Answer as a Man

  Let love come last, after the lesson’s learned.

  Love; like all things else, must be earned.

  “And that goes for children, too. Saul Weitzman. He told me that it is Jewish teaching, from the Holy Bible, that a man owes his children an education, but above all he must teach them righteousness. Parents are not commanded to ‘love’ their children. Children have to earn their parents’ love. But kids are commanded to honor their parents.” He waited a moment and said, “And the Church teaches that also. If your boys had loved their mother, they’d not have run away, or they’d have let her know where they were. But they didn’t love her because she loved them too much.”

  He put his hand heavily on the stricken father’s shoulder. “Your sons are victims of the new child philosophy. But your wife’s the real victim. When she can listen to you, tell her.”

  Dennis said simply, clenching his fists, “I hate her for what she did to my lads. Mr. Garrity,” he said, standing up, “you are a good man. The best I ever knew. If it wasn’t for you, I’d never have known where my lads were.”

  He stumbled wearily from the room, and Jason watched him go. He thought, involuntarily, of what Christ had said to a young man who had called him “good”: “No one save God is good.” Then he thought of his brother, John, who considered himself perfect in all his judgments. Jason felt that he need not go to the church to accuse God of “victimizing” Dennis’ two sons. Their mother had been expert in doing that. But … An uneasy thought came to him, and he shouldered it aside with gloom. That way led to intricate theological philosophy, and he was in no mood for that or for counting how many angels could dance on the head of a pin. He was too realistic a man.

  Instead he wrote an offering for Masses for the souls of the Farrell boys. Then he went to the church and deposited it in the poor box.

  He stood on the hot sidewalk in front of the church. He felt overpoweringly restless. The bells in the church began to ring for the raising of the Host. Jason walked away quickly. The town was quiet, for most of the people were in church this Sunday morning. The shadows of new leaves danced over the sidewalks. A warm breeze ruffled the grass and whipped the curtains at open windows.

  Jason walked through the glittering streets, which were almost deserted. His thoughts became more somber, crushing. Suddenly, without warning, he was invaded by the litany.

  Christ have mercy,

  Lord have mercy,

  Christ have mercy …

  He felt the winds of evil blowing over the world, and he ran from them. He ran to the narrow shining stream in the midst of the city. He was breathless when he arrived.

  It was peaceful here. Then why did he not feel peace? He looked over the narrow water, sparkling blue and white in the sunlight. The grass along the banks was high, filled with buttercups and dandelions like small yellow suns. The air was pungent. Birds conversed among themselves. Why was everything so innocent except man? He was the destroyer. And yet he was given “dominion” over the earth, to filthy its streams and its oceans with his children’s poisonous offal, to murder everything in it that was blameless and lovely, to drown the music with his raucous voice, to build his cities on its noble meadows, to imprison its rivers and invade the sanctities of its forests, to bare its mountains for his ugly houses, to erect walls where no walls had existed. That was “dominion”?

  Then a terrible thought came to him: Man is the Evil. And Satan is his god. Man was at war with all that was pure and beautiful, and he would never cease his destruction. Unless … Unless what?

  “I have repented that I made man.” So said God.

  Jason stood very still as he remembered that. What did that do to God’s omniscience? We have no answers, Jason said to himself. He gazed at the beauty about him, the unprofaned beauty, and felt sick at heart. A flicker of red down the bank suddenly caught his eye. For a moment he thought it was a fire, it shone so brightly against the green. He went slowly toward it and saw that it was a woman’s head resting in the grass, and that the head belonged to Molly Dugan.

  Jason halted. Molly alone. As the wind moved the tall grass, he could see her profile, strong and clear and pensive. Then all at once an ineluctable light fell on every blade of grass, on every buttercup, on every tree. It dazzled him. He felt like crying out; he could hear his heart beating in his chest, feel its throbbing in his temples. Molly. Her name was a sound of ecstasy to him, of longing he had never known before, of hunger mingled with despair and delight. It seemed to him that the rapturous and unearthly light had penetrated all things and that Molly was illuminated in it.

