From Here to Eternity (91 page)

things you know?" "By living as long as I have, and seeing what I could see." She leaned back in the chair, her eyes still shining with that lovely light that was never in them except when she was talking about love in theory, the fragile fine-boned hands lying lax along her hips on the chair. And then he, Milt Warden, 1st/Sgt Milt Warden, was on his knees. Beside the chair. "I cant lose you," he, Milt Warden, whispered. "I need you." He put his hands up, touching her on her bare thighs. "Dont," Karen said restlessly. "Please dont do that. Please dont spoil it." "I dont want to do it," he, Milt Warden, lied. "I just want to touch you." "You'll get all excited," she said, almost irritably. "You know you will." "No I wont." "You always do. And I dont want that. I dont want sex. I want love." "I just want to touch you," he lied. "Thats all." He put his face down onto the solid three-dimension firmness of the long thighs under the green skirt. "Its been so lovely, Milt. Please dont spoil it now." "I wont," he promised. "I wont spoil it for you. I promise. But cant you feel me love you? Cant you feel it through my hands?" It was a very strange experience, in a very great many more ways than one. She submitted gradually reluctantly to his caresses, as a suspicious tame doe only submits by gradual easy stages to the petting, until finally her hands were on his hair, his face, his neck, his shoulders, down his back, and he raised himself up to the chair arm sitting half beside her half on the arm so that he might kiss her, and they were engaged in an ecstasy of sexual love that was sexless. "I love to touch you," Karen whispered, "to cuddle you, be fondled by you, love you. But it always leads to sex. You'll never know the times I've wanted to touch you, but not done it, because it always leads to sex." "No it wont," he whispered. "It wont this time." And went on loving her. And then finally, she whispered lovingly, "Let me turn the covers back. I dont care. Really I dont. I know you want to do it. We dont want to mess up their bed after they've been so nice, though." Up to that point, it had all happened before, many times. But this time, when she offered, Warden refused. Maybe it was partly out of his humility and gratitude that, even knowing, she still had come down anyway. Maybe it was partly something else. "I wont care, really," she offered lovingly givingly. "Its different now. It wont spoil it now. And I know you want to." But he refused again. Apparently there were unsuspected depths of something in him that even he did not know. But the thought of doing it to her now actually offended him. Apparently he had not exorcised his Catholic moralism after all. Apparently he had not outgrown his virgin mother any more than any of the rest of the great race of American males. "If you want to, its all right," Karen smiled. "I wont care. I want you to know I wont care." "I'd rather not," he said, at least fifty percent truthfully. "Oh, my darling!" Karen cried, throwing her arms around him. "My darling darling!" It was a very strange thing. She relaxed back into the chair, her hands on his hair, his face on her breasts, and they went on making potent love to each other, touching each other, talking without hearing, saying the stupid inane words that were not even meant to be a conveying of thought but only a self-expression of emotion expressed to the self only, as a man who has been punched in the belly will grunt "Oh!" or a man hit with a bullet will cry out, "I'm hit!" It was a love-making of a caliber and muzzle velocity he had never experienced, and a greater intensity and a higher peak than he had believed in. It was tremendously satisfying to something. At the moment of the highest intensity, as if feeling it instinctively, he got up and left her and lay on the bed and lit a cigarette, while Karen smiled at him from the chair brimmingly. He felt exactly as if he had had an orgasm physically, except that he hadnt. He was not frustrated, nor thwarted, nor did he feel unaccomplished. He lay on the bed smoking the cigarette, relaxed, peaceful, and ready to sleep; and feeling obscurely proud of himself and triumphant, under his hunger, as if he had conquered something. It was the most wonderful feeling he had ever had in his life, but he decided it was a little too intense for every day use. "Now you know what love can be like," Karen said from the chair. They lay in the bed together the rest of the night, without sleeping, and without sexual intercourse, and they talked over many things. They talked over almost everything. He told her the last chapter and finis of Prewitt's story. She cried over it. They were very happy. They talked until the alarm on her little clock that she always carried in her bag for him went off at four-thirty, and then Warden got up and dressed. "It isnt good-by, darling," Karen said from the bed. "Of course it isnt," Warden said. "Two people who have meant as much to each other as we have dont fade out of each other's lives," Karen said. "Of course they dont," Warden said. "They cant." "It looks dark now," Karen said. "The time will be longer, and the plans are changed. And there will be the war. But we'll see each other again." "Sure we will," Warden said. "I know that we will." "We'll meet again someday. People who