No longer did he think in terms of I. He tried, consciously, never to feel sorry for himself—and, he had not absolved himself from his share of blame regarding Marianna. He had been responsible—not fully, perhaps but neither could he white-wash his part in it. Obviously, he would never know what percentage of his downfall had been due to Marianna’s influence, what percentage due to his own, personal lack. All he did know—and he knew it definitely—was that, if it hadn’t been for his particular frame of mind, what had happened might never have occurred at all. Marianna had been waiting, true; but it had been for a certain type of man that she waited most. He had been that type.
God willing, he would not permit himself to be that type again.
He turned onto his side, looking at the bathroom door. The shower had been turned off; Ellen would be coming in soon. He wondered if they’d make love tonight. That area of their relationship had, also, improved even though that certain “spark” had been extinguished there as well. The “spark,” he suddenly decided, was immature romanticism. Very well, then, they were not as wildly passionate as they had been in their youth. There, still, was gentleness and patience, kindness, understanding. There, still, was wisdom and companionship.
And there was self control—the realization that physical desires had to be subordinate to the mind; a realization that had taken him a long time to accept. It had been so much simpler to allow the body to speak for itself for it was never without something to say and its commands were easy to follow. So easy, in fact, that, in time, they became an addiction.
But, to the body, there were no individuals, no personalities to be cared for. To the body there was only raw sensation. With whom that sensation occurred made no difference. The body was an animal demanding periodic food. He had satisfied that hunger, all unquestioning. Now he had to discipline the beast—which would not be simple because it had become accustomed to its license. Yet it had to be done—and, after all, it was only an animal. It possessed neither subtlety nor logic; it only raged and craved. If the mind could not control such a creature, then the mind might just as well not exist.
It was his aspiration, now, to permanently encage that animal within his mind. Not destroy it; not break its spirit, turning it into a vapid drudge. Its wildness was not entirely undesirable. Much of it had a fine and vital beauty. Still, he had to keep it within confines, be able to release it only when he chose. The cage must not be so flimsy that the animal could break out whenever it pleased and roam his mental countryside, an uncontrollable predator. It had to have its limits. Within these, it could have its head—but the limits had to exist.
There is the body and there is the mind, he thought. All complexities stripped away, it was as simple as that. Man’s birthright was a body—but it was also a mind with which to control that body and transcend it. With his mind, man could make, of his relationship to woman, something magnificent. The joining of their minds (and of their souls, perhaps) was infinitely more important than the joining of their bodies. Their physical relationship must be, in fact, a manifestation, in flesh, of their higher relationship—an expression of their love.
Anything less was, to varying degrees, mutual and self destruction.
David turned onto his back, smiling at himself. To understand the problem was not solve it, he thought. A modicum of insight did not create the whole person, contrary to scripts the like of which, God help him, he, himself, had written. There still were years of work ahead. There would probably be backslidings. But, atleast, he had a direction now and he would never turn from it again.
The bathroom door was opened and he pushed up, looking at her, at his Ellen. Her hair was longer now (to his amazed surprise, he’d only had to ask her once to let it grow), tinted slightly (as a gesture to their new relationship, she’d said) and she was wearing a long, pale-blue nightgown. She looked fresh and clean and David felt a sudden longing for her. Sitting up, he dropped his legs across the mattress edge and said, “Come here.”
Ellen crossed the room and stood before him. “Yes?”
“Sit down.” He patted his lap.
“All right” She settled on his legs and David put his arms around her, nuzzling his face against her neck. “Smells good,” he murmured.
“Does it?”
“Mmm.” He began to kiss her neck, casually at first then with increasing ardor. Ellen stroked his hair.
“I love you, El,” he said.
“I love you too.”
Those were only words, he thought. “I mean it, El. I’m not just talking.” Eyes closed, he rubbed his face against her neck. “You have no idea how much I love you. No idea at all because I haven’t really told you in a long, long time. But I do; I do. You’re my joy—my happiness. You’re my life, El.”
“David …” Faint, uncertain.
“I mean it, El.”
“I know you do.”
“I hope so. I want you to believe me. I know it’s been a long time, far too long, but now I’m saying it, so please believe me.”
Something seemed to break inside him. “Oh, God, El, how I love you.”
Pulling up his head, he pressed his lips to hers, tightening his arms around her. He kissed her cheeks and eyes, her forehead and temples, her ears, her neck again; he couldn’t get enough of kissing her warm, fragrant skin. “I love you so,” he murmured. “Ellen, Ellen.”