  He would have gone away in silence had she not sensed a presence. She sat up in the grass and brushed her hair from her eyes. She said, as if she had expected him, “Jason.”

  He said her name as he slowly went toward her. She looked up at him gravely. He wore a madras jacket of blue and white over dark trousers, and his white shirt was collarless, like a workman’s, and he was hatless, his crisp black curls bare to the sun. His dark Irish face was eloquent, though he did not know it, his gray eyes shining like sunstruck granite, his large mouth trembling at the corners.

  “Jason,” Molly said again, and her voice was a husky whisper.

  He sat down beside her in the aromatic grass near the stream, and they looked long at each other, as they had never done before. It was a naked gaze full of wordless speech. Molly’s eyes were pure brilliant gold, and Jason could see himself reflected in the black pupils. He could see every freckle across the bridge of her pugnacious little nose. He could see how tender her smiling mouth was. She wore a green linen dress with white braid about the throat and on the short sleeves, and it emphasized the startling color of her hair, which had escaped the neat crown of braids.

  She had clasped her hands about her knees, and those hands seemed the loveliest Jason had ever seen. Then she slowly put one into his, and they looked at the little river, which suddenly seemed to Jason to roar triumphantly. Their fingers clung together as if they were sealed.

  A rabbit ran near their feet and scampered away on seeing them. A robin sang to the sky. The warm breeze rustled reeds near the water. A vast contentment came to Jason, a feeling of fulfillment. I’m not alone, he thought, and did not know exactly what he meant. He only knew that he was experiencing the one real joy of his life, untarnished by any sadness or doubt or uneasiness. He looked at Molly, who was smiling faintly as she gazed at the water, as if she, too was feeling the rightness of his presence here.

  She said, “I was thinking of you.”

  “Were you? I’m glad, Molly. When did you get back from Europe?”

  “Two days ago. Daniel is still there. He’s clearing up things, he says. He thinks something’s about to … well, a crisis. I even felt it, and I don’t know why. England and France were never more peaceful, more beautiful. Yet, there was something … as if everything was just stage scenery, and the real movements hidden behind. Isn’t that silly?”

  “No,” said Jason, and did not know he held her hand tighter. “I’ve felt it myself, right here.”

  He told her of the “scarcities” plaguing Ipswich House and of the mysterious delays in the delivery of materials for the new hotel. “I don’t know if they are connected, or if they are two different things, one impersonal, one personal.” He looked at her, smiling. “But somehow, today, it doesn’t matter.”

  “No. Not today,” said Molly, and her voice was soft and comforting.

  Again they were silent, and Jason had never known such peace, such completion. He had never felt so understood—no, not even by Bernard—yet he and Molly had not exchanged a significant word. He realized that sympathy needed no words. It simply was.

  “I don’t see you very often, Molly,” he said at last.

  She was silent. Her hand moved in his as if she would take it away. Then it clung tighter. A shadow ran over her profile, and he was reminded of Sebastian. He thought she would offer a polite excuse, but she said directly, “You seemed to be avoidi
ng me—us.”

  He bent his head. “Yes.”

  She did not ask why. She said nothing.

  Jason said, “I love you, Molly.”

  She smiled, her face still in profile. “And I’ve loved you all my life.”

  Jason pondered on that for a moment. “So Da said.”

  Molly nodded. “Yes, he knew. Everybody did but you.”

  “Why did you marry Daniel, then?”

  Molly took her hand from his. She was pale under her sunburn. Her face was stern. “Why did you marry Patricia?”

  He felt a sad pain in his chest. “I thought I loved her.”

  Molly sighed. “I don’t even have that excuse for marrying Dan. But … I had no one. No one at all. I only had a dying mother. Dan was kind. He, at least, loved me, and still does in his way. He helped me; no one else ever did. My mother—he made her last months comfortable, and that was before we were married. You don’t know what it means for a woman to be alone. I didn’t think of Dan’s money; I still don’t. But he was there when I needed someone. We have a good marriage. A tranquil marriage. We’re friends.”

