In America (42 page)

You see, you grasp, something upsetting, something unsightly looms into view … and then it is gone, and there is no point in chasing after it, no point in insisting on what is no longer there to be seen. How easily disturbing knowledge becomes useless knowledge.

Assume that, during their long separation last year, Maryna and Bogdan had both sought affection elsewhere, as needed: they were not going to force stories upon each other about what was known without being told. Love, married love, was full of generous silences. They were going to be generous with each other.

Maryna thought she knew what bound her so irrevocably to this man. He is just circumspect enough that I still feel free.

But wasn't it presumptuous to suppose that Bogdan would always be at her side, attending every performance? In Poland he was Count Dembowski, patriot, connoisseur. In America he was a man with a role instead of an occupation: to stand next to his wife in the burning center of her glory.

“I'm worried about you, dearest. The curse of my profession is that it requires me always to be thinking about myself. I am so grateful for your presence, your support, your love…”

“Are you worried about me?” Bogdan said. “I don't think so.” Was he going to reproach her now? No. “You're asking me for reassurance.”

“I suppose I am,” said Maryna, chastened and relieved.

At the westernmost point of Maryna's tour—a week at the Boyd Opera House in Omaha—Bogdan left her and went back to southern California. His declared purpose was to look for a property to buy, a home to which they could retreat whenever Maryna was not touring. She supposed that Bogdan would be returning to Carpinteria to try to penetrate the mysterious Aero Club, and she was sure, knowing Bogdan, that once he had secured permission to witness a flight he would soon be asking to become an aeronaut himself.

“If something happened to you,” said Maryna, “it would be unbearable to me. But you must do what you have to do.”

Impossible for Bogdan to keep her reassured by letter while Maryna was constantly moving; and there would be telegrams, they agreed, only for an emergency. Her tour would end in June with a week in Brooklyn, at the Park Theatre, with
Camille, Adrienne,
and
Romeo and Juliet.
They had tickets on the S.S.
Europa
in early July. If all went well, Bogdan would have rejoined her in New York by then.

Of course, he wanted her to worry. That was his husbandly right. As it was Maryna's duty, to her art, to her sanity, not to worry too much.

Actually, she preferred that Bogdan not tell her all his plans; the least she could do was give him the right to have some secret adventure of his own. He wanted her credulity. Maybe they did fly. And surely they did crash.

