Irving Wallace - The Prize

‘I won’t even bother about that,’ said Craig. ‘God knows, that was bad enough-but the other thing you’ve done is infinitely worse. You’ve behaved like an unbelievable weekend bitch in an old Broadway play. You’ve saddled me with a lie I never deserved. I won’t forgive you for it, and I never want to set eyes on you again.’

Leah was a study in confusion. ‘Andrew, I haven’t the faintest idea what’s-’

‘You haven’t? You really haven’t? You can’t think of one rotten thing you’ve done to me in the last-’

‘No, of course not!’

‘How convenient-Instant Amnesia,’ said Craig bitterly. ‘All right, maybe I can help refresh your memory. Ever since Harriet’s death, you’ve led me to believe I was responsible. I had some drinks, and lost control of the car, and I killed my wife. That’s been the story, hasn’t it?’

Leah’s eyes had widened, and involuntarily her hand had gone to her cheek, elbow extended, as if ready to avert a blow.

Craig went on relentlessly. ‘All that time, you knew the truth. You had the report from the police. About the tie rod breaking under my car, and swerving us into the skid. All that time, you knew it was an accident, and that you were supposed to have reported it to me, and you didn’t. The police thought you had told me-as any normal human being with compassion would-but you did not. You burdened me with a false guilt instead. You lied to Lucius and you lied to me. Why, Leah? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’

Leah’s face had transformed before his eyes to something lame and hunted. ‘Who says that’s the truth? Where did you hear that cock-and-bull story? It’s not the truth at all. Ask Sheriff Hollinder if you don’t-’

‘Sheriff Hollinder,’ he said savagely, ‘Miller’s Dam-what in the hell does he know? But I know who does know. We cracked up just over the line, in Marquette County. The record of the accident is in the police files in Pikestown. A photocopy of the accident report you kept from me is right here in Stockholm.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, weakening, not believing herself.

‘How could you be so stupid? Couldn’t you know that nothing on earth is ever secret-no truth, no lie-as long as we are born in public, and live and die in public, as long as we are part of a community? And how could you be so vicious? That’s the part I don’t understand. Wasn’t my loss, my grief, enough for one man to bear-without the added guilt you superimposed on these last three years? I might have drunk myself to death, shot myself.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t. You have too much-’ But then she stopped, for she had conceded his truth, and realized it, and had more defence.

‘I think I’ve understood you since I’ve learned the truth, but I’ve hated to face this insight into you. You were willing to sacrifice me for yourself. You wanted me in total servitude, didn’t you? You wanted me entirely beholden to you-a prisoner to your commands and whims-or was it something else? Was it that you wanted security?’

Leah asserted her last claim to self-respect. ‘I didn’t need you. I had Harry Beazley in Chicago all the time, and you know it.’

‘Well, you have him now, Leah, and you latch on to him while you still can. You go back to Chicago and marry that poor bastard, and put a ring in his nose and nag him and try to make him what you want him to be and drive him to drink-make him inadequate you to make yourself-’

The last frame of her composure had crumpled, and she was bared to every thrust. ‘Oh, Andrew, please don’t-’

He had no more stomach for this one-sided carnage. ‘I’ve taken another room. You can stay for the Ceremony. I’m changing our flight tickets. Your plane stops at Chicago. Don’t bother to come to Miller’s Dam. I’ll send you your things.’

‘Andrew-?’

‘I’m getting rid of the place-the house, furniture, guilts-one tidy parcel. I’ll miss Harriet, but she’s in my heart, not in Miller’s Dam, and I’ll miss Lucius-and for the rest, to hell with it.’

‘What are you going to do? You can’t-’

‘I’m going to do what I started to do before I met Harriet. I’m going to find a spot on a high hill over the Pacific-not an artists’ colony, but a place-and I’m going to write.’

‘Write? That’ll be the day. From inside a bottle-’

He stared at her and was sick of the sight of her. ‘Right now, I’m going to ring for a page.’

He strode into his bedroom, and she knew that it was the end, and was right behind him, trembling. ‘Andrew, listen-listen-’

‘Listen?’ He had whirled about to confront her one last time. ‘The way I’ve been listening for three years? The way Emily Stratman listened? You have no talent but for destruction.’

‘Andrew, hear me-don’t be cruel. You’re a writer, you’re supposed to have understanding-try to understand me, let me live by understanding me.’

He hated this, but sensed that he must endure it to be rid of her.

‘You’re wrong,’ she was saying, ‘so wrong about why-why I did what I did. I don’t know why really-or maybe I do now-but it wasn’t to make you my slave, owing me something, or to hold you down or keep you under my thumb. It was-it was something else-’

She choked, and had a spasm of coughing, and he waited.

‘What was it, Leah?’ And he realized that he had ceased to call her Lee. ‘What made you-?’

‘From the beginning-with my father, my mother, the relatives-it was always Harriet-Harriet this, Harriet that-Harriet because she was older, smarter, better-looking, always being praised-when we were kids, when we went to school-and even boy friends and career-Harriet was the one-the shining one. And when she got married, I knew it would be that way again-she with somebody famous and rich-a professional man, a writer-and me scraping along in some hole with an underpaid, nobody schoolteacher-always the one they almost forgot to invite-or write-or think about. It would be poor Leah, let’s not forget Leah, now remember Leah. And then-then-’

Her bosom heaved and settled, and she tried to go on.

‘And then the horrible thing happened to Harriet-to my sister-and I felt shame for all my years of wishing her dead-for all my days of secret envy-and then, almost naturally, because there was an opening that fitted me, and there was no one else, I was there in Miller’s Dam, in her place, in her kitchen and cupboards and garden-and, I don’t know how to explain it, it was like a dream-to be Harriet, have all her advantages, the position, the security, a husband whose name was in the papers-to overnight be Harriet, not poor Leah, it was like a miracle-like God giving me a chance to change my life over-and when you got well, when you recovered, it was like the clock striking midnight, and all my dreams falling away, because then I knew I wasn’t Harriet but poor Leah, and the house wasn’t mine, and Harriet’s husband wasn’t my husband-and I got scared-I was never more scared in my life. You’d leave, I kept thinking, go back to your kind of people, and someday find another Harriet-and I’d have no chance, because I wasn’t in Harriet’s class, I was an impostor, a fake Harriet, and you’d see it-and I couldn’t bear the idea of having tasted what I had, what I’d dreamt of all my life, and then losing it forever.

‘And then some kind of craziness came over me, because you weren’t gone yet, and I began to imagine that maybe I could be Harriet-maybe I could show you-maybe it would work-and so-I don’t know-at first, I didn’t mind your drinking, because it made you depend on me like when you were convalescing and mourning-it made you need me-and then I started to hate the drinking, because it made you not you, not Harriet’s you, and our life wasn’t Harriet’s life, and you didn’t even know I existed as Harriet or Leah-and still, I would not let go-that’s why I couldn’t show you the accident report-I always meant to-but the lie slipped out, and then I couldn’t take it back-maybe didn’t want to-but this is why it all happened the way it did-for no other reason-and I’m sick with remorse-and I admit it-and I want your forgiveness, Andrew-your forgiveness, please, that’s all.’