  She took her hand from his firmly, and now her voice was almost passionately bitter. “What do you have, Jason Garrity?”

  He hesitated, feeling her withdrawal in more ways than one. “I have my children,” he said.

  Her face immediately became sorrowful. She turned to him, and her golden eyes were bright with tears.

  “Especially Sebastian,” he said.

  He was bewildered when Molly suddenly put her hands over her face. “What’s the matter? You always seemed to love Bastie.”

  She dropped her hands, and her face was very white. “I do,” she said, “believe me, I do.” Her eyes were full of torment. He was more bewildered than ever.

  “Then why don’t you come around to see him … and the twins?”

  He had never known Molly to be evasive, but he believed she was evasive now. “Patricia—she’s never liked me, Jason. And lately she’s given me the impression that she’d appreciate my absence. I don’t like to go where I’m not wanted.”

  “I want you.” He smiled, trying to make her smile also.

  But she did not. The shadow on her face deepened. “You mustn’t say that.” She made a motion to rise.

  Jason felt despair and a frantic need to keep her. He caught her arm. “Don’t leave me, Molly, for God’s sake, don’t leave me!”

  She was struck by his anguished expression, by the dread in his voice. Without willing it, she put her arms about his neck, murmuring her love over and over, her cheek pressed to his. “Oh, Jason, Jason, Jason.”

  He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. He felt the warmth of her breast, the fullness of it. His pain was still there, but joy returned greater than ever, and with it came so intense a passion that everything about him became indistinct except for Molly’s face and hair. There was now only one imperative in him, a shouting urge that could not be resisted. This was the culmination of his life.

  He wondered, later, if Molly had also felt that the melding of their bodies in the sweet grass, with the sound of the stream a counterpoint to the surging of their flesh, was the supreme and inevitable fulfillment.

  Certainly when he looked down at her smiling face, he thought he saw the whole world in her eyes. Her arms nested lightly on his shoulders. She held him and kissed his mouth and eyes with intense tenderness. Jason could only say, “Molly, Molly, Molly …”

  They lay side by side, hands clasped, and looked up at the pattern of light through the leaves, and to Jason it was as if he had reached the summit of his existence. He was at peace for the first time in years. He did not want time to move from this spot. He knew himself to be loved as he had never been loved; he had realized an ecstasy which was more than carnal, which had made him whole.

  “Molly …” he said.

  “Yes, love,” she answered.

  Everything had been said. But he added, “Now I can stand anything. I have you.”

  Molly’s shining face dimmed. She released his hand and sat up. She rebuttoned her dress, shook her hair free of grass blades and crushed buttercups, and gazed at the stream.

  At last Jason, disturbed by her look, said, “Molly?”

  She smiled somewhat mournfully but did not look at him. “Jason, I don’t regret it. I’m glad. But … there are … others to consider.”

  She half-expected him to say, “That doesn’t matter.” However, he sat up too and said, “I know. I know only too well.”

  Then he suddenly smiled, and she was surprised. He said, “I’m thinking of what Da said to Father Sweeney, that the real adultery was living with someone you didn’t love. It was, he said, the adultery of the soul.”

  “Did Father Sweeney agree?” Molly could not help smiling.

  “He could never win an argument with Da.”

  Molly sighed. “This hasn’t been fair to Dan.”

  Jason felt so buoyant that he said, “We’ll get divorces.”

  Molly glanced at him quickly. “We are both Catholic. And you have children.”

  “I wonder if the Church really issues a life sentence of unhappiness to anyone,” said Jason. “Unhappiness can eventually destroy a man, and even make him a vicious person. How many men and women are actually ‘joined by God’? Only love can make a marriage, not just a young infatuation. The Church should put more obstacles in the way of marriage, say, a year between calling of the banns and the ceremony.”

  Molly did not look at him when she said, “Would that have prevented you from marrying Patricia?”