*   *   *

NO, MAMA
, I can't stay longer. The plan has always been that after a week I would go on to Zakopane. The doctor who took care of Stefan, and who's a great friend of mine, Dr. Tyszyński, that's right, and whom I must visit while I'm here—no, he doesn't live in Kraków anymore. Yes, he lives year round now in Zakopane. Mama, I don't understand, do you
want
me to be uncomfortable? The hotel suits me perfectly. It's much better that way, and I've so much to do. My triumphal homecoming. Irony, Mama. This is a purely private visit, you know that. Everyone clawing at me. Why? My admirers will stop plaguing you and Józefina as soon as I leave, I guarantee it. Perhaps I shall write a “Letter from America” for
Antrakt
while I'm here this week, what do you think, Bogdan? No, I'll never have the peace of mind I need in Kraków, I'll write it in Zakopane. In Warsaw? Why should I go to Warsaw, Mama? Out of the question. My Warsaw friends can take the train to Kraków if they want to see me. Because I'm mortally displeased with the administration of the Imperial Theatre. I did regard the director as a friend, yes. Until I learned he was only another vindictive bureaucrat. Bogdan, don't you agree? We've never considered it. I would make scenes. And I need to be calm. Much as I long to salute my former colleagues, and I especially regret not seeing Tadeusz on the Imperial's main stage, I am not going to Warsaw. Ask to be taken back? Mama, are you out of your mind? I certainly am still offended. But that's not why I'm staying in America. We always planned to return for July and August to visit relatives. To be visited by friends. Bogdan should leave directly for Poznań to call at several of the Dembowski estates, alas, he has inheritance matters to discuss with his brother. It's maddening that we came so near to seeing her again. We'd left New York, we were already on the high seas! Bogdan is heartbroken. She was an extraordinary woman, Józefina. Not modern at all, very irreverent. One doesn't find women like that in Poland anymore. Bogdan, my mother has a suitor, if I may put it so politely. Does everything in this country go on and on and
on?
She's close to eighty! Gliński, the baker on Floriańska Street, an oaf with a great domed head and flour-streaked mustache, I can count on finding him still there when I come by in the early morning to spend an hour with
le petit.
Am I? I don't mean to be. I suppose there's no harm in it. He lets Peter go with him to the bakery and putter about. Yes, Mama, he is called Peter now. No, really, it's an American name too, but I'm sure he'll let you call him Piotr. Mama, why the surprise that he's not forgotten Polish? He has to speak it with Aniela. My secretary? Did Aniela mention her or did Peter? She's American. Doesn't know a word of Polish. Of course she
could
learn, but why should she? It's America, Mama! Aniela glowed when I told her that she was coming with us and Miss Collingridge was returning to California for the two months. But being back in Poland doesn't seem to move her at all. Perhaps because she has no family. This awful ache in my heart. No, I'm talking to myself, Mama. I'm so glad to see you well, Mama. Believe me, Henryk, the greatest satisfaction I anticipate from this visit is seeing you. Bogdan, Bogdan dear, are you sure you don't want me to go with you to Wielkopolska? Ignacy wouldn't dare. Mama, stop trying to persuade me to go to Warsaw. Yes, there was a penalty. I already told you. Every theatre has a schedule of fines levied on actors for misconduct of every sort. Mama, of course I'd never been fined before! Ten thousand rubles, Mama. Yes,
ten.
That's how much it cost to purchase my freedom. Ah, now you understand. I've distributed all the presents I brought for my sisters and brothers and their families, Henryk, I've deposited Peter in the care of my mother and Józefina, he's being coddled by everyone. No, Peter, you can't come with me to Zakopane. But Aniela is staying with you. No, Mama isn't going for long. Mama will be back in a week or so. Mama, I don't want to eat the apple pancakes. I'm quite sated, thank you very much. Mama, I'm—I'm thirty-eight years old! Bogdan, guess what Aniela said this morning before I left Poselska Street. It's not as busy here as in America. She's certainly less busy! Alas, so am I. Henryk, you should have been at the train station when we arrived from Bremen. The crowds, the flowers, the songs. Just as when I left. I was very moved. I couldn't have known what I would feel coming home, Bogdan, could you? The whole of my American saga could seem now like a trip to the moon. But it doesn't, Bogdan, no. American adulation is depthless, while Polish adulation has depths that … you know what I mean. The interview, yes. Just one. Please sit here. Would you care for some coffee? I have only an hour. Yes, I am quite happy in America. To be sure, theatre is thought of very differently there. No, they have some excellent actors. I don't suppose you've ever heard of Edwin Booth? But it goes without saying that I intend to perform again in Poland! I shall always be before all else a Polish patriot and a Polish actress. Still, as a modern artist, I want my art to be seen by many people. It feels altogether natural to act in English, and I'm planning for next year a season in London. With the miracles of modern transport, it is possible to take one's art everywhere. I shall never be daunted by great distances. In this respect, I have become quite American. Bogdan, must you leave now? Stay another few days. Bogdan, how small our beautiful old Kraków looks. Nothing has changed. Nothing! I know it's absurd, Henryk, but I dread coming to Zakopane. I'm afraid of finding it changed. You know how it is when you return somewhere after a long absence. Even a place you fled, you still want to find exactly as you left it. The same ugly pictures on the wall, the same sleepy dog under the table, the same pair of china dogs on the mantelpiece, the same leather-bound sets of unread classics in the bookcase, the same tuneless goldfinch singing in the window. He's coming to Kraków, Bogdan. He writes, he likes to make fun of me, that he cannot guarantee that Zakopane hasn't continued to change. Oh my dear. Those lines in your face, Henryk. I'm going to cry. No, it's not the lines, you know that. It's because you're here. And your hair has gone white. And what is that tremor in your hand? Let me embrace you again, my Henryk, my beloved friend. I should have come to Zakopane, forgive me. I could have averted my eyes when walking past the chalets being put up by moneyed people from Kraków. I might have said that I didn't recognize our Zakopane anymore, but you wouldn't believe me. You know how I exaggerate. You've not forgotten that your Maryna is an actress, have you? Let me kiss your cheeks again. It's true, I want nothing I've left to have changed, and why should it? I haven't been gone such a long time. Only two years. You
can't
call two years an eternity! Who's being histrionic now? Are you laughing at me, Henryk? Yes, to be sure,
I
want to be found changed, for the better, by those I left behind. Well? Yes, I
