"Mr. Clay will stay with you," she said. "I want to get the Consul and a doctor."
"All right."
"Just stay quiet."
"All right."
"I'll be back."
She drove to the Consulate; it was after eight now, and she was permitted to sit in the ante-room. Toward nine the Consul came in and Baby, hysterical with impotence and exhaustion, repeated her story. The Consul was disturbed. He warned her against getting into brawls in strange cities, but he was chiefly concerned that she should wait outside--with despair she read in his elderly eye that he wanted to be mixed up as little as possible in this catastrophe. Waiting on his action, she passed the minutes by phoning a doctor to go to Dick. There were other people in the ante-room and several were admitted to the Consul's office. After half an hour she chose the moment of some one's coming out and pushed past the secretary into the room.
"This is outrageous! An American has been beaten half to death and thrown into prison and you make no move to help."
"Just a minute, Mrs.----"
"I've waited long enough. You come right down to the jail and get him out!"
"Mrs.----"
"We're people of considerable standing in America--" Her mouth hardened as she continued. "If it wasn't for the scandal we can--I shall see that your indifference to this matter is reported in the proper quarter. If my brother-in-law were a British citizen he'd have been free hours ago, but you're more concerned with what the police will think than about what you're here for."
"Mrs.----"
"You put on your hat and come with me right away."
The mention of his hat alarmed the Consul who began to clean his spectacles hurriedly and to ruffle his papers. This proved of no avail: the American Woman, aroused, stood over him; the clean-sweeping irrational temper that had broken the moral back of a race and made a nursery out of a continent, was too much for him. He rang for the Vice-consul--Baby had won.
Dick sat in the sunshine that fell profusely through the guard-room window. Collis was with him and two carabinieri, and they were waiting for something to happen. With the narrowed vision of his one eye Dick could see the carabinieri; they were Tuscan peasants with short upper lips and he found it difficult to associate them with the brutality of last night. He sent one of them to fetch him a glass of beer.
The beer made him light-headed and the episode was momentarily illumined by a ray of sardonic humor. Collis was under the impression that the English girl had something to do with the catastrophe, but Dick was sure she had disappeared long before it happened. Collis was still absorbed by the fact that Miss Warren had found him naked on his bed.
Dick's rage had retreated into him a little and he felt a vast criminal irresponsibility. What had happened to him was so awful that nothing could make any difference unless he could choke it to death, and, as this was unlikely, he was hopeless. He would be a different person henceforward, and in his raw state he had bizarre feelings of what the new self would be. The matter had about it the impersonal quality of an act of God. No mature Aryan is able to profit by a humiliation; when he forgives it has become part of his life, he has identified himself with the thing which has humiliated him--an upshot that in this case was impossible.
When Collis spoke of retribution, Dick shook his head and was silent. A lieutenant of carabinieri, pressed, burnished, vital, came into the room like three men and the guards jumped to attention. He seized the empty beer bottle and directed a stream of scolding at his men. The new spirit was in him, and the first thing was to get the beer bottle out or the guard-room. Dick looked at Collis and laughed.
The Vice-consul, an over-worked young man named Swanson, arrived, and they started to the court; Collis and Swanson on either side of Dick and the two carabinieri close behind. It was a yellow, hazy morning; the squares and arcades were crowded and Dick, pulling his hat low over his head, walked fast, setting the pace, until one of the short-legged carabinieri ran alongside and protested. Swanson arranged matters.
"I've disgraced you, haven't I?" said Dick jovially.
"You're liable to get killed fighting Italians," replied Swanson sheepishly. "They'll probably let you go this time but if you were an Italian you'd get a couple of months in prison. And how!"
"Have you ever been in prison?"
Swanson laughed.
"I like him," announced Dick to Clay. "He's a very likeable young man and he gives people excellent advice, but I'll bet he's been to jail himself. Probably spent weeks at a time in jail."
Swanson laughed.
"I mean you want to be careful. You don't know how these people are."
