Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

“Go ahead and send him money,” she said. “I’m not trying to stop you. You have my blessing. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think you’d be bitter.”

“I’m not bitter, but things haven’t been very good since you got out of the service, have they? Is Maria the reason? Let’s be honest about it. We haven’t had much of a life together. You and I seem to have learned a lot of things since the war — a lot of things I don’t want to know. We’ve learned to drag along from day to day without any real emotion except worry. We’ve learned to make love without passion. We’ve even learned to stop fighting together, haven’t we? We haven’t had a real good fight since you threw that vase against the wall a year ago. We used to fight a lot when we were first married, but we don’t really care enough to fight any more, do we? I haven’t even cried for months. I think I’ve forgotten how to cry. All I know how to do nowadays is be responsible and dutiful and deliberately cheerful for the sake of the children. And all you know how to do is work day and night and worry. You give a good sermon on love, but I haven’t seen much of it around here. It’s a great life, isn’t it? Was it that way with Maria?”

He began pacing nervously up and down the room. “I know things haven’t been good since the war,” he said. “I think they’re going to be better. We’re not going to have to worry so much about money.”

“Did you worry about money when you were with Maria?”

“Maria was part of the war. I can’t explain that to you.”

“Sure, I don’t know anything about war. All I know is the wife’s side of it — four years of sitting around waiting, believing that faithfulness is part of what you call love. All I know is that I lived on the belief that everything would be marvelous after the war, and that we’ve both been half dead ever since you got home.”

“Stop it,” he said. “We’re going to have a good life together.” He put his arm around her, but suddenly she twisted free and fled from the room and down the stairs. He followed her. She ran out the front door. There was brilliant moonlight on the tall grass and on the distant waters of the Sound. She ran through the dark shadows of the rock garden toward the old carriage house, where the car was parked. He caught her just before she got there, but she whirled and hit him on the mouth with her clenched fist. He kissed her and she bit him hard. He put his hand up to his mouth. When he took it down, there was blood on it.

“Did Maria kiss like that?” she asked.

Without saying anything, he grabbed her. She twisted away, tearing open the shoulder of her blouse. He caught her around the waist, pulled her down in the tall grass, and lay beside her with one arm imprisoning her.

“We can still fight, can’t we?” she said, struggling to free herself. “Is that the one thing we’ve got left?”

He stroked her hair. “Hush,” he said. The grass smelled sweet.

“Let me go,” she said, almost wrenching herself free. He threw himself across her and, feeling her fingers digging into his back, kissed her hard. Suddenly she burst into tears and, burying her face in his neck, clung to him like a child. Her whole body was quaking.

“It’s all right,” he said over and over again. “Everything’s all right.”

There was no answer but her sobs. It took a long time for them to subside. After an instant of complete silence she said, “Now let me go.”

He released her and she lay full length in the grass. Her face, still tear streaked, was bright in the moonlight. Her blouse was shredded at one shoulder, and on her other shoulder there was a dark blood stain on the white cloth, where he had held her. She was breathing hard. “Leave me alone for a little while, will you?” she said. “Go in the house and let me be by myself for a while. I’ve got a lot to think out.”

“Come in the house with me.”

She propped herself up on her elbows slowly. “No. I’m not sure what we should do. Maybe you should take a few weeks off and fly over to Italy and see Maria. When you came back, we could decide what’s right.”

“I don’t want to go to Italy. I want to stay here with you.”

“Perhaps I should go off by myself for a few days. It might help me to get things clear in my mind.”

“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s get Mrs. Manter to take care of the kids for a week. We could buy a new car and take a drive up through Vermont together.”

“I don’t know. Give me some time to think. Go in the house — I’ll be in after a while.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Please.”

“All right.” He kissed her gently and walked slowly through the moonlight toward the shadows of the house. Just before he went inside, he turned and saw her walking forlornly through the long grass toward the distant row of pines, like a ghost in the moonlight. He started to go after her but thought better of it. After sitting in the living room and smoking a cigarette, he went to the front door and looked out. There was no sign of her. Restlessly he went to the kitchen and put some ice in a glass. He poured a drink, carried it upstairs, and lay down on his bed. Maybe when I finish this drink she’ll be back, he thought, and sipped it slowly. He had just drained the glass when he heard the car start. He dashed down the stairs and ran outside. In the moonlight he saw the old Ford back violently out of the carriage house. He ran toward it, but before he got there, it jerked ahead, its lights flashed on, and with its engine roaring in second gear, it careened down the hill. The thought of his father speeding down that same hill toward the waiting rocks at the turn so many years before gripped his mind, and he started running. Ahead of him the red tail light winked in the night. Abruptly it disappeared as the car rounded the first turn. There was no crash. He climbed the great red rocks glistening in the moonlight and could see the car continuing down the road more slowly. He watched until it vanished into the darkness. After standing there a long while to see if she would come back, he returned to the house and lay fully dressed on the bed. There was nothing to do but wait. Maybe she’ll telephone and tell me what she plans to do, he thought, but the only sound was the somber striking of the grandfather clock downstairs.

IT WAS two o’clock in the morning when the telephone finally rang. He leaped to answer it. “Hello,” he said. “Is that you, Betsy?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “The car broke down.”

He started to laugh with relief. “That’s a good old car,” he said. “It won’t take you away from me.”

“I was trying to get home — I was trying to get home as fast as I could. I just wanted to get away by myself and drive for a while. I got everything figured out in my mind and was on my way home when the engine made an awful noise and stopped.”

“Where are you?”

“A little way beyond Westport.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“The police station. The car broke down on the Merritt Parkway. I was walking along the road trying to find a telephone, when a patrol car stopped and picked me up. I showed them where I had left the car, and they wanted to see my driver’s license and registration, I don’t have them with me.”

“Tell the cops to have the car hauled to a garage, and we’ll turn it in on a new one tomorrow. And take a taxi home as soon as you can.”

“I don’t know if the cops will let me go.”

“That’s ridiculous. Are there any charges against you?”

“They say they’re just holding me for driving without my license and registration, but they seem to think there’s something suspicious about me. I guess I’m not very well dressed at the moment. They keep asking me where I got this blood stain on my sleeve and how my blouse got torn.”