am
stronger. Yes. For the first time in my life, I understand what it is to stand alone. Though I'm never alone. You understand. No, I
haven't
left you for good, my dear, dear friend. It's only that, what is it to be the greatest Polish actress? Remember when the peak of my ambition was to be better than Gabriela Ebert. Now, naturally, I want to be better than Sarah Bernhardt. But
am
I better than Bernhardt? I'll never find out if I remain in Poland. I need ordeals, challenges, mystery. I need to feel
not
at home. That's what makes me strong, I know that now. I need to fly out of myself, you can understand that, Henryk. And I don't mean just being on a stage, impersonating and transforming. For what is acting? Acting, of course I can say this only to you, Henryk, is misrepresentation. The theatre? Pretense and flummery. No, I'm not disillusioned. On the contrary. Bands of students serenading below my hotel window. Each day masses of fresh flowers banked beside the entrance. The other day I heard Peter telling my mother that what he liked about plays is that people don't really die, they're just pretending! Do rescue Peter from Mama and Józefina, and take him riding, Jarek. He mustn't stay all day in the apartment or the bakery. He needs exercise, he needs the outdoors. And after I left our phalanstery—no mockery, Henryk!—came difficult times, but I couldn't ask Bogdan to help me, he was having such problems with the farm. I sold what I could, pawned jewelry and lace, and sometimes I had no money even for a pound of tea and a little sugar and went to bed hungry. But poverty was the least of it. For after unexpected joy there was heartbreak, too. I am stronger for what I have sacrificed. Forgive me for saying no more than this. I feel that speaking about it, even to you, would be the greatest disloyalty of all to Bogdan. You know? He … he talked to you when he returned? No, of course he wouldn't. I was sure he would be the soul of discretion and dignity. Never mentioned me at all? Not once? That's because he's so angry with me. Then, Henryk, how
did
you know? But why am I asking? You know me better than anyone. I'm a monster. I've thrown love away. I'm a bad mother. I lie to everybody, including myself. No, I don't want absolution from you, Henryk. No, no, I suppose I do. Yes? I don't seem such a monster to you? I'm going to bury my head in your shoulder. And you will put your arm around me. How lovely this feels. My Henryk, my dearest friend, and how are
you?
All I do is talk about myself. Bogdan must go and contend with his fractious relatives. Bogdan must weep at the grave of his grandmother. She was ferocious. I admired her, and I feared her. For Bogdan she was
toute tendresse.
He'll come back and we'll have a little time in Paris before sailing from Cherbourg in late August, and all of September I'll be auditioning actors for the company I'm forming for my fall and winter tour, which starts with a six-week season in New York. Krystyna dear, let me look at you. Of course we can work together for a few days on your Ophelia. Nothing would give me more pleasure. Come to the hotel tomorrow afternoon. Good. Good. The graceless walk. I like it. You can even stumble when you offer the posy to Gertrude. Don't be afraid of being bold. You may try any effect, provided it is not sustained too long. Make the role your own, don't feel shadowed by how I portray her. When the great Rachel brought her Scottish lady (stop looking as if you don't know who I mean by the Scottish lady!) to London and was told that their great Mrs. Siddons had already exhausted every possible idea for playing the sleepwalking scene, Rachel replied, Surely not
every
idea. I intend to lick my hand. Your wildest fancy, Krystyna. Lurch, Krystyna! Brava. You have a large talent. But you are timid. An actor must deliver a pistol shot or two. Even Ophelia is not just a victim. Beware of limp lines, limp business, and limp exits. Don't say that, Henryk. I'll be back again soon. Why, to see how you are faring without me. Henryk, Henryk. May I not tease you? Must you be morose? Another tone, Henryk. Ah. You
will
ask me, you cannot stop yourself. Then you will have the answer: I suppose I don't miss anyone. I'm so busy. Sometimes I miss Bogdan, which may sound odd, since he's almost always with me. It doesn't sound odd to you? Indeed. The perfect husband? Remotecleverindulgent? Now you sound like Ryszard. That's something he might say. But
you
can't offend me, dearest Henryk. You know, I am not as self-absorbed as I appear. I worry that Bogdan doesn't have enough to do. He likes California best of all, and is negotiating for a property situated in a beautiful canyon in the Santa Ana Mountains, a place for us to be together when I'm not performing. Of course I'll always be performing. A successful actor in America does two hundred and fifty, as many as three hundred performances each year. Very helpful. She's less a secretary than she is a sort of governess, I suppose. Very strict and abject. Everyone needs a governess, even I need a governess, and Peter adores her. Józefina, have you ever thought of remarrying? I understand why you quit the stage, you are not vain or egotistical enough to be an actress, and it's more than commendable of you to stay on with Mama. But you must think of yourself, too. Don't frown, Józefina. Marriage may not always be the best solution for a woman, but you, my darling sister with the creases in your lovely brow,
you
need to devote yourself to someone. Better, to some ideal cause or service, as Henryk does. You should have been a teacher. Yes, he's a fascinating man. A noble soul. It's so admirable, his medical mission in Zakopane. And you could— Ah, you look even prettier when you blush, Józefina. Henryk, I have an idea for you. But I can't tell you yet. I shall make you think of it yourself. Yes, American tours are demanding, and they can last as long as thirty-two weeks. But a leading actor's life always has its ration of pleasures, mostly childhood pleasures: capering, daydreaming, making believe, throwing tantrums. Your smile, Henryk, does it mean you had supposed me altogether incapable of lucidity? And I'm expected,
expected
to be ardent, domineering, mercurial, avid for affection; and I'll have an indulgent elected family at the ready: the other actors, my tyrannical manager, Miss Collingridge, the wardrobe woman … and Bogdan will be with me part of the year, though I can't expect him just to travel around with me. In California he has adventures that are his alone. Has he formed some sort of attachment? He's not spoken of any, for which I'm grateful, but whatever it was, or is, he still wants to make his life with me. Peter, Mama is talking to Uncle Henryk. Yes, you and Aniela can go to the bakery. No, Mama, I shan't be here for dinner. Bogdan is returning tomorrow. In a few days we're going to Poznań to stay for a week with Bogdan's sister. He's my guardian angel, Henryk. Yes, I know that's not what you asked me. I don't
know
if I do. But I want him. I need him. I feel well with him. He doesn't make me anxious. I am never bored with him. I