Conrad Aiken - The Collected Short Stories of Conrad Aiken

Margaret felt a sharp pain in her breast.

“I get off at Queenstown,” she said. “Tomorrow night.”

“ Do you?”

He accented the first word, and looked at her with a curious helplessness. They both dropped their eyes and became silent.

At that moment Katy brought Mr. Diehl and introduced him, and the game began. Margaret and Katy explained how it went to Mr. Camp, with a good deal of laughter. Mr. Diehl gave Mr. Camp a cigar.

“What’s your line of business, Mr. Camp?” he said.

Mr. Camp said that he was an architect. He was going over to superintend the construction of a new office building that an American firm was putting up in London. Margaret felt a thrill. She slid her right foot forward under the table, so that the toe of her slipper touched something. Then Mr. Camp, after a moment, caught her foot between his two feet and squeezed it firmly, and they looked at each other and smiled.

VI.

At four o’clock the deck-steward brought them tea, and Mr. Diehl began telling them in his deep voice, with a slight German accent, how he had come to America at the age of sixteen and worked in railroad repair shops. He said he was sixty-eight years old and strong as an ox, and he looked it. He told Mr. Camp about his Whirligig Car, at Coney Island, and how he got the idea for it in his work on trucks in the railroad yards. Now it had made him a fortune, and he was going over to Blackpool and Southport to put them in there.

Margaret couldn’t listen. She was impatient. She wanted to go off alone with Mr. Camp. She pressed his foot hard, under the table, and smiled at him. But he didn’t take the hint, or couldn’t think what to do. It was Katy who saved the day. She got up and suggested that they all take a stroll—it was a lovely warm day and a shame to be indoors. Besides, the lounge was getting stuffy.

“Come on, then, Katy!” said Mr. Diehl.

He jumped up and gave her his arm with mock gallantry—the sort of thing he was always doing—and they started off.

“Shall we walk too—or shall we stay here?” said Mr. Camp.

“Whatever you like,” said Margaret.

“I feel terribly separated from you, without your foot,” he said, laughing. “But I suppose we ought to get a breath of air.”

They climbed up to the top deck and began walking to and fro. He didn’t offer to take her arm, but walked rather distantly beside her. At first they couldn’t think of much to say—they talked about the whist game and Mr. Diehl, but not as if they were really interested in these things. Margaret felt as if she wouldn’t be able to think straight till she took his arm, so after a few turns on the deck she did so.

“That’s better,” she said simply.

“Much!”

“Tell me,” she said, “if I hadn’t spoken to you, would you ever have spoken to me?”

“That’s what I came into the lounge for,” he answered. “Ever since lunch yesterday I’ve been wondering what on earth to do about it. I’m kind of shy, and these things don’t come natural to me. But I thought, if I went into the lounge, some kind of opportunity might occur. That’s what I was there for. But I was terribly relieved when you started it off.”

“You must think I’m very bold.”

“Good Lord, no! You had a little more courage than I did, that’s all.”

They talked then about Ireland, and she told him that she was going back to visit her mother for the summer. She was a cook, she said, and her employer, Mr. Converse, who was very nice, had given her three months off and paid her passage to Queenstown. She had been in Brooklyn for ten years. She was twenty-five. He asked her if she was married, and she said no.

“I am,” he said.

She felt again that pain in her breast.

“I thought you were,” she said, looking intently at him.

He wanted to know why she thought so, and they stood and leaned against the railing, with their shoulders touching and their faces very close. His eyes, she noticed, were even bluer than the sea. She couldn’t tell him why she thought so, exactly—it was just something about him.

“A woman can almost always tell when a man’s married,” she said. “But I’m glad you told me, all the same.”

“I believe in being honest, especially at a time like this.”

“How do you mean, at a time like this?”

He gave her a queer look—the corners of his mouth were twisting a little, as if he were under a strain, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“No, honest, I don’t!”

“Well, you certainly ought to,” he said. He turned around and put his arms on the railing and stared down at the water. “I mean the way we feel about each other.”

She held her breath. He had said it so nicely and so quietly, and without even trying to hold her hand.

“How do you know we do!” she said, smiling.

He smiled back at her.

“All right—let’s see you look me in the eye and tell me that we don’t!”

She looked away from him, sobering.

“We oughtn’t to be talking like this,” she answered. “What about your wife? You know it isn’t right.”

“Of course it isn’t … Or is it?… I don’t know.”

“What does your religion tell you?” she said.

“I haven’t got any.”

“Well, I have. I’m a Catholic.”

“Do you go to confession?”

“Sure, I do.”

They were silent. She was half-sorry she had rebuked him, and half-glad. But he had to know how she felt, even if it hurt her to tell him. She didn’t want him to get any false ideas. After a minute, as he didn’t say anything, but just went on staring at the water, she turned and looked at him. He was resting his chin on his hands.

“Would you like to walk some more?” she asked, almost timidly.

They walked round and round the deck, while slowly the sunset behind them faded and the sky darkened. He said that he always thought the sea sounded louder at night, and she stopped to listen to it, to see if it was true. She said she couldn’t see any difference, or any reason why there should be any. They talked about Katy and Mr. Diehl. Miss Diehl, she said, was likely to die most any time—she had a very bad heart. But she insisted on doing everything just as if there wasn’t anything the matter with her. Everybody at the dance had been scared that she would just drop down on the floor all of a sudden. Her face had got very white.

“Let’s go down and find Katy,” she suggested.

They went down the ladder to the lower deck and found them sitting in the sun parlor, holding hands.

“Is that what you’re doing!” said Margaret.

Mr. Diehl gave his deep rumble of a laugh. “I’ve got a pretty nice little girl,” he said, patting Katy’s shoulder.

Margaret and Mr. Camp sat down at the other side of the veranda. He pulled his chair up close to hers and she dropped her hand on her knee, where he couldn’t help seeing it. He put his own on top of it after a moment, and they just sat still without saying anything for a long while. He stroked her thumb with one of his fingers, to and fro, and the smooth hollow between the thumb and forefinger, and she felt as if she were being hypnotized. Once in a while he would slip his finger up her sleeve and touch the inner side of her wrist. And once in a while, as if accidentally, he would stroke her knee. She knew he wouldn’t try to kiss her.

“My stateroom is next door to yours,” he said, after a time. “If you should want me for anything in the night, don’t hesitate to come in.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t think there’s anything I’d want,” she answered. “Unless one of us was to be sick, or something like that.”