  Jason frowned, considering. “I thought I loved her, ever since I was a kid. I just remembered something. I was dazed when she came to me and begged me to marry her quickly; she said her father would want a big wedding, and she wanted a quiet, modest one. She wanted to be wed at once, by a justice of the peace … What’s the matter, Molly?”

  Molly said simply, “Oh, God.” She clenched her lips together to keep from blurting out the truth. But—there was Sebastian, who was innocent. To mortally injure a child was unpardonable. Jason was all he had, except for Joan, who probably knew, or she would not be so tender toward the child. God damn Lionel, Molly thought. And Patricia, too. She turned quickly to Jason and said, “Oh, my dear …” Her voice was full of angry compassion. She took his face in her hands and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  He said, “We’ll work it out. Molly, will you marry me?”

  “I can’t do that to Dan. He’s not at fault.”

  “Neither was Patricia.” He stared at her in surprise, for her expression was strange.

  “I’m not so sure!” she cried.

  “What do you mean?”

  She put her hand on her mouth. She said, “Tell me, honestly, Jason, did you … did you … had you … did you sleep with Patricia before you were married?”

  “Christ, no! She isn’t that kind of a girl. What makes you ask that?”

  Then, her last hope gone, Molly said, “I just wondered. The hurried marriage,” she said, and stopped. Jason became alarmed at her expression. But he tried to make a joke of it. “Did you sleep with Dan before you were married?”

  “No. Of course not. And Dan—he’s been very good to me. As I said before, we are friends. And I can’t hurt a friend.”

  She stood up. Jason got up also and brushed off her dress. She put her head on his shoulder and could not help the silent tears, for all her efforts.

  Jason said, “Will you tell Dan?”

  “No,” Her voice was unexpectedly firm and resolute. “Will you tell Patricia?”

  “I’d like to. She blames me for Nicholas’ condition. I think she’d like to be free of me. She even said so, in front of her father and Dr. Conners.”

  Molly said, “But Dan deserves better of me, Jason. I don’t think there is any solution. You have your children, in spite of Patricia.”

  “And my children will be happier living with parents who despise each other? That
’ll make for a joyous home?”

  “Don’t talk like that, please. You … you have to be there, to protect Sebastian … the twins.”

  Jason half-turned away. “She wants to send Sebastian away. Ever since she learned of Nicholas’ illness. She’d like me to go with him.”

  “I think that would be best, for you and the boy.”

  “Then I wouldn’t see my other children, and there is Mr. Mulligan, who would be hurt. He loves Sebastian too, and me, though he’s been acting a little peculiar in the last two years. But so is everybody else!” He laughed ruefully and shook his head. “So there’s no solution.”

  She took his hand, and they walked slowly away together.

  “Where shall we meet again, alone?” asked Jason.

  “We won’t,” said Molly. “We can’t.”

  Jason looked down at her. Her face was pale but resolved.

  “We can’t. There are too many involved with … us. Let’s cherish what we had. Who knows? There may be a merciful God.”

  She took her hand from his and sprang off as swiftly as a butterfly in a dazzle of green and gold, and Jason watched her go and felt as if half his soul had gone with her. Yet, he was not too unhappy. He would see Molly, at the very least. She would not be gone from his life. He felt no guilt. It was as if he had been married for the first time.

  26

  One morning in early June, Lionel came into Jason’s office. It was a slumberous day of warm green grass and tranquil sun. It was reported that almost all of Europe knew this beatitude, and later it was remarked that this June was a time to remember, to cherish, for there would never be another so bright with promise.

  There was a rumor of trouble in Bosnia, but the Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria would soon smooth things over. He was planning to visit the area later in the month with his morganatic wife, the Duchess of Hohenberg. In short, though Slavic Bosnia had been newly acquired, or seized, by Austria-Hungary, it was said that the people in general were quite complacent and reconciled. At least “spokesmen” said they were. The international financiers agreed—though they smiled, and shuffled their papers, and looked long and significantly at each other. The plotted conspiracy was in motion. Lenin, in Russia, received the first bulletin of the visit and was jubilant.