Still later, the time comes when Henry, finally, is free of NY, free of America, and free to truly begin writing as he'd been wanting to for so long. The only major novel in American letters to begin "Woof Woof," as it must.
The word exhibition seemed only to incense her more.
«This is my exhibition,» she screamed. «And it's gratis this time.
Usually I get paid for making an ass of myself, don't I?» She turned on
Mona. «Don't I?» she hissed. «Or haven't you told them how we
raise the rent money?»
«Please, Stasia, please!» begged Mona. She had tears in her eyes.
But nothing could halt Stasia now. Grabbing a candle from the bureau
top, she stuck it up her crotch, and as she did so she rolled her
pelvis frantically.
«Isn't that worth fifty dollars?» she cried. «What's his name would
pay even more, but then I would have to let him suck me off, and I
don't like being sucked off. Not by a pervert, any way.»
«Stop it! Stop it, or I'll run away!» From Mona.
She quieted down. The candle fell to the floor. A new expression now
came over her countenance. As she slipped into her blouse she said very
quietly, addressing her words to me:
«You see, Val, if any one must be injured or humiliated, it's me, not
your dear wife. I have no moral sense. I have only love. If money is
needed, I'm always ready to put on an act. Since I'm crazy, it doesn't
matter.» She paused, then turned to the dresser in the other corner of
the room. Opening a drawer, she pulled out an envelope. «See this?» she
said, waving the envelope in the air. «There's a check in this sent by
my guardians. Enough to pay next month's rent. But»—and she
calmly proceeded to tear the envelope to bits—«we don't want that kind
of money, do we? We know how to make our own way... giving
exhibitions... pretending that we're Lesbians., pretending that we're
make-believe Lesbians. Pretending, pretending... I'm sick of it. Why
don't we pretend that we're just human beings?»
It was Kronski who now spoke up.
«Of course you're a human being, and a most unusual one. Somewhere
along the line you got bitched up—how, I don't know. What's more, I
don't want to know. If I thought you would listen to me I'd urge you to
get out of here, leave these two.» He threw a contemptuous look at Mona
and myself. «Yes, leave them to solve their own problems. They don't
need you, and you certainly don't need them. You don't belong in
a place like New York. Frankly, you don't fit anywhere... But what I
want to say is this... I came here as a friend. You need a friend. As
for these two, they don't know the meaning of the word. Of the three
you're probably the healthiest. And you have genius as well...»
I thought he would continue indefinitely. Suddenly, however, he
recalled aloud that he had an urgent visit to make and made an abrupt
departure.
Later that evening—they had decided not to go out—a curious thing
happened. It was just after dinner, in the midst of a pleasant
conversation. The cigarettes had given out, and Mona had asked me to
look in her bag. Usually there was a stray one to be found in the
bottom of the bag. I rose, went to the dresser where the bag lay and,
as I opened the bag, I noticed an envelope addressed to Mona in
Stasia's hand. In a second Mona was at my side. If she hadn't shown
such panic I might have ignored the presence of the envelope. Unable to
restrain herself, she made a grab for the envelope. I snatched it out
of her hand. She made another grab for it and a tussle ensued in which
the envelope, now torn, fell to the floor. Stasia fastened on it, then
handed it back to Mona.
«Why all the fuss?» I said, unconsciously repeating Kronski's words.
The two of them replied at once: wit's none of your business.»
I said nothing more. But my curiosity was thoroughly aroused. I had a
hunch the letter would turn up again. Better to pretend complete lack
of interest.
Later that same evening, on going to the toilet, I discovered bits of
the envelope floating in the bowl. I chuckled. What a flimsy way of
telling me that the letter had been destroyed! I wasn't being taken in
that easily. Fishing the pieces of envelope out of the bowl I examined
them carefully. No part of the letter adhered to any of the pieces. I
was certain now that the letter itself had been preserved, that it had
been stashed away somewhere, some place I would never think to look.
A few days later I picked up a curious piece of information. It fell
out during the course of a heated argument between the two of them.
They were in Stasia's little room, where they usually repaired to
discuss secret affairs. Unaware of my presence in the house, or perhaps
too excited to keep their voices down, words were bandied about that
should never have reached my ears.
Mona was raising hell with Stasia, I gathered, because the latter had
been throwing her money around like a fool. What money? I
wondered. Had she come into a fortune? What made Mona furious,
apparently, was that Stasia had given some worthless idiot—I couldn't
catch the name—a thousand dollars. She was urging her to make some
effort to recover part of the money at least. And Stasia kept repeating
that she wouldn't think of it, that she didn't care what the fool did
with her money.
Then I heard Mona say: «If you don't watch out you'll be waylaid some
night.»
And Stasia innocently: «They'll be out of luck. I don't have any
more.»
«You don't have any more?»
«Of course not! Not a red cent.»
«You're mad!»
«I know I am. But what's money good for if not to throw away?»
I had heard enough. I decided to take a walk. When I returned Mona
was not there.
«Where did she go?» I asked, not alarmed but curious.
For reply I received a grunt.
«Was she angry?»
Another grunt, followed by—«I suppose so. Don't worry, she'll be
back.»
Her manner indicated that she was secretly pleased.
Ordinarily she would have been upset, or else gone in search of Mona.
«Can I make you some coffee?» she asked. It was the first time she
had ever made such a suggestion.
«Why not?» said I, affable as could be.
I sat down at the table, facing her. She had decided to drink her
coffee standing up.
«A strange woman, isn't she?» said Stasia, skipping all
preliminaries. «What do you really know about her? , Have you ever met
her brothers or her mother or her sister? She claims her sister is far
more beautiful than she is. Do you believe that? But she hates her.
Why? She tells you so much, then leaves you dangling. Everything
has to be turned into a mystery, have you noticed?»
She paused a moment to sip her coffee.
Classified
New Travellers Companion
