James Baldwin - Another Country

The dream teetered on the edge of nightmare: how old was this rite, this act of love, how deep? in impersonal time, in the actors? He felt that he had stepped off a precipice into an air which held him inexorably up, as the salt sea holds the swimmer: and seemed to see, vastly and horribly down, into the bottom of his heart, that heart which contained all the possibilities that he could name and yet others that he could not name. Their moment was coming to its end. He moaned and his thighs, like the thighs of a woman, loosened, he thrust upward as Eric thrust down. How strange, how strange! Was Eric, now, silently sobbing and praying, as he, over Ida, silently sobbed and prayed? But Rufus had certainly thrashed and throbbed, feeling himself mount higher, as Vivaldo thrashed and throbbed and mounted now. Rufus. Rufus . Had it been like this for him? And he wanted to ask Eric, What was it like for Rufus? What was it like for him? Then he felt himself falling, as though the weary sea had failed, had wrapped him about, and he were plunging down — plunging down as he desperately thrust and struggled upward. He heard his own harsh breath, coming from far away; he heard the drumming rain; he was being overtaken. He remembered how Ida, at the unbearable moment, threw back her head and thrashed and bared her teeth. And she called his name. And Rufus? Had he murmured at last, in a strange voice, as he now heard himself murmur, Oh, Eric. Eric . What was that fury like? Eric . He pulled Eric to him through the ruined sheets and held him tight. And, Thank you, Vivaldo whispered, thank you, Eric, thank you . Eric curled against him like a child and salt from his forehead dripped onto Vivaldo’s chest.

Then they lay together, close, hidden and protected by the sound of the rain. The rain came down outside like a blessing, like a wall between them and the world. Vivaldo seemed to have fallen through a great hole in time, back to his innocence, he felt clear, washed, and empty, waiting to be filled. He stroked the rough hair at the base of Eric’s skull, delighted and amazed by the love he felt. Eric’s breath trembled against the hairs of his chest; from time to time he touched Vivaldo with his lips. This luxury and this warmth made Vivaldo heavy and drowsy. He slowly began drifting off to sleep again, beams of light playing in his skull, behind his eyes, like the sun. But beneath this peace and this gratitude, he wondered what Eric was thinking. He wanted to open his eyes, to look into Eric’s eyes, but this was too great an effort and risked, furthermore, shattering his peace. He stroked Eric’s neck and back slowly, hoping that his joy was conveyed by his fingertips. At the same time he wondered, and it almost made him laugh, after all that shit I was talking last night, what he was doing, in this bed, in the arms of this man? who was the dearest man on earth, for him. He felt fantastically protected, liberated, by the knowledge that, no matter where, once the clawing day descended, he felt compelled to go, no matter what happened to him from now until he died, and even, or perhaps especially, if they should never lie in each other’s arms again, there was a man in the world who loved him. All of his hope, which had grown so pale, flushed into life again. He loved Eric: it was a great revelation. But it was yet more strange and made for an unprecedented steadiness and freedom, that Eric loved him. “Eric—?”

They opened their eyes and looked at each other. Eric’s dark blue eyes were very clear and candid, but there was a terrible fear in their depth, too, waiting. Vivaldo said, “It was wonderful for me, Eric.” He watched Eric’s face. “Was it for you?”

“Yes,” Eric said, and he blushed. They spoke in whispers. “I suppose that I needed it, more than I knew.”

“It may never happen again.”

“I know.” There was a silence. Then, “Would you like it to happen again?”

Then Vivaldo was silent, feeling frightened for the first time. “I don’t know how to answer that,” he said. “Yes — yes and no. But, just the same, I love you, Eric, I always will, I hope you know that.” He was astonished to hear how his voice shook. “Do you love me? Tell me that you do.”

“You know I do,” said Eric. He stared into Vivaldo’s worn, white face and raised one hand to stroke the stubble which began just below the cheekbone. “I love you very much, I’d do anything for you. You must have known it, no? somewhere, for a very long time. Because I must have loved you for a very long time.”

“Is that true? I didn’t know I knew it.”

“I didn’t know it, either,” Eric said. He smiled. “What a funny day this is. It begins with revelations.”

“They’re opening up,” said Vivaldo, “all those books in heaven.” He closed his eyes. The telephone rang. “Oh, shit.”

“More revelations,” Eric grinned. He reached over Vivaldo for a cigarette, and lit it.

“It’s too early, baby. Can’t we go back to sleep?”

The phone rang and rang.

“It’s one o’clock,” said Eric. He looked doubtfully from Vivaldo to the ringing telephone. “It’s probably Cass. She’ll call back.”

“Or it may be Ida. She probably won’t call back.”

Eric picked up the reciever. “Hello?”

Vivaldo heard, dimly, from far away, Cass’ voice rushing through the wires. “Good morning, baby, how are you?” cried Eric. Then he fell into silence. Something in the quality of that silence caused Vivaldo to come full awake and sit straight up. He watched Eric’s face. Then he lit himself a cigarette, and waited.

“Oh,” said Eric, after a moment. Then, “Jesus. Oh, my poor Cass.” The voice went on and on, Eric’s face becoming more troubled and more weary. “Yes. But now it has happened. It’s here. It’s upon us.” He looked briefly at Vivaldo, then looked over at his watch. “Yes, certainly, where?” He looked toward the window. “Cass, it doesn’t look as though it’s likely to let up.” Then, “Please, Cass. Please don’t.” His face changed again, registering shock; he glanced at Vivaldo, and said quickly, “Vivaldo’s here. We didn’t go anywhere, we just stayed here.” A dry, bitter smile touched his lips. “That’s what they say and it sure as hell is pouring to beat the band now.” He laughed: “No, nobody lives without clichés — what?” He listened. He said, gently, “But I’m going to be in rehearsal very soon, Cass, and I may be going to the Coast, and besides—” He looked over at Vivaldo with a heavy, helpless frown. “Yes, I understand that, Cass. Yes. At four. Okay. You hold on, baby, you just hold on.”

He hung up. He sat for a moment, turned, staring toward the rain, then lowered his gaze to Vivaldo with a small smile, both sad and proud. He looked at his watch again, put out his cigarette, and lay back, staring at the ceiling, his head resting on his arms. “Well. Guess what. The shit has hit the fan. Cass got in late last night and she and Richard had a fight — about us. Richard knows about us.”

Vivaldo whistled, his eyes very big. “I knew you shouldn’t have answered that phone. What a mess. Is Richard on his way down here with a shotgun? and how did he find out?”

Eric looked strangely guilty, then he said, “Oh, Cass wasn’t at her most coherent, I don’t really know. Anyway, how he found out hardly matters now, since he has .” He sat up. “Apparently, he has been suspicious — but he was suspicious of you —”

“Of me? He must be crazy!”

“Well, Cass kept coming to see you all the time, that’s what she told him, anyway—”

“And what did he think Ida was doing while Cass and I were screwing? Reading us bedtime stories?”