Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

'A couple of months later, at the start of November, I was told I was going to cover the start of postwar reconstruction in Germany... but could first take some leave in the States. When I broke the news to her that I was departing, she was a little sad... but also realistic. It had been pleasant. We liked each other. And I thought she was really swank. Hell, I was a Catholic mick from Brooklyn, whereas she was this classy Episcopalian from Mount Kisco. I went to Erasmus High. She went to Rosemary Hall and Smith. She was way out of my league. She knew this too - though she was too damn nice to ever say that to me. Part of me was flattered that she'd even deigned to spend time with me. But stuff like this happens during wartime. She's there, you're there... so, why not?

'Anyway, I sailed from England on November tenth, never expecting to see Dorothy again. Two weeks later, I met you. And...'

He broke off, stubbing out his cigarette. Then he fished out another Lucky Strike and lit it up.

'And what?' I asked quietly.

'I knew'.

Silence.

'It was immediate and instantaneous', he said. 'A complete jolt. But I knew'.

I stared down into my coffee cup. I said nothing. He reached again for my hand. I kept it flat on the table. His fingers touched mine. I felt myself shudder. I wanted to pull my hand away again. I didn't move it. When he spoke again, his voice was a near-whisper:

'Everything I said to you that night, I meant. Everything, Sara'.

'I don't want to hear this'.

'Yes, you do'.

Now I pulled my hand away. 'No, I don't'.

'You knew, Sara'.

'Yes, of course I fucking knew', I hissed. 'Thirty-two letters, forty-four postcards... and you ask me if I knew. I didn't simply miss you. I longed for you. I didn't want to, but I did. And when you didn't respond...'

He reached inside his overcoat and pulled out two envelopes. He placed them in front of me.

'What's this?' I asked.

'Two letters I wrote you, but never sent'.

I stared down at them. The envelopes were embossed with the US Army seal. They both looked worn and a little aged.

'The first letter was written on the ship back to Germany', he said. 'I was planning to mail this to you as soon as we docked in Hamburg. But when I arrived there, a letter was waiting for me from Dorothy, telling me she was pregnant. I immediately requested a weekend leave, and took the boat-train to London. On the way there, I made up my mind to tell her that, much as I liked her, I couldn't marry her. Because...' another deep drag of his cigarette '... because I wasn't in love with her. And because I had met you. But when I got to England, she...'

'What? Fell into your arms? Cried? Said that she was so afraid you were going to abandon her? Then told you she loved you?'

'Yeah - all of the above. She also said her family would disown her if she had the child on her own. Having since met them, I know she was telling the truth. Don't blame her...'

'Why the hell would I blame her? Had I been in her position, I would have done exactly the same thing'.

'I felt I had no choice. The old Jesuit teaching kicked in: you are accountable for your actions... you cannot escape the sins of the flesh... all that enlightened Catholic guilt stuff compelled me to tell her that, yes, I would marry her'.

'That was very responsible of you'.

'She's a decent woman. We don't have major problems. We get along. It's... amiable, I guess'.

I made no comment. After a moment, he touched one of the envelopes and said, 'I wrote the second letter to you on my way back to Hamburg. In it, I explained...'

'I really don't want to know your explanations', I said, pushing both letters back towards him.

'At least take them home and read them...'

'What's the point? What happened happened... and over four years ago. We had a night together. I thought it might be the start of something. I was wrong. C'est la vie. End of story. I'm not angry at you for "doing your duty" and marrying Dorothy. It's just... you could have saved me a lot of grief and heartache had you just come clean with me, and told me what was going on'.

'I wanted to. That's what the second letter was about. I wrote it on the boat-train back to Hamburg. But when I arrived there, and found three of your letters waiting for me, I panicked. I didn't know what to do'.

'So you decided that the best approach was to do nothing. To refuse to answer my letters. To keep me dangling. Or maybe you just hoped I'd finally get the message and vanish?'

He stared down into his coffee cup, and fell silent. Eventually I spoke. 'Ego te absolvo... is that what you want me to say? Shame I could have dealt with. Guilt I could have dealt with. The truth I could have dealt with. But you chose silence. After swearing love to me - which is a huge thing to swear to anybody - you couldn't face up to the simple ethical problem of coming clean with me'.

'I didn't want to hurt you...'

'Oh, Jesus Christ - don't feed me that dumb cliche', I said, a wave of anger hitting me. 'You hurt me more by keeping me in the dark. And then when you deigned to send a postcard to me, what was your message? "I'm sorry." After eight months and all those letters, that's all you could say. How I despised you when that card arrived on my doormat'.

'Sometimes we do things we don't even understand ourselves'.

He stubbed out the cigarette. He was about to light up another one, but thought better of it. He looked disconcerted and sad - as if he didn't know what to do next.

'I really should go', I said.

I started to stand up, but he took my hand.

'I've known exactly where you've lived for the past couple of years. I've read everything you've written in Saturday Night/Sunday Morning. I've wanted to call you every day'.

'But you didn't'.

'Because I couldn't. Until today. When I saw you in the park, I knew immediately that...'

I removed his hand from mine, and interrupted him. 'Jack, this is pointless'.

'Please let me see you again'.

'I don't go out with married men. And you are married, remember?'

I turned and moved quickly out the front door, not looking back to see if he was following me. The January night air was like a slap across the face. I was about to turn back west towards my apartment, but feared that he might come calling again. So I headed south down Broadway, ducking into a bar in the lobby of the Ansonia Hotel. I sat at a table near the door. I downed a J&B. I called for one more.

'Sometimes we do things we don't even understand ourselves'.

Yes - like falling in love with you.

I threw some money on the table. I stood up and left. I hailed a cab. I told him to head downtown. When we reached 34th Street, I told him to head back uptown. The cabbie was bemused by this sudden change of direction.

'Lady, do you have any idea where you're going?' he asked.

'None at all', I said.

I had the cab drop me in front of my apartment. Much to my relief, Jack wasn't loitering outside. But he had paid me a visit, as the two envelopes were waiting for me on the inside front door mat. I picked them up. I let myself into my apartment. I took off my coat. I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. I tossed both letters into the trash can. I made myself a cup of tea. I went into the living room. I put on a Budapest String Quartet recording of Mozart's K 421 quartet. I sat on the sofa and tried to listen to the music. After five minutes, I stood up, walked into the kitchen, and retrieved the letters from the trash. I sat down at the kitchen table. I laid the envelopes before me. I stared down at them for a long time, willing myself not to open them. The Mozart played on. Eventually, I picked up the first envelope. It was addressed to my old Bedford Street apartment. The address was smudged, as if it had been briefly exposed to rain. The envelope itself was crumpled, worn, aged. But it was still sealed. I tore it open. Inside was a single piece of Stars and Stripes stationery. Jack's handwriting was clear, fluent, easy to decipher.