Pearl Buck - The Goddess Abides

Slowly, day after day, she moved her way dimly to a new definition of love, eliminating every trace of selfishness in order that she might find the purest satisfaction. Slowly she rejected even loneliness and became no more alone but absorbed in her search for the substance of love in its essence. And all during this search she did not write to Jared or telephone him. She needed to be alone in order to outlive loneliness. When she was no longer lonely, she would find him again, or he would find her.

In such mood the days passed in the silent house. Days passed in which she spoke to no one except lo acknowledge Henry’s greeting, or answer his wife’s occasional question.

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Chardman?”

“Yes, thank you, Margaret.”

“Is there anything you would fancy to eat?”

“No, thank you. Whatever you prepare — it’s quite all right.”

Days passed into weeks. The snow fell heavily now and settled into permanence. Winter loomed. She wondered if she should return to her own house, and did not. Edwin was gone, and she lived entirely in the presence of Jared. He was no longer the young man from whom she had withdrawn herself. Slowly she came to see him as the man he would be someday, Jared the fulfilled, Jared the creator, master of himself, imaginative, dedicated, uncompromising in his creativity. He had become one of the few great men of his time, his acts of creation of art were no longer mere inventions. How would she know his greatness? When artist and scientist combined in him, he would be that great man.

…“Now I have found you,” Jared said.

He announced himself by arrival. She was at the piano that morning when the doorbell rang. She stopped to listen, she waited for Henry or Margaret to open the door but neither appeared. Then she opened the door herself and Jared stood there in the rain. Three days of rain had washed away the last snowfall.

“Have you been looking for me?” she asked. “Everywhere. No one could tell me where you were.”

“Because I told no one.”

“You wanted to hide from me!”

“Come in out of the rain.”

She threw the door wide, he shook himself, and came in, and took off his raincoat and hat. At the same moment Henry appeared, astonished at a guest, and taking both hat and coat, looked at her with inquiring eyes.

“Yes, Henry,” she said. “Mr. Barnow will be here — for the night, Jared?”

“If you’ll have me, but tomorrow I am taking you home.”

She did not reply to this, but led the way to the living room. The wind from the open door had blown the sheets of her music about, and he stooped and picked them up and set them on the rack of the piano. Then he sat down and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I’m doing what you told me to do,” he said. “I am marrying June Blaine.”

She heard and did not hear. Instead there was the rush of a sudden downpour of wind-driven rain. It beat against the French windows, it thundered upon the stones of the terrace. She lifted her head and listened to the sound of the storm.

“We’ll not get away tomorrow,” she murmured.

He stared at her. “Are you all right, Edith?”

When she did not reply he went to her and took her face between his palms. “I asked you, are you all right, Edith?”

She looked into his eyes. “Yes,” she said distinctly.

He released her then but he stood looking down at her. “You’ve been too long alone, that’s what’s wrong.”

She pushed him away gently. “Oh, no, I’m quite happy being alone. I’ve learned how.”

“I’m still in love with you,” he said with bitterness.

“Don’t say it!” she cried.

“But I will say it,” he insisted. “It’s hopeless, I know — but true, for all that!”

“It’s not fair to June,” she said.

“She knows,” he said doggedly. “I couldn’t marry her otherwise. Between you and me, I’ve told her, everything must be the same — forever.”

He turned away from her and walked to the window and stared out into the storm. “I hope I’m not trying to substitute her for you!”

This was no longer to be borne. She determined not to bear it. By force she would break the mood, too tense, too charged with emotion.

“Impossible,” she declared. “We are two entirely different women!”

In her heart she added, “She has her place — but I have mine!”

But she did not speak the words aloud.

…The change in mood continued. Henry entered at this moment to announce luncheon and over the business of food and drink, Jared’s appetite excellent, she made a show of mild interest in his plans.

“Shall you marry soon, Jared?”

“After she graduates from college in June.”

“Still so young! Lucky you!”

“I’ve known her for a couple of years, remember!”

“She’s a sensible little thing.”

“I wouldn’t marry her otherwise. I’ve made it clear to her that I have my work to do and that comes first — always will. It’s the penalty for marrying a dedicated scientist.”

“Shall you stay at this rehabilitation work?”

“No. Not really. I see now that it’s a side job, an avocation. I’ll always work at it occasionally. But it’s not my real job.”

He frowned and she waited. He began again. “I don’t know what my work is. Mending broken bodies — yes, of course, but that’s not it. Something in mathematics. I love the order, the elegance of mathematics. But even that is merely a tool, a means. I want to discover—”

“What?” She pressed him when he paused.

He lifted eyes half apologetic. “You’ll laugh — but it’s the only word that fits. I want to discover — the universe.”

“Thank God!” she cried softly under her breath.

He frowned again. “Why do you thank God?”

“Because you belong in your laboratory, Jared.”

She spoke with such decision that he put down knife and fork.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

“I know you,” she said. “I know you are basically an artist and an artist is always seeking revelation. You’re not just a technician. You’re a creator.”

Their eyes met, now unwavering, his in awe, hers in confidence.

“You know!” he whispered.

“Of course,” she said quietly, “And so I love you.”

…It was summer again. She was in a little church, waiting among a few strangers for the wedding march to begin. It was Jared’s wedding day. She had gone home in March, the snows of the winter melting except on the mountains. He had not stayed long, a day and a night, but she was not lonely when he left. She knew her place now in his life and her duty to love him as only she could do. She understood that the more she fulfilled her own life, the more wisdom she could learn, the more she could achieve in herself, the more complete she became — yes, even the more perfect, the better her love could serve him. She must be forever the abiding goddess. And this could only be fulfilled if she found her own way to that fulfillment, apart from Jared. But what was the way? Now that she had years ahead, how spend them toward fulfillment? She was her father’s daughter in mind and spirit, though her mother had created her flesh. She must, once this wedding was over, go apart and live with herself alone.

There had been no time until now, not really any time: Arnold’s death; Edwin, his love and death; Jared and his love and hers, only in its beginning now that its path lay clearly before her. There had been no time. Now there was time, infinite time, until the very end of her life. She need not hurry herself. Now she knew that she, too, must search, quietly and firmly, for her own completion, for were she not complete, she could not take her place in Jared’s completion.