Clearly, she was moved—and yet surprised as well, a bit confused. He didn’t blame her. He had not been so demonstrative in years. And yet he couldn’t help it now. There was no deliberation; it was all spontaneous, a rushing of emotion as desire and love enveloped him completely. She was his life. He couldn’t exist without her, she was everything to him.
“El, lie beside me, please lie down beside me.”
“Yes, sweetheart, yes.” Standing quickly, she looked down at him. “Shall I take my nightgown off?” she asked.
“Yes; I want to feel you close to me.” He lay down, watching her. She shivered as the silk slid up across her rigid-nippled breasts. She tossed the gown across the foot of the bed, switched off the closest bedside lamp, then lay beside him. David shuddered as she pressed against his body, her hands slipping beneath his arms to clutch at his back. They kissed impassionedly, a kiss of lovers newly meeting.
“Ellen.”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell me, tell me that you do.” His hands cupped her cheeks and he looked into her eyes pleadingly. “Tell me that you love me. El, please tell me.”
“I do, I do.”
“Then tell me. I want to hear the words. I need them, El. Please tell me that you love me.”
Ellen’s eyes were glistening now; a tear ran down and touched his hand. “I love you, David. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
What swept across him was as violent a feeling as he’d ever known. In an instant, his identity seemed gone and he and Ellen were a oneness which was larger than their sum. The love he made to her possessed no taint of self indulgence; what might have been carnality and egoism was now devotion. His actions were the same but, motivated, as they were, by loving care, they elevated each sensation to a height which he had never reached before, an altitude of ratified emotion which dizzied and exalted him.
And still he climbed!
What length of time it lasted he could not be sure. By the clock, it might have been no longer than a minute—but, to him, it was a full eternity. At the end of which they reached the climax of their mutual ascent together, clinging to each other, trembling, crying, moaning with an ecstasy which could not be expressed because it was of mind and body at the same time, an ecstasy so powerful that it stopped the world and time and life itself until they had experienced its beauty to the end.
Only then did sights and sounds impinge, did the earth begin its creaking turn and life commence once more. David held her closely, feeling the trickle of her breath across his shoulder. This is marriage, came the tho
ught—a union and a bond. No spark left? He almost laughed, the notion now seemed so preposterous. God in Heaven! His mind reeled before the truth—or what inkling of the truth he’d managed to perceive.
“It was love,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she murmured back.
“It was love—all love.”
“I know.”
“We’ll always love each other, always.”
“Yes.”
“I mean always, Ellen. Not just now or here. Forever. This is just the start. I believe it, El. I really do.”
She kissed him with an infinite tenderness and answered, softly, “I believe it too.”
She sat at the dressing table, applying a heavy coat of lipstick. Done, she put the lipstick down and ran her hands up through the jet black thickness of her hair. “Not bad,” she said. “They’ll never know.” She peered at her features in the mirror. The makeup was a little excessive but they’d never know.
She pulled back the edges of the dressing gown and looked at her reflected body. “Here’s the problem,” she said. She lifted her sagging, white breasts, digging her fingers into their bulbous softness. “I hate them,” she said. She scowled. “Why did you get so old?” she muttered.
She sighed. “Oh, well. At least they’re real.”
She smiled scornfully at the reflection of her face. “That was so stupid of you, Grace,” she said. She shook her head. “Coming here to help them. Rushing in like that with your stupid cross and Bible.” She laughed. “If you’d only waited a few seconds, I’d have been alone again and at your mercy. Now …”
She drew her robe shut. “It’s an ugly body but it’s real, Grace. Guess I’ll keep it.”
Standing she moved to the window and looked out at the beach. It was her favorite kind of day; overcast and cold. Maybe someone would pass the cottage soon; some man—or woman, it didn’t matter. She thought about Grace’s servant. He was awfully old but … She made a sound of casual estimation. Maybe when he brought supplies next week.
She chuckled softly, remembering the look of shock on Grace’s face when she rushed into the studio to see both David and his wife gone out the window and, waiting for her, smiling, the one person she’d avoided all these years. She remembered how Grace had backed off, shaking her head, dropping the Bible and cross, a look of blind terror on her face. It had been such wonderful revenge to rush at her with a shriek of triumph.
And take her.
She turned and walked across the room. She’d make some supper now. Eating again was still fun. Maybe, later, a man would walk by and she could invite him in. And make Grace’s body do more things than Grace had ever dreamed about.
“Or did you dream of doing them?” she said, amused. “Maybe this is what you wanted all along.”
She laughed as she crossed the hallway. “It better be,” she said, “because you’re going to be here for a long, long time, dear sister.”
Marianna’s icy laughter filled the staircase as she went downstairs.
Richard Matheson, Earthbound
(Series: # )
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