Anselm watched all this in silence. Occasionally his lips moved, forming isolated syllables which were words in themselves, most often one which drew his lower lip under his front teeth, and released it on a sharp k. People made way for him, turning their backs, as he moved about the room with none but immediate goals, the half-emptied glasses put aside carelessly, and raised, empty, with surprise, when he had gone on. Someone, turning upon him too soon, challenged agreeably, — Why don't you ask for a full one? Anselm handed over the glass he had just emptied and said, — Why don't you ask for eight more inches? you'd still have a hole in your belly. . and went on, the magazine rolled in his hand advertising trusses on its back cover.
— I don't know, Stanley, but it's as though everywhere I look, there's something, or someone. . that I've failed to… Agnes Deigh paused, looking round. — Unintentionally maybe, even betrayed. .
— It's because we've been led to believe today that we are self-sufficient, Stanley commenced, — that no transcendent judgment is…
— There, even there, do you see him? she said, starting a little in her chair. — The boy who just came in? He brought me a play he'd written, and I never got a chance to read it but I told him. .
— Agnes, you. .
— Stanley, I…
— Esther. .
— Now listen, you're the lady with the kitten aren't you?. .
— Esther, have you seen? fairies in the bottom of your garden? hehehe
— But this time he wasn't trying to teach the kitten to salivate. .
— Otto. . I'm so glad you're here.
— But I didn't know you were having a party, I just came up…
— But you're here, she said, and took his arm. — I knew you were back, she said, leading him slowly through the room, but not pausing. — But you look… I even heard you had your arm in a sling. Where have you been?
— I just got out of jail, he said rather jauntily.
— Out of what? jail? She did stop, and looked at him.
— It was nothing, he said to her. — A fifteen-dollar fine for. . you know, fooling around. I was celebrating. I was lucky, I had just sixteen dollars on me. . With a shock of anxiety, his hand went to a breast pocket, found the sharp confirming corner of the packet inside, and dropped. — I was lucky, I'd left ail the rest of my money in a hotel-room bureau drawer, I was terrified it would be gone by the time I got back there, I… Esther was looking at him, as though not listening, simply waiting for him to finish. — What's the matter? he asked uncertainly.
— You haven't said you were glad to see me.
— Oh but, I mean, of course I am, I just, everything's been so sort of… you know, and I, and maybe. . someone's mentioned to you? about my play, I mean? he blurted out. She shook her head. — Well I mean, it's nothing, nothing really, but. . But she did not interrupt him, or no more than with the look in her eyes, waiting for him to ask what it never occurred to him to ask: about her, how she had been all of this time, how she was; what would have given him what he sought, had it occurred to him: the chance to bridle this runaway apology, which she did not require, this hazardous insistence, which he did not dare halt, in this race with himself. His jauntiness was falling away, giving place to exhaustion and mounting anxiety. — And then, I met my father finally. I had dinner with him. I mean, do you remember how you used to ask me why I didn't look him up? And he… so I did. Esther's hand rested on his arm, she seemed to have wilted a little before him, and she asked quietly, — What was he like?
— Well he was fine, he was sort of stern, but I mean he was really very nice, and. . well sort of stern and brusque. And he was a Catholic, I mean not that that should make any difference, but it sort of surprised me, and. . well I don't know, to tell the truth I'm sort of mixed up… Otto was rummaging in a pocket, and he brought out a note. — When I got back to the hotel finally, here was this note waiting from him. It's sort of pathetic, asking me to call him as soon as I can, and then he says he hopes I haven't been worried about him, right after I'd just seen him for the first time, maybe he means on account of his eyes, he didn't… he doesn't see very well, and… I don't know, I mean when I think of him that's what I remember, his glasses, the dust on his glasses, Otto persisted. And now, as the appeal in her face became more manifest, reaching further back, through unrelated privacies to the last embrace they had abandoned, the more he retreated, dodging among irrelevant images of himself. — And I haven't called him, I sent him a fancy robe this morning for Christmas, it seemed the least… I mean, I thought I should do something like that, you know, for Christmas, he finished, running a finger of his pale hand across his smooth lip.
— Esther, Don Bildow interrupted them, giving Otto a bare glance, sufficient only to dismiss him. — I think you might come over and greet your guest. .
— That man standing over near the door, Otto commenced, recovering somewhat, — isn't that. .?
— In a moment, Esther said to Don Bildow, who retired a polite step and waited. — Do you want to come over and meet him? she asked Otto.
— Well, I mean, I don't know. .
— Do you remember? she asked, both hands on his arm now, — when you lent me his book? When we first knew each other, that first day at lunch?
— Yes, yes I remember, of course I remember, Otto said quickly, and then paused uncertainly. — But now. .
— After all, Don Bildow recovered from his momentary lapse of politeness, — he is the only halfway interesting person here tonight, Esther. He started to turn his unimpressive back upon them.
— Wait, Esther said, and then to Otto, — You don't want to meet him?
— I guess not, Otto said, looking beyond her at the paunchy figure near the door, who had just covered his mouth with a handkerchief and looked like he was going to be sick into it; and the tall woman, who had just said, — /4 theism!. . that charming word, I haven't heard it in years, turned looking for her husband murmuring, — Oh dear. . have I said something wrong again?. . — I guess not, thanks Esther, I mean what would we have to say to each other? he went on, as Esther was turned away on Bildow's urgent arm. — I used to… wanting to meet the poet, or the painter, or the writer or the tight-rope walker of the minute, as though you could sop up something from them in a handshake. . Otto had lowered his eyes, over her thighs, and his voice until, having made a discovery in his own words, he was talking to himself. At that he raised his face, and with the brave refusal of one rejecting revelation for fear of examining the motives which conspired to breed it, went to seek a drink.
— Chrahst, I thought you'd gone to Peru.
Otto looked up to see Ed Feasley. — But I just saw you, a day or so ago.
— I know. Chrahst, wha'd you do, fly both ways? I mean, what are you doing here?
— I just heard there was a party here, Otto answered, and added, — I don't know, picking up a glass.
— I know, I mean Chrahst, you know? This crazy spic has been following me around all night. What's that they're playing anyway? He cocked his head numbly to a fragment of Handel's Royal Fireworks Music, which was being accompanied by Mr. Crotcher singing Bye Bye Blackbird from his armchair. — I mean I wish they'd play On the Sunny Side of the Street, you know? There's been somebody tagging around after me all day, this marathon walker, I met him in a bar. Forty miles a day, you start at four a.m. and you get there at three p.m. and eat. You just have to have a destination, he told me. A marathon walker, I mean Chrahst, how unnecessary. And now this spic. I heard you sold your novel.