Pearl Buck - Gods Men

Mrs. Lane shrugged her handsome heavy shoulders when she read the telegram the footman brought her. She was having a quiet tea with the Countess, just the two of them. The Countess was old, too, and always looking for diversion and Mrs. Lane had been diverting her by a long visit.

“I cannot understand why my children still insist upon my returning to them at every crisis in their lives,” she now complained to the Countess. “One would think that at my age I might be allowed my freedom. But no — William, it seems, feels I must come home. My elder daughter is of course absorbed in her grief — I told you she lost her husband — and so my poor youngest child turns to me. Her husband has been taken sadly.”

“What’s wrong with him?” the Countess inquired. She had been a music-hall star in her younger days and she continued to look very smart in spite of a tendency to palsy, and she talked with the youthful Cockney twang that she pretended she used on purpose.

“I fancy he’s been drinking too much again,” Mrs. Lane replied.

“Ah, if it’s that,” the Countess said decisively, “then you’re rahhly in trouble, my deah. I know poor Harold was the same — would have his little tipple, he would, and he ended that way. Nothin’ to do about it, nyether. I used to rampage a bit and he’d get frightened at first. In the end, poah deah, it only made him drink more. I had to let him drink himself to death, I rahhly did.”

This was not encouraging, and Mrs. Lane took her way homeward by plane as soon as she could get a seat, which she was able to do very soon, to the surprise and annoyance of the man who had already engaged it. She knew how to use William’s name in secret places.

She found Ruth alone. Emory, who had come to meet her at the air field, went with her. Ruth began to weep when she saw her mother in the hall standing still so that the maid could take off her coat properly, and Mrs. Lane, regarding her daughter’s tears, saw that Ruth cried as a middle-aged woman exactly as she had as a child, almost soundlessly and with bewildered pathos. She put out her stout arms and wrapped Ruth in them. “There, there,” she said. “Everything is going to be all right now. I’ve come to stay with you. You need me more than Henrietta does. Where is Henrietta?”

“I don’t know,” Ruth sobbed. “I can’t think about anybody but Jeremy. Oh Mother, why does he — the doctor says it’s a symptom. Something is still making him unhappy — but it’s not me, I’m sure. I do everything he wants me to.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lane said, pulling her daughter along firmly in the circle of her right arm as she moved into the drawing room. “Men like to get drunk — some men. That’s all there is to it. It’s not any woman’s fault.”

Emory kissed Ruth an inch or two off the cheek. “William feels quite desperate, too, dear Ruth. We all want to help poor Jeremy.”

“He was so deceitful about it, Mother—” Ruth cried. “He went off to the office every day apparently to work and instead he took a room at his club and just began, and went on, all by himself. When he didn’t come home, of course we had to find him. He had locked the door and they had to break it down. He was unconscious. I had Doctor Blande go and get him. They took him straight to the hospital. I haven’t even — seen him. Doctor Blande says I mustn’t just now.”

She began to cry again. Mrs. Lane sighed and Emory sat, quietly beautiful, looking at these American relatives. She knew why Jeremy had gone off. It was his revenge upon William, the revenge of a weak man upon one invincible. She had sympathy for the weak, but she was prudent enough to cast her lot with the invincible. William was right to be invincible in the sort of world there was now. It was the only chance one had for survival. She was invincible, too, at William’s side. She pitied Ruth and felt a new admiration for William’s mother, sitting solidly and without tears.

“Ruth, there’s not a bit of use in your crying now that I’m here,” Mrs. Lane said. “I’m sorry for you. Your father was a saint. You’re used to good men. William, too, is so good. It’s natural that a man like Jeremy should be a trial to you. But you belong to the family and you’ll be taken care of. My advice is to let Jeremy stay right where he is until William tells us what to do. Maybe you ought to let Candace know, so she can go to see him.”

Ruth shivered. “Oh, I can’t! She’d think it was somehow our fault.”

“Then she’s very silly,” Mrs. Lane said loudly. “The trouble with Jeremy is that he was brought up to be spoiled. He can’t live up to William’s standards. Now you go and wash your face and brush your hair. You’ll feel better. There’s nothing you can do for Jeremy, not a thing. We may as well have a bite of something to eat and go to a matinee! It will take our minds off our troubles. Emory, why don’t you come with us? That’s a handsome frock you have on. I’ve always liked that shade of yellow, especially with jade. That’s handsome jade, too.”

“William brought it from China,” Emory said. “Madame Chiang gave it to him for me.”

“She has wonderful taste,” Mrs. Lane said. “What a pity the Communists have taken over!”

They were alone, for Ruth had left the room as obediently as though she were a little girl. Mrs. Lane leaned toward Emory. “Jade looks nice with dark hair and eyes. William ought never to have married Candace. She was a blonde, you know. He always liked brunettes best. The Chinese wear a lot of jade. Of course they’re always brunette. Some of the Chinese women have very beautiful skin. It reminds me of yours. I used to know the Old Empress Dowager. In fact, we were almost intimate. She had that sort of skin, very smooth and golden. She wore a lot of jade. William always liked to hear about her. I took him to see her once, by special permission.”

“He has told me that,” Emory said.

“Nobody could forget the Empress,” Mrs. Lane said with complacency.

Ruth came in, looking pretty again. Her short curly hair was almost white and very becoming. They went away at once since it was already late, and they found the theaters so crowded that they could only get seats at a new musical.

At the dinner table that night Emory described to William the effect of the afternoon and he listened gravely. They seldom had guests nowadays. Since the war they had fewer really distinguished visitors from abroad and not many Americans were interesting enough to be invited for a whole evening.

“I shall advise Ruth to get a divorce,” William said with decision. He had grown very handsome with the years. The discontent which had marred his face from childhood was almost gone.

“Oh, can you?” Emory murmured mildly.

“Certainly, why not? She’s not a Catholic,” William replied. “Moreover, at her age she will certainly not marry again. For my own part, I shall be glad to be rid of Jeremy.”

Emory did not reply. They sat in comfortable silence. She was glad that she need not live now in England. How ghastly might her life have been in such penury as Michael and his family endured! He was trying to make the farmlands pay, for the government was threatening to take over Hulme Castle if he could not. The only really safe and comfortable spot now in the world was America.

This thought moved her to an unusual idea. “William, what would you think of a cozy family dinner now that your mother is back, something to gather us together again in these troubled times? After all, there’s nothing quite like family. I think it would comfort your poor sisters and impress the children, you know. We needn’t ask the grandchildren.”

William’s heavy eyebrows moved. He pushed aside his salad. He had never liked salads, which he called food for rabbits. “I am going to Washington next week to insist on more arms for Chiang. I gave my promise to him — a promise I hold sacred, in spite of what’s happened in Korea.”