have been as close to each other as we have, always meet again," Karen said. "You have my home address in Maryland?" "Yes," Warden said. "I've got it. And you can always write me to the Company. Wherever we go, the APO will stay the same." "Of course I can write you," Karen said. "You can get home all right," he asked. "I'm all right," she said. "Perfectly all right." "You wont have any trouble with Holmes," he asked. "He wont bother me." "I love you," Warden said. "I love you," she said. "Well," Warden said. "I'll see you," he said. "Kiss me once more, Milt," she said from the bed. After he had kissed her, he went to the door. Before he closed it, he looked back and waved once. Karen smiled at him from the bed and waved. Then, as the door closed, she lay back and relaxed the hard knot. With the relaxing of it everything else seemed to all come apart, too. Her mind drifted. She listened for the closing of the outer door that would mean that he was gone and when she heard it she turned over and lay on her belly with her cheek on the pillow, exhausted. It had taken everything out of her. But she was glad and happy she had been able to protect him. He needed protecting so very badly. It was hard on him. He looked so completely lost. She could not stand it, to see him look so lost. Men were so much softer than women were. She was glad she could make it easier for him. And it wasnt a lie. Maybe they would meet again someday. It didnt hurt anything to believe it. She went to sleep. Warden, picking his way back down the side street to the highway, was thinking of the White Russian girl during his hitch in China. There had been her, and then before that the old Chinese merchant's young wife in Manila, and before that the college girl from Chicago U when he was at Sheridan. (He was younger then), and still working backward the Protestant girl back home in Connecticut that was the reason he first enlisted. Four. Five, counting Karen Holmes. Five real ones. Five that counted. Out of how many years? Out of sixteen years. Maybe if he was lucky, if he was very lucky, there would be time enough left him for two more, three more perhaps, before he got too old. Men got old much quicker in the Army. Pete Karelsen wasnt fifty yet. He had that much to look forward to. Maybe. And he had that much to look back on. For sure. Three more, to look forward to, if he was very lucky. But he suspected, somehow, none of them would ever measure up to this one, that had come in his early 30s. He suspected; he was afraid; that this one was going to turn out to have been the top of the hill. Warden, working his way back toward the CP along the highway, did not think she had seen through his lie. There was no use making a thing harder on someone than it already was. Besides, someday maybe they really would meet again. So it didn't hurt anything, if it made it easier for her, to believe it. And he was sure she hadnt seen through it. Then, still thinking about it, he realized with a shock why she hadnt seen through it. She had been too busy concentrating on making her own convincing to him, to notice his. He hoped she didnt have any trouble with Holmes.

CHAPTER 55

MAJOR HOLMES was waiting for his wife when she got home the next morning. Karen did not get there till almost eleven. The beautiful almost-unearthly-lovely Chinese-Hawaiian girl had thoughtfully been very quiet for her in the house, and she had slept till after nine. Then, when she did get up, the lovely girl cooked breakfast for them, and the two of them sat for another hour in the little dinette, over their eggs and canned ham and coffee, with the sun streaming summer-bright through the windows, two happily adulterous wives, discussing with each other in a warm friendly intimacy the fine traits of character in their lovers. The sun, the air, the whole day had the feel of a summer holiday. It was an experience Karen had never had, and would not have missed if Holmes had had to wait till four o'clock. The feeling of holiday stayed with her all the way home. Holmes was sitting stubbornly doggedly at the kitchen table with a cup of his own coffee. Being a Major had not changed Capt Holmes greatly. He had put off the breeches and boots and Cavalryman's hat, in exchange for the staff officer's slacks and low-quarters and regular Infantry hat. And now, like the rest of the staff officers in Brigade, he wore the regulation wartime uniform of OD woolen shirt and CKC slacks stuffed into leggins over field shoes. But basically, it had not changed him much. Of course, it had only been a few months. "I want to know where you've been," he said, as she came in. "Hello," Karen said gaily. "How come you're not at the office?" "I called them and got the morning off." "Wheres Bella?" "I gave her the day off." Karen poured herself a cup of his coffee and sat down at the table with him. "I bet that made her happy," she said happily. "And so now, everything's all prepared for the show." "I said, I want to know where you've been," Holmes said. "And with whom." "But I told you all that yesterday, darling," Karen said merrily. "I was saying good-by to a very dear friend." "Dont call me darling." "All right," Karen said cheerfully. "It was figurative." "You didnt tell me anything yesterday." Holmes's eyes were like two frantically brilliant diamonds in the dried, cracked