"Oh, I know how they are," broke out Dick, irritably. "They're god damn stinkers." He turned around to the carabinieri: "Did you get that?"
"I'm leaving you here," Swanson said quickly. "I told your sister-in-law I would--our lawyer will meet you upstairs in the court-room. You want to be careful."
"Good-by." Dick shook hands politely. "Thank you very much. I feel you have a future----"
With another smile Swanson hurried away, resuming his official expression of disapproval.
Now they came into a courtyard on all four sides of which outer stairways mounted to the chambers above. As they crossed the flags a groaning, hissing, booing sound went up from the loiterers in the courtyard, voices full of fury and scorn. Dick stared about.
"What's that?" he demanded, aghast.
One of the carabinieri spoke to a group of men and the sound died away.
They came into the court-room. A shabby Italian lawyer from the Consulate spoke at length to the judge while Dick and Collis waited aside. Some one who knew English turned from the window that gave on the yard and explained the sound that had accompanied their passage through. A native of Frascati had raped and slain a five-year-old child and was to be brought in that morning--the crowd had assumed it was Dick.
In a few minutes the lawyer told Dick that he was freed--the court considered him punished enough.
"Enough!" Dick cried. "Punished for what?"
"Come along," said Collis. "You can't do anything now."
"But what did I do, except get into a fight with some taxi men?"
"They claim you went up to a detective as if you were going to shake hands with him and hit him----"
"That's not true! I told him I was going to hit him--I didn't know he was a detective."
"You better go along," urged the lawyer.
"Come along." Collis took his arm and they descended the steps.
"I want to make a speech," Dick cried. "I want to explain to these people how I raped a five-year-old girl. Maybe I did----"
"Come along."
Baby was waiting with a doctor in a taxi-cab. Dick did not want to look at her and he disliked the doctor, whose stern manner revealed him as one of that least palpable of European types, the Latin moralist. Dick summed up his conception of the disaster, but no one had much to say. In his room in the Quirinal the doctor washed off the rest of the blood and the oily sweat, set his nose, his fractured ribs and fingers, disinfected the smaller wounds and put a hopeful dressing on the eye. Dick asked for a quarter of a grain of morphine, for he was still wide awake and full of nervous energy. With the morphine he fell asleep; the doctor and Collis left and Baby waited with him until a woman could arrive from the English nursing home. It had been a hard night but she had the satisfaction of feeling that, whatever Dick's previous record was, they now possessed a moral superiority over him for as long as he proved of any use.
BOOK III
I
FRAU KAETHE GREGROVIOUS overtook her husband on the path of their villa.
"How was Nicole?" she asked mildly; but she spoke out of breath, giving away the fact that she had held the question in her mind during her run.
Franz looked at her in surprise.
"Nicole's not sick. What makes you ask, dearest one?"
"You see her so much--I thought she must be sick."
"We will tal
k of this in the house."
Kaethe agreed meekly. His study was over in the administration building and the children were with their tutor in the living-room; they went up to the bedroom.
"Excuse me, Franz," said Kaethe before he could speak. "Excuse me, dear, I had no right to say that. I know my obligations and I am proud of them. But there is a bad feeling between Nicole and me."
"Birds in their little nests agree," Franz thundered. Finding the tone inappropriate to the sentiment he repeated his command in the spaced and considered rhythm with which his old master, Doctor Dohmler, could cast significance on the tritest platitude. "Birds--in--their--nests--agree!"
"I realize that. You haven't seen me fail in courtesy toward Nicole."
"I see you failing in common sense. Nicole is half a patient--she will possibly remain something of a patient all her life. In the absence of Dick I am responsible." He hesitated; sometimes as a quiet joke he tried to keep news from Kaethe. "There was a cable from Rome this morning. Dick has had grippe and is starting home tomorrow."
Relieved, Kaethe pursued her course in a less personal tone:
"I think Nicole is less sick than any one thinks--she only cherishes her illness as an instrument of power. She ought to be in the cinema, like your Norma Talmadge55--that's where all American women would be happy."
