mr. Crotcher who was singing, said, to someone else, — How can I respect my readers when I know they're just trying to get a cheap psychoanalysis at my expense? and was told that they probably thought that he was getting one at theirs; the dark man in the sharkskin suit said, — Yes, I was warned about this sort of thing in New York. Now about these battleships…
— A dreadful crime she did commit, did all the world surprise, sang Mr. Crotcher to the baby, whose chin rested on his shoe, which he jarred in approximate 2/4 time. — Black beetles in walnut shells…
— And that dumb bastard's starting in again.
Ellery was holding Benny tight by one shoulder. — Come on, relax, forget the dumb bastard, he said. — Come on, Benny, take this. He held a full glass up, and Benny took it, and drank it down steadily and carefully. Then the empty glass hung in his hand like a weight.
— Get where I am, and then you can be bitter, Benny mumbled, staring into one of the few empty spaces in that room. — Do you think I like these clothes? Do you think I like double-breasted snappy clothes, like. . Do you think I like this God-damned awful necktie, do you call it a necktie this thing? These glasses? He reached for them twice, and the second time a finger caught one of the broad bows and they fell to the floor. — I'm a success, that's why I've got a right to be bitter. God damn it. God damn it. How long do you think it is since I've seen the sun rise?
Though Mr. Feddle moved slowly, Benny raised his face as though the space before him had been materialized into an apparition. — Go on, said Mr. Feddle, hungrily. — Go on. I understand you. Go on.
— Isn't that right? Benny said to him, reaching an arm to him which made an irregular arc and dropped between them.
— Come on, forget that jerk, you'll be all right, Ellery said, supporting Benny. — You're making a fool of yourself.
— Why? Why?
— Go on. I understand you.
— That's what I've got a right to do, I've got a right to haven't I? Haven't I? Isn't that why I've worked, and worked, and. .
— Go on. .
— Why?
Mr. Feddle darted in and embraced him. — Do you remember Fedya, in Redemption? in Tolstoy's Redemption? he said, the alarm clock swinging between them. — "And you know. ." His voice lowered, and he spoke more slowly, — "it's a funny thing, but we love people for the good we do them, and we hate them for the harm. ." Do you remember?
Benny stared into his face, as they separated and Mr. Feddle. braced himself with excitement. — Go on…!
— But. . dishonest. . then, but now? Now? I got into this and I found everybody believed what they were doing. They all believe it, and after awhile you believe it too. You live with it for awhile and you believe it too. Friends. Do you think I have any friends? Everybody I know… I… they want something from me or I want something from them. Somebody asked me if my wife is here. My wife? I go home and we just sit and look at each other. Home? My home looks like a cocktail lounge. I read all the books. I read all the books about self-improvement, master yourself, develop your personality, be a good God-damned Christian and get something for nothing. .
— Go on…
— Forget. .
— If you're doing something you hate, quit it while you still hate it…
— Go on… — Relax…
— Because you were right the first time. .
— Ellery, please stop him. Ellery looked down, to Esther hanging to his arm. — What can I do, he's. .
— And you. . Benny turned to her, — He was your husband, wasn't he. And you know, don't you. Don't you. You know who designed the bridge at Fallen Ark Gap. . and the Cooper City viaduct. .
— Why, I… Ellery, please. There's something wrong.
— Go on…
— That's what I wanted to do, that's all I ever wanted to do. Where did he come from, sitting there at a draftsman's table, and he could draw it as though he was making a sketch, but every tension was perfect, the balance was perfect, you can look at those bridges with my name on them and see them leap out to meet themselves, see them move in perfect stillness, see perfect delicate tension of movement in stillness, see tenderness in suspense. . with my name on them, I designed them. Like hell I designed them. Do you know why? Benny looked into their faces, and suddenly took Mr. Feddle's arm. — It was like a part of me working, like part-of myself working there. Do you understand?
— Yes. Go on…
— And I couldn't do it. He could do it and I couldn't do it. Do you understand?
— Yes, yes…
— I couldn't do it, Benny said; and for a moment the only sound was the ticking of Mr. Feddle's clock. And called upon, not by alarms but by this insistent and accurate silence, several people turned to hear Mr. Feddle say, — Yes, yes, do you remember him? Fedya? In Tolstoy's Redemption? "There was something terribly lacking between what I felt and what I could do. ." Do you remember? Mr. Feddle had both hands on Benny's shoulders; but Ellery thrust his hands aside. — Come on, Benny, you'll be all right.
Benny had gone limp. He stood with the book on bridge design open, a page went over, and he was staring at a picture of Maillart's bridge at Salginatobel, a glazed distance in his eyes as though he were indeed gazing the full ninety meters to the foot of the valley below. Then his eye caught something, scribbled in the margin, The arch never sleeps. —Look…! he said, and read it aloud, stared at it silently and read it aloud again. — He wrote that here, didn't he, I remember, I've heard him say that, he… yes. . Suddenly, he turned to Esther. — Could I ask you something? a favor? a gift from you? The pages of the book trembled in his hands. And if her tone was, — Yes, anything to silence you, to send you away… he did not notice. — Because this book. . this book. .?
— Yes, she said. — Yes.
— Yes, he repeated, staring at it, he whispered — the arch never sleeps.
— Relax, Benny. You just need a drink, Ellery said. — You'll bounce back.