Meyer Levin - Compulsion

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love, Judd!” She smiled warmly as though she now understood his sudden visit.

And as he described Ruth, Judd became convinced it was really love – he wanted only to be with Ruth; all the tumult in him was the result of some complete change-over.

She kept smiling, letting him talk, telling him that she was glad he had found someone to be interested in, that she had always felt he needed someone. But he mustn’t be too emotional, she said; he mustn’t let his emotions run away with him. For now he was talking about getting married secretly, about going away somewhere to live.

The tumult in him was subsiding a little. Judd had no idea why he had made up all these things about family opposition, going so far with the drama.

It seemed to him that she held his hand lingeringly, perhaps invitingly, as he was leaving. Only by telling her he was in love he had caused her to change toward him. It was as though he had inadvertently used a password for the closed little world of ordinary people.

As he came out of the apartment building Judd felt relieved, eased as never even by intercourse. He heard himself whistling.

He spied Ruth with a little group in Sleepy Hollow, and lay down beside her on the grass. The crowd would begin to talk of them as a pair. It was an idyllic scene.

Someone had left a newspaper lying on the grass, and after the first glimpse of the headlines, Judd made himself avoid looking at it. They were still churning, churning over the city. But he would be safe. He was changing; he had to be safe to find out what he was going to be like.

The house had a different atmosphere; there were plants all around, huge green potted palms and rubber plants, and there were vases filled with flowers. Against an entire wall of the so-called library were the catering tables. Cases of real stuff from Canada were stowed in readiness under the boards. Max, hustling everywhere, showed Judd all this while telling him what a good buy he had got on the liquor, and that Sandra would be down in a minute; she was resting.

Then, as though she had sensed the young brother’s arrival, Sandra appeared. She was a statuesque girl, and each speech seemed to have been thought out in advance so that every word was precise. “So this is the genius of the family,” she said, offering her hand and pressing his for a second, with proper sincerity. “I wonder if you know how proud your brothers are of your accomplishments! I understand you speak eleven languages.”

Max said that Sandra was interested in literature, especially the French, so they would have much in common. Judd tried her quickly, mentioning Huysmans, Verlaine, Anatole France. She had not read any of them – if she had even heard of them – but she declared she would make a mental note to look them up, and you could see her inscribing the titles on her mind.

Max was looking at them almost desperately, wanting everything to be right and fine, and Judd even felt a surge of warmth toward his brother on this day. “Looks like it’ll be some party!” he remarked stupidly, and suddenly wished nothing would go wrong. If they were going to catch him, let Max have his dumb engagement party first unspoiled.

The dinner was in grand style, the full table, all the aunts and uncles, and the old man at his best, even genial – a real feast of the high bourgeoisie, Judd told himself, and when he went to fetch Ruth he prepared her in that vein.

She looked as if she belonged perfectly in the crowd, he was surprised to find – her dress, shoes, all. He introduced her as he might an ordinary date. But Aunt Bertha gave Ruth her knowing scrutiny, then told him privately, “I don’t blame you – she’s charming. This time you can’t be blamed.” Then she added conspiratorially, “You haven’t told anybody? Nobody knows?”

“I haven’t told even her,” he said. He felt gay, suddenly crazily elated.

The whole South Side was there, all right, the Weisses and the Strauses in force, including Artie’s entire family. The moment Artie came in he began to make a noisy play for Ruth – “I saw her first!” Then Judd had a peculiar feeling, as if everything he had been building up in the last few days about himself and Ruth was an act; in Artie’s presence it all fell apart.

Artie was taunting Ruth about that reporter, Sid. Did Sid know Judd was giving her the big rush? “Oh, Sid’s so busy I can’t even see him to tell him.” She laughed, and then Artie was on the crime again, full of the latest reports, and – hey, here was an idea for her boy friend, the reporter. What about the other unsolved killings on the South Side during the last year? That university student who had been shot, and the young man who had disappeared, just a few blocks from here, in April, Perry Rosoff – maybe the same fiend was responsible for them all! She ought to tell Sid to investigate the connection.

Myra appeared, touched Artie’s arm, and they started dancing. Judd danced with Ruth, feeling he was dancing better than ever in his life.

Later they were all at the punchbowl. Ruth was flushed. Judd was becoming somewhat drunk. Again, everybody was around Artie, talking about the crime. Judd signalled, trying to shut Artie up. But it was as though his excitement flashed between Artie and Ruth in an alternating current. Perversely, he did not entirely want Artie to stop. Judd heard himself laughing loudly at a monkey-gland joke about the castrated taxi driver. He was losing control of himself. In sudden need of escape, he went upstairs.

A moment later he realized Ruth had followed him. So this was his room. “How strange,” she said. “It isn’t like a room to be lived in at all.” It was so like a museum, with all these birds in their display cases. The collection was the work of ten years, he told her.

“But, Judd,” she said, “weren’t you ever a boy?”

The word shocked him. What did she mean?

Of course it was a thing boys did, collecting insects and birds. But the way he had done it, so seriously. “I just meant, you never seem to have had a real childhood. Always so precocious.” Her words, peculiarly, misted his eyes. Judd didn’t let anything show; he offered her a Beardsley book to look at, with risqué illustrations. But scarcely glancing at them, Ruth said, “You know, Judd, I can see you must feel all alone in your family. They’re not at all like you – your father and brother.”

She understood him, she understood him truly, he told himself; she was the first one, the only one. Then he felt a sweep of panic. He must get out, get out with her, escape! No, he was becoming intoxicated; he had been drinking since afternoon, mixing whisky with champagne. But Artie was certainly going to give everything away – he should stay and watch Artie! No, it was hopeless; he should flee. “Let’s get away from this,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere.”

Ruth would perhaps have wanted to stay longer at the party, yet in another sense she was an outsider. It was really an affair of the big South Side millionaire families, and from some of the girls she had already sensed a slightly hostile gleam. If she were to become truly close to Judd, if anything really developed between them, then she would have to be brought into his circle in some other way.

In the car he put his arm around her and they laughed. Being outside, away from those gasping, grinning faces, Judd felt all right again. He tried to think of a place to go – perhaps this was even a night for consummation; he should have brought a suitcase just in case. The way Artie said he always did.

Judd turned west; out on the Cicero road there was a place with a dance floor and booths. Maybe even rooms upstairs.

They danced. Then they were sitting and talking intently, again about love. Judd began sardonically: “My brother and that self-satisfied girl of his – could people like that really be in love?”