"Are you jealous of Norma Talmadge, on a film?"
"I don't like Americans. They're selfish, selfish!"
"You like Dick?"
"I like him," she admitted. "He's different, he thinks of others."
--And so does Norma Talmadge, Franz said to himself. Norma Talmadge must be a fine, noble woman beyond her loveliness. They must compel her to play foolish roles; Norma Talmadge must be a woman whom it would be a great privilege to know.
Kaethe had forgotten about Norma Talmadge, a vivid shadow that she had fretted bitterly upon one night as they were driving home from the movies in Zurich.
"--Dick married Nicole for her money," she said. "That was his weakness--you hinted as much yourself one night."
"You're being malicious."
"I shouldn't have said that," she retracted. "We must all live together like birds, as you say. But it's difficult when Nicole acts as--when Nicole pulls herself back a little, as if she were holding her breath--as if I smelt bad!"
Kaethe had touched a material truth. She did most of her work herself, and, frugal, she bought few clothes. An American shop-girl, laundering two changes of underwear every night, would have noticed a hint of yesterday's reawakened sweat about Kaethe's person, less a smell than an ammoniacal reminder of the eternity of toil and decay. To Franz this was as natural as the thick dark scent of Kaethe's hair, and he would have missed it equally; but to Nicole, born hating the smell of a nurse's fingers dressing her, it was an offense only to be endured.
"And the children," Kaethe continued. "She doesn't like them to play with our children--" but Franz had heard enough:
"Hold your tongue--that kind of talk can hurt me professionally, since we owe this clinic to Nicole's money. Let us have lunch."
Kaethe realized that her outburst had been ill-advised, but Franz's last remark reminded her that other Americans had money, and a week later she put her dislike of Nicole into new words.
The occasion was the dinner they tendered the Divers upon Dick's return. Hardly had their footfalls ceased on the path when she shut the door and said to Franz:
"Did you see around his eyes? He's been on a debauch!"
"Go gently," Franz requested. "Dick told me about that as soon as he came home. He was boxing on the trans-Atlantic ship. The American passengers box a lot on these trans-Atlantic ships."
"I believe that?" she scoffed. "It hurts him to move one of his arms and he has an unhealed scar on his temple--you can see where the hair's been cut away."
Franz had not noticed these details.
"But what?" Kaethe demanded. "Do you think that sort of thing does the clinic any good? The liquor I smelt on him tonight, and several other times since he's been back."
She slowed her voice to fit the gravity of what she was about to say: "Dick is no longer a serious man."
Franz rocked his shoulders up the stairs, shaking off her persistence. In their bedroom he turned on her.
"He is most certainly a serious man and a brilliant man. Of all the men who have recently taken their degrees in neuro-pathology in Zurich, Dick has been regarded as the most brilliant--more brilliant than I could ever be."
"For shame!"
"It's the truth--the shame would be not to admit it. I turn to Dick when cases are highly involved. His publications are still standard in their line--go into any medical library and ask. Most students think he's an Englishman--they don't believe that such thoroughness could come out of America." He groaned domestically, taking his pajamas from under the pillow, "I can't understand why you talk this way, Kaethe--I thought you liked him."
"For shame!" Kaethe said. "You're the solid one, you do the work. It's a case of hare and tortoise--and in my opinion the hare's race is almost done."
"Tch! Tch!"
"Very well, then. It's true."
With his open hand he pushed down air briskly.
"Stop!"
The upshot was that they had exchanged viewpoints like debaters. Kaethe admitted to herself that she had been too hard on Dick, whom she admired and of whom she stood in awe, who had been so appreciative and understanding of herself. As for Franz, once Kaethe's idea had had time to sink in, he never after believed that Dick was a serious person. And as time went on he convinced himself that he had never thought so.
