John Passos - The 42nd Parallel

She paid the taximan and went down the stairs to the Long Island Railroad. Her knees were shaky and she felt desperately tired as she pushed her way through the crowd to the information desk. No, she couldn’t get a train to Great Neck till 2:13. She stood in line a long time for a ticket. A man stepped on her foot. The line of people moved maddeningly slowly past the ticketwindow. When she got to the window it was several seconds before she could remember the name of the place she wanted a ticket for. The man looked at her through the window, with peevish shoebutton eyes. He wore a green eyeshade and his lips were too red for his pale face. The people behind were getting impatient. A man with a tweed coat and a heavy suitcase was already trying to brush past her. “Great Neck and return.” As soon as she’d bought the ticket the thought came to her that she wouldn’t have time to get out there and back by five o’clock. She put the ticket in her gray silk purse that had a little design in jet on it. She thought of killing herself. She would take the subway downtown and go up in the elevator to the top of the Woolworth Building and throw herself off.

Instead she went out to the taxistation. Russet sunlight was pouring through the gray colonnade, the blue smoke of exhausts rose into it crinkled like watered silk. She got into a taxi and told the driver to take her round Central Park. Some of the twigs were red and there was a glint on the long buds of beeches but the grass was still brown and there were piles of dirty snow in the gutters. A shivery raw wind blew across the ponds. The taximan kept talking to her. She couldn’t catch what he said and got tired of making random answers and told him to leave her at the Metropolitan Art Museum. While she was paying him a newsboy ran by crying “Extra!” Eleanor bought a paper for a nickel and the taximan bought a paper. “I’ll be a sonova…” she heard the taximan exclaim, but she ran up the steps fast for fear she’d have to talk to him. When she got in the quiet silvery light of the museum she opened up the paper. A rancid smell of printer’s ink came from it; the ink was still sticky and came off on her gloves.

DECLARATION OF WAR

A matter of hours now Washington Observers declare.

German note thoroughly unsatisfactory.

She left the newspaper on a bench and went to look at the Rodins. After she’d looked at the Rodins she went to the Chinese wing. By the time she was ready to go down Fifth Avenue in the bus — she felt she’d been spending too much on taxis — she felt elated. All the way downtown she kept remembering the Age of Bronze. When she made out J.W. in the stuffy pinkish light of the hotel lobby she went towards him with a springy step. His jaw was set and his blue eyes were on fire. He looked younger than last time she’d seen him. “Well, it’s come at last,” he said. “I just wired Washington offering my services to the government. I’d like to see ’em try and pull a railroad strike now.” “It’s wonderful and terrible,” said Eleanor. “I’m trembling like a leaf.”

They went to a little table in the corner behind some heavy draperies to have tea. They had hardly sat down before the orchestra started playing The Star-Spangled Banner , and they had to get to their feet. There was great bustle in the hotel. People kept running about with fresh editions of the papers, laughing and talking loud. Perfect strangers borrowed each other’s newspapers, chatted about the war, lit cigarettes for each other.

“I have an idea, J.W.,” Eleanor was saying, holding a piece of cinnamontoast poised in her pointed fingers, “that if I went out and talked to your wife as one woman to another, she’d understand the situation better. When I was decorating the house she was so kind and we got along famously.”

“I have offered my services to Washington,” said Ward. “There may be a telegram at the office now. I’m sure that Gertrude will see that it is her simple duty.”

“I want to go, J.W.,” said Eleanor. “I feel I must go.”

“Where?”

“To France.”

“Don’t do anything hasty, Eleanor.”

“No, I feel I must… I could be a very good nurse… I’m not afraid of anything; you ought to know that, J.W.”

The orchestra played The Star-Spangled Banner again; Eleanor sang some of the chorus in a shrill little treble voice. They were too excited to sit still long and went over to J.W.’s office in a taxi. The office was in great excitement. Miss Williams had had a flagpole put up in the center window and was just raising the flag on it. Eleanor went over to her and they shook hands warmly. The cold wind was rustling the papers on the desk and typewritten pages were sailing across the room but nobody paid any attention. Down Fifth Avenue a band was coming near playing Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here. All along office windows were brightly lit, flags were slapping against their poles in the cold wind, clerks and stenographers were leaning out and cheering, dropping out papers that sailed and whirled in the bitter eddying wind.

“It’s the Seventh Regiment,” somebody said and they all clapped and yelled. The band was clanging loud under the window. They could hear the tramp of the militiamen’s feet. All the automobiles in the stalled traffic tooted their horns. People on the tops of the busses were waving small flags. Miss Williams leaned over and kissed Eleanor on the cheek. J.W. stood by looking out over their heads with a proud smile on his face.

After the band had gone and traffic was running again they put the window down and Miss Williams went around picking up and arranging loose papers. J.W. had a telegram from Washington accepting his services on the Public Information Committee that Mr. Wilson was gathering about him and said he’d leave in the morning. He called up Great Neck and asked Gertrude if he could come out to dinner and bring a friend. Gertrude said he might and that she hoped she’d be able to stay up to see them. She was excited by the warnews but she said the thought of all that misery and slaughter gave her horrible pains in the back of the head.

“I have a hunch that if I take you out to dinner at Gertrude’s everything will be all right,” he said to Eleanor. “I’m rarely wrong in my hunches.”

“Oh, I know she’ll understand,” said Eleanor.

As they were leaving the office they met Mr. Robbins in the hall. He didn’t take his hat off or the cigar out of his mouth. He looked drunk. “What the hell is this, Ward?” he said. “Are we at war or not?”

“If we’re not we will be before morning,” said J.W.

“It’s the goddamnedest treason in history,” said Mr. Robbins. “What did we elect Wilson for instead of Old Fuzzywhiskers except to keep us out of the goddam mess?”

“Robbins, I don’t agree with you for a minute,” said J.W. “I think it’s our duty to save…” But Mr. Robbins had disappeared through the office door leaving a strong reek of whisky behind him. “I’d have given him a piece of my mind,” said Eleanor, “if I hadn’t seen that he was in no condition.”

Driving out to Great Neck in the Pierce Arrow it was thrilling. A long red afterglow lingered in the sky. Crossing the Queensboro Bridge with the cold wind back of them was like flying above lights and blocks of houses and the purple bulk of Blackwell’s Island and the steamboats and the tall chimneys and the blue light of powerplants. They talked of Edith Cavell and airraids and flags and searchlights and the rumble of armies advancing and Joan of Arc. Eleanor drew the fur robe up to her chin and thought about what she’d say to Gertrude Moorehouse.

When they got to the house she felt a little afraid of a scene. She stopped in the hall to do up her face with a pocketmirror she had in her bag.