plaster of his face. "You didnt tell me where you were meeting him, and you didnt tell me who he was." "I didnt say it was a him," Karen said. "But it was. You think I havent known about it. But I've known about it all along. I even tried to ignore it, as long as I could. Until it got too flagrantly open. Now I want to know where you met him and just who he is." "I dont think thats any of your business," Karen said. "I'm your husband," Holmes said. "It is my business." "Not it isnt. Its my business," Karen said. "And no one else's. You sound like a page right out of Hemingway." "Maybe I'll make it my business." "No," Karen said, "I dont think you will." "I suppose now you want a divorce." "I hadnt really thought about it. One way or the other." "Well, I wont give you one." Karen sipped her coffee. She could not remember having felt so happy, so zestful, so full of just plain healthy animal spirits, since before she was married. "You hear me? I wont give you one." "All right," Karen said agreeably. Holmes looked at her, the frantic diamonds of his eyes sparkling at her desperately out of his plaster-paris face. Even in his acute distress, he could see she was not acting. "Maybe I'll get the divorce," he said, trying a frontal attack. "All right," Karen said agreeably. "We might as well settle it right now," Holmes said. "I want to get this thing settled once and for all." "As far as I can see, its already settled. You're going to get the divorce." "Ha," Holmes said. "Yes, you'd love that, wouldnt you? Well, I'm not. I'm not giving you any divorce. And if you try to get one, I'll fight you through every court in the land." "All right," Karen said cheerfully. "Then I guess thats settled. No divorce." "How does it feel to know you'll have to live with a horror like me the rest of your life?" Holmes said contortedly. "Not very nice," Karen said cheerfully. "But then, on the other hand, there is the compensation of knowing you'll have to live with me the rest of your life, too." "God!" Holmes said agonizingly, "how can you be so cruel? How can you sit there and smile? After what you've done. Didnt your responsibilities mean anything to you? Didnt the years of your marriage mean anything? Didnt your own son, our son, mean a damn thing to you? Dont you feel any shame?" "I dont seem to," Karen said. "Not a bit. Its odd, isnt it?" "Well, you ought to!" "I know," Karen said. "But I dont. Its terrible, isnt it?" "Terrible?" Holmes exclaimed frenziedly. "A woman of your background? and upbringing? and breeding? A happily married woman with an eight year old son? And you call it terrible?" "I cant understand it myself," Karen said cheerfully. Gradually, one by one, the inviolable spears of right-mindedness were breaking themselves against this undeniable armor of cheerfulness. "Dont you know what you've done to me?" "What have I done to you?" "You've ruined my marriage, is all. You've knocked the bottom out from under my whole life. You were my wife. I trusted you." "Well, I'm sorry," Karen said. "I'm truly, genuinely, sorry. To have done that to you. But I guess it couldnt be helped." "Why do you think I've done all I have? All this," Holmes said contortedly. He spread his arms. "Done all what." "Why, worked my ass off with this goddamned miserable boxing squad that I've hated. Brownnosed with Col Delbert and Gen Slater. Degraded myself. Had my nose rubbed in it." "I dont know. Why." "Why; for you, thats why. Because you're my wife, and I love you. For you and our son and our home, thats why." "I always thought you did it because you wanted to get ahead," Karen said. "But why does a man want to get ahead? Do you think its just because he wants money? and power?" "I had thought so." "What good will money and power do a man? If he's alone. A man tries to get ahead because of his wife and his sons. So he can give them the things he's never had. So he can make life nice for them. So he can have a home. And a family." "I guess I just have no gratitude," Karen said. "Gratitude!" Holmes said desperately. "For God's sake, Karen!" "Perhaps I'm amoral," Karen said cheerfully. "You know, like criminals?" Somehow or other, without quite knowing how, the last spear gone, broken against the unbreechable armor, Holmes found himself on the defensive. He was pleading. "Where would this country be? If all the wives felt like that?" "I have absolutely no idea," Karen said. "In fact, I've never even considered the possibility." "A man hears about other men's wives," Holmes said. "But his own..." "But you didnt think it could happen in your own home?" "Happen!" Holmes said. "If anyone had told me it would happen in my home, I'd have killed them! I tried not to believe it. I told myself it wasnt true. As long as I possibly could." "But it has happened in your own home. Right?" Holmes nodded dumbly. "I convinced myself it was all my imagination." "So it has to be dealt with. Right?" "You dont know how a man feels," Holmes said. "No," Karen said. "I suppose not." "Men dont feel like women do. About a thing like that. Women know it doesnt mean anything to a man. But it breaks a man all up, inside. It destroys his manhood." "I wonder why men feel so different from women?" Karen said. "I dont know," Holmes said miserably. "All I know is, they do." "I'll tell you what," Karen said cheerfully. "Its a lovely day