Pearl Buck - The Goddess Abides

“And I shan’t give up my precious freedom to anyone now,” she said to the woman in the mirror. She smiled and the woman smiled back at her. Yes, she thought, taking the pins out of her hair, she had said goodnight to Jared Barnow at exactly the right moment. He possessed a powerful animal magnetism which she was too intelligent not to recognize. She was aware, too, of the possibility of response within herself. Beneath the fastidiousness of her taste, the restraints of her upbringing, she was strongly sexed, how strongly she did not know — did not, indeed, want to know. Such knowledge could be very upsetting, the consequences too serious to be worth the experience. She was not afraid of the judgments of other persons, for in these days of laxity and indulgence such judgments were so light as to cause little more than amusement, but she dreaded the consequences in herself. Knowing the intensity of her feelings, she knew also that if she allowed herself to consider an — attachment, call it, she might not be able to control it. Then again her new freedom would be lost.

She began to brush her hair vigorously and the long bright stuff fell over her face like a flimsy veil.

…“You have a strange effect on me,” Jared announced at the breakfast table.

“Yes?” Her eyebrows lifted. She was quite herself this morning after a night’s deep sleep, her mind relaxed after decision.

“A creative effect,” he went on. “Instead of distracting me, as I’ve known myself to be distracted by an attractive woman, you — I hate to use the word inspire, it’s so misused, but that’s what it amounts to for me. You start my ideas into ferment. I’ve not met a woman before who appeals to every side of me — mentally, emotionally — and now, physically, too.”

He spoke simply and without embarrassment, as he might have done had he been explaining a new theory. She listened, her eyes upon his, and answered as simply.

“That’s wonderful to hear.”

He waited, their eyes still meeting. “Well?” he said after a moment.

She smiled. “Well what?”

“Is that all?”

“What more can there be?”

“Any more, as much as you wish.”

Silence fell, a portentous silence, swelling into an immense possibility. He was looking at her steadfastly — daring her perhaps? A word, a sign of yielding, and they might be thrown into a moment irretrievable in its implications. She was aware of his readiness, his hand waiting there on the edge of the table, his whole being waiting and ready. She withdrew involuntarily from the challenge.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said.

He was silent then and fell to his eggs and bacon, until she broke the continuing silence, her voice casual. “Must you work today or have you time for a horseback ride?”

“You ride?”

“I’ve taken it up again. I used to ride a great deal as a girl, but my husband didn’t care for it.”

“He didn’t appreciate you.” His voice was accusing, his mouth sulky.

“In his way he did — very much,” she insisted.

“Then he didn’t understand you.”

She laughed. “Oh, come, that’s too trite — husbands that don’t understand wives, wives that don’t understand husbands! You haven’t told me about the girl who wants to marry you. Is she interested in your work?”

“She wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”

“You remind me of my son, Tony. He married a charming, stupid girl. And he’s quite intelligent! I suggested that she was perhaps a little stupid — only I didn’t use the word — when he told me he wanted to marry her, and he replied that he didn’t want a damned intelligent woman to come home to at night.”

She laughed once more but he did not laugh with her. He looked at her gravely, scrambled egg poised on his fork. “He’s a damned fool, I’d say!”

“Oh, no, Tony’s not a fool. Just had enough of his mother! I felt quite pleased — an only son not attached to his mother? That’s success for the mother these days.”

He ate the egg, reflecting. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about husbands and wives, sons and mothers,” he said peevishly.

“Only about you and the girl—” she said.

“Not even about her. All right, let’s go riding now. I have an appointment this afternoon.” He rose and pushed his chair in as he spoke.

…Riding, she thought remorsefully, was not a good idea after all. He rode superbly, his slender figure erect and elegant, the reins loose in his hand and yet controlled. Then there was the weather, a warm bright day, sunlight dappled through the trees on either side of the trail, the autumn-tinted hills rolling away to the horizon. She knew she looked well in her riding clothes and at the thought was severe with herself again. Had there been some secret impulse of coquetry which she had not recognized this morning at the breakfast table? No, she had simply been happy, a bright morning, a comfortable, even beautiful house, a pleasant companion. And surely there was no danger in admiring this companion, young and handsome, oh, very young and very handsome!

“Why are you smiling at me?” he demanded.

“Secret thought,” she said. “Come, let’s gallop!”

She touched her whip to her horse’s flank and led the way down the trail and into the valley. And flying along under the cloudless sky, she thought of the house on the cliff, nonexistent and yet as real to her imagination as though it stood there. Should she tell him of that house? Yield to the impulse to reveal herself to him? No! The decision cut clean across the impulse. She would not reveal herself — not yet. She slowed her horse to a canter and glanced at her wristwatch.

“It’s noon — you have an appointment.”

“Why do you try to escape me?” he cried.

“Do I?” she asked, and then, avoiding his eyes, she touched the whip to her horse’s flank and broke again into a gallop.

…“You do try to escape me, you know,” he said an hour later. He had declined luncheon, declaring that he had no time and now he was taking his leave. They stood at the door and he looted down into her upturned face.

She met his gaze frankly. “I don’t try to escape you — it’s just that I—”

She broke off, he waited.

“You’ll be late,” she said.

“I’ll be late,” he agreed, and waited.

“I don’t know how to answer you,” she said at last.

“Ah, that’s better. So next time we’ll find out why you can’t answer me.”

He stooped and kissed her mouth, very swiftly, very lightly, so that she could not step back or turn her head to avoid him. Then he was gone.

…He left an effect behind. She felt his absence so strongly that it became a presence. The silence in the house, his firm declarative voice no longer to be heard, his restlessness, moving from his chair, getting up to look out a window, to play for five minutes at the piano, to go to a bookshelf and pull out a book and glance through it while he talked and then put it back without speaking of it while he talked of something else — an infinite restlessness of the mind invading the body, his whole dominating, brilliant, demanding personality everywhere in the house, all this suddenly no more, was only an affirmation of himself.

She sat down when he was gone, her lips tingling with the kiss, and then as abruptly rose, refusing to recognize the surge of physical longing in her body. Let her recognize its meaning! There had been no great personal excitement in her life with Arnold, but there had been sexual content. He was not distasteful to her, and his approach was with a mature man’s understanding of a wife’s need. He had been considerate and appreciative, and she had been the same toward him, she believed. Certainly she did not want an extramarital love affair as so many women did nowadays, not merely on moral grounds but because she had no need of it. Now let her face the fact that missing the regularity of her somewhat placid life with Arnold and perhaps even the stimulation of Edwin’s touch, her natural desires, long awakened and customarily assuaged, were making demand upon her.