II
DICK told Nicole an expurgated version of the catastrophe in Rome--in his version he had gone philanthropically to the rescue of a drunken friend. He could trust Baby Warren to hold her tongue, since he had painted the disastrous effect of the truth upon Nicole. All this, however, was a low hurdle compared to the lingering effect of the episode upon him.
In reaction he took himself for an intensified beating in his work, so that Franz, trying to break with him, could find no basis on which to begin a disagreement. No friendship worth the name was ever destroyed in an hour without some painful flesh being torn--so Franz let himself believe with ever-increasing conviction that Dick travelled intellectually and emotionally at such a rate of speed that the vibrations jarred him--this was a contrast that had previously been considered a virtue in their relation. So, for the shoddiness of needs, are shoes made out of last year's hide.
Yet it was May before Franz found an opportunity to insert the first wedge. Dick came into his office white and tired one noon and sat down, saying:
"Well, she's gone."
"She's dead?"
"The heart quit."
Dick sat exhausted in the chair nearest the door. During three nights he had remained with the scabbed anonymous woman-artist he had come to love, formally to portion out the adrenalin, but really to throw as much wan light as he could into the darkness ahead.
Half appreciating his feeling, Franz travelled quickly over an opinion:
"It was neuro-syphilis. All the Wassermanns we took won't tell me differently. The spinal fluid----"
"Never mind," said Dick. "Oh, God, never mind! If she cared enough about her secret to take it away with her, let it go at that."
"You better lay off for a day."
"Don't worry, I'm going to."
Franz had his wedge; looking up from the telegram that he was writing to the woman's brother he inquired: "Or do you want to take a little trip?"
"Not now."
"I don't mean a vacation. There's a case in Lausanne. I've been on the phone with a Chilian all morning----"
"She was so damn brave," said Dick. "And it took her so long." Franz shook his head sympathetically and Dick got himself together. "Excuse me for interrupting you."
"This is just a change--the situation is a father's problem with his son--the father can't get the son up here. He wants somebody to
come down there."
"What is it? Alcoholism? Homosexuality? When you say Lausanne----"
"A little of everything."
"I'll go down. Is there any money in it?"
"Quite a lot, I'd say. Count on staying two or three days, and get the boy up here if he needs to be watched. In any case take your time, take your ease; combine business with pleasure."
After two hours' train sleep Dick felt renewed, and he approached the interview with Senor Pardo y Cuidad Real in good spirits.
These interviews were much of a type. Often the sheer hysteria of the family representative was as interesting psychologically as the condition of the patient. This one was no exception: Senor Pardo y Cuidad Real, a handsome iron-gray Spaniard, noble of carriage, with all the appurtenances of wealth and power, raged up and down his suite in the Hotel des Trois Mondes and told the story of his son with no more self-control than a drunken woman.
"I am at the end of my invention. My son is corrupt. He was corrupt at Harrow, he was corrupt at King's College, Cambridge. He's incorrigibly corrupt. Now that there is this drinking it is more and more obvious how he is, and there is continual scandal. I have tried everything--I worked out a plan with a doctor friend of mine, sent them together for a tour of Spain. Every evening Francisco had an injection of cantharides56 and then the two went together to a reputable bordello--for a week or so it seemed to work but the result was nothing. Finally last week in this very room, rather in that bathroom--" he pointed at it, "--I made Francisco strip to the waist and lashed him with a whip----"
Exhausted with his emotion he sat down and Dick spoke:
"That was foolish--the trip to Spain was futile also--" He struggled against an upsurging hilarity--that any reputable medical man should have lent himself to such an amateurish experiment! "--Senor, I must tell you that in these cases we can promise nothing. In the case of the drinking we can often accomplish something--with proper cooperation. The first thing is to see the boy and get enough of his confidence to find whether he has any insight into the matter."
--The boy, with whom he sat on the terrace, was about twenty, handsome and alert.
"I'd like to know your attitude," Dick said. "Do you feel that the situation is getting worse? And do you want to do anything about it?"