out. I think I'll go for a walk, then walk up to the Club and lunch by myself. I'm good and hungry. And then you'll have time to decide before I get back." "Decide what?" "What you're going to do." "I'd rather you didnt go yet," Holmes asked. "I'd like to get this whole thing settled up first." "I thought it was already settled." "Well, its not. You havent hardly said anything." "What is there for me to say?" "I'm willing to forgive you," Holmes said. "Tell me where you were, and who you were with. Make a clean breast of it. I'll forgive you." "I'm sorry," Karen said. "I'm afraid thats something you'll never know." "You'll have to tell me someday." "Why?" "Well, you just will. After all, I'm your husband. You cant hide things from me forever." "My God," Karen said, grinning, "if you surely dont sound like a page out of Hemingway. I'm not going to hide anything from you. I'm just not going to tell you. "I will tell you something else, though. I've deceived you before. Once. You never knew about it. And it is very likely I'll deceive you again someday. One never knows. But I think you ought to know that before you decide anything. We're going to have to change the terms of our agreement, you see. "Now you just sit right there," she said maternally, "and take it easy, and decide what you want to do. If you want to divorce me, all right. And if you dont thats all right, too. Whatever you decide is just fine. "But Junior will be coming home from school for lunch in a few minutes now, and we dont want him to see us having a big scene, do we?" "I'm hungry," Holmes said dismally. "Theres plenty of cold meat and stuff in the refrigerator," Karen said. "And I'll be back before dinner." "But what about Junior's lunch?" "Bella always fixes it right after breakfast and puts it in the refrigerator, remember?" she explained patiently. "Its all right in there on the plate. He knows where it is." "Well, do you care if I go up to the Club with you?" Holmes asked humbly. "I'd rather go by myself. Its a lovely day out, and I want to enjoy it. Without having to talk over problems." "But we cant both go up to the Club and eat at separate tables," Holmes protested. "Then you can go over to the PX," Karen said gently, but firmly. "If you dont want to fix yourself something here. I'll tell you something," she said from the door. "If you wont let the coffee boil in the pot, but just let it barely start to come to a boil, it wont be so bitter." "I'll use the Silex," Holmes said. "All right," Karen said solicitously. "I'll see you later on then." She went on out the back door and down and out from under the big old trees into the summer-bright sunlight on Waianae Avenue. It was really a remarkably lovely day, and its lazy summery loveliness tingled all through her. She walked on along Waianae Avenue. Schofield Barracks was really a very lovely Post. There were anti-aircraft guns set up on the ball diamonds in sandbagged emplacements, and there was a lot of raw dirt around from the bomb shelters they were digging. But even all that was lovely. Everything was lovely. Everything was so lovely, in fact, that Karen felt with the right amount of balance and proportion and the proper timing of everything from now on, the proper savoring of every morsel, and no greediness, she actually believed she might keep it that way almost indefinitely. Last night, when Milt came, she had been reading about Stendhal's philosophy of happiness. It was not a moral philosophy; it was a very materialistic philosophy. Many people probably would not approve of it. Its only purpose was to deduce and plan ahead of time rationally, how to make life completely interesting and fully happy. The good thing about that Stendhal, he understood the very important place that misery and tragedy played in the making of a full happiness. She had never thought of that, any more than she had never thought of a philosophy constructed for the sole purpose of making life happy. She felt she would never love another man. But if love was over, life need not be. Suddenly, walking along Waianae Avenue, she began to cry, over the lovely anti-aircraft guns and the beautiful piles of raw dirt. Major Holmes, staff G-3 of the - rd Brigade, sat on heavily at his kitchen table after his wife had gone out through his back door. Then he got up heavily and went to his refrigerator and got out the cold meat and fixed himself two sandwiches with mustard. He drank milk, instead of coffee. He stacked up the dishes, and put the stuff away in the refrigerator, and brushed off the table. He washed and dried the dishes in the sink, and put them away. He emptied the overfull ashtray and washed and dried it. Then, when there was nothing left to do, he sat down at the table and smoked a cigarette. The cigarette did not taste any better than the sandwiches and cold milk. Major Holmes detested cold milk; and he could not cook. He wished he had not given the maid the day off. As soon as Karen and the boy left for home, he could start eating at the Bachelor Officers' Mess. That was only a couple of weeks off, only until January 6th. He mashed the cigarette out in the clean ashtray before it was half finished and got up from his table and bolted out through his back door, away from his house. He was back to the safety of his office long before his son came home for his lunch.