"Thanks very much. A very generous, if general invitation."
"Discovered!" Schroder laughed. "All right then. Six o'clock at the Auditorium. Woman's entrance. I'll wear a red rose in my ear. Can't miss me."
Ruth nodded.
"There you are, George," Schroder cried. "All done in a minute. And tomorrow we'll be in love with each other. What'll you marry us for, your Honor? Remember I helped elect you." A boisterous laugh that seemed to mock the boastfulness and prophecies of the man and say of itself, "I'm joshing all of you including me...."
Basine left them. His heart was heavy, uncomfortable. He sat on the bench frowning at the scene. Eager lawyers whispering; a woman in a green hat holding a handkerchief to her eyes; a bald-headed man on the other side of the long mahogany table; faces for a background. A divorce case. The woman weeping was a wife. The bald-headed one with the air of a board of directors' meeting about him ogled his accusers with dignity.
He was a husband. The jury sat dolorously inattentive in the box. A witness was testifying.
Other people's troubles. An interminable jawing back and forth--lawyers, defendants, witnesses and more lawyers. Basine frowned. Other people's troubles--and he had his own. This thing before him was an intrusion. At best he had no sympathy for the interminable jawing that went on under his eyes. He had grown passionately interested in what he called the people. But when he thought of the people he thought of them as a force, a group, an army standing with faces raised repeating certain slogans--a vision that Doris had bequeathed him. The interminable jawing, weeping, accusation and denial before him from day to day had nothing to do with the people. About these individuals he was cynical.
And more, he was not interested.
The witness was testifying. The intimidating air of the judge seemed to confuse her. Her confusion irritated Basine. He turned indignantly and faced her with a bullying frown.
"What is it you're trying to say, madam? Did you see this man beat her?"
"Yes, your honor.... I.... I ... that is...."
Basine controlled his temper and grimaced humorously at the jurors whose faces at once lighted with an appreciative smile. A fearless man, Judge Basine, who couldn't tolerate the mumble mumble of legal technicalities and who struck at the roots of things when he took charge of a witness.
... They were in the room behind him. Alone. An intolerable thought.
But, impossible to keep his thought away. His imagination like a merciless flagellate, belabored him with fancies. Paul would teach her.
Lean over and kiss her. And she would kiss in return and whisper, "Paul...." He was unmarried and good looking. Perhaps she was heartbroken, too. He, Basine, had never spoken despite the light he had recognized of late in her eyes. She was in love with him and filled with despair because her love was useless. So now she would turn to Schroder in desperation. She would try to forget him, Basine. It was logical.
Women forgot hurts in that way--by giving themselves to someone else.
The heaviness grew unbearable. Another man was touching Ruth. This was unbearable. He couldn't stand it. But why? What difference? He couldn't.... She was so beautiful. Another man's hands were desecration.
A weakness came to him. His heart darkened. What if she did, with Schroder? They were probably kissing now. It had been hard to imagine himself kissing her. To him she somehow seemed aloof, beyond possession.
But it was easy to imagine Schroder. Men and women put their arms around each other and that was an end to aloofness.
He made an effort to pull himself together. Voices were droning around him--other people's troubles. Faces thrust themselves tactlessly at his eyes. He grew nauseated. He had never felt like this before. As if he must do something despite his will. His will said, "Sit there. Don't move. It's none of your business." But this other thing was pulling him out of his seat and moving his body for him.
He clenched his teeth and muttered to himself, "She's no good. Wasting my time on her!"
"That will be all for today," Basine muttered. He placed his hand wearily over his forehead. This would make them think he was ill. His clerk came forward.
"Anything wrong, Judge?" he asked with concern.
Basine shook his head with Spartan indifference to the mythical disease consuming him.
"No," he said, belying his answer in its tone, "court is adjourned until ten o'clock tomorrow."
He nodded briefly at the faces. The solicitous regard in the eyes of attorneys and jurors reassured him. He was ill, very ill--that was it.
Of course, that was it. The eyes of the attorneys and jurors said, "You are working too hard. You must be careful of a nervous breakdown. In your prime too. Be careful."
He walked off the bench, his step unsteady. He was acting. But the fact that his step was not authenticly unsteady was an accident--and illogical. He felt it logical to walk unsteadily since everyone thought him ill and on the verge of a breakdown.
"You'd better go home, Judge."
Basine nodded gratefully to his clerk. He opened the door to his chambers. The sight of Schroder bewildered him. Schroder was still there. He had his hat in his hand, though. Basine stared at his friend.
His heart contracted and his breath fluttered in his throat.
"What's wrong, George?"
"Nothing. Headache. Knocked off for the day."
Words were hard to speak. His eyes turned to Ruth. She was watching him.
Frightenedly, he thought. Had she done something? Kissed? They looked guilty. He tried to find answers to the questions by staring at her. Was she the same as she had been? Or had she given her lips? A vital question. They were going out tonight together. Basine controlled himself. He sat down at his desk and ran his hand wearily over his head.
"Well, so long," Schroder spoke. "Hope you feel better, George." A pause. "See you later, Ruth."
See her later! They had no sympathy for his illness. They would go out and laugh, hold hands, make love--despite his trouble. He sat brooding over the cruelty of women. "Cruel. No finer feelings," he mumbled to himself.
They were alone. Was he ill? What was it that had lifted him off the bench? Nothing definite. A dark disorder in his mind, a heaviness in his heart that had seemed part of the room. He wanted to moan. Yes, he was sick.
"Can I do anything, Judge?"
He hated her. Her voice with its hypocritical concern. As if she cared for him. After what had happened between her and Schroder ... see you later ... and he called her Ruth.
"No, Miss Davis."
This was unbearable. He would insult her. There was relief in insulting her, making her suffer for something, too. But she might go away if he did. He couldn't go on with his work any more. Work was impossible. A disease was active in him sending out dark clouds that choked his thought and swelled his heart with pain. She might leave for good. Then what could he do? Nothing. But why all this make-believe? He would tell her he loved her. Simple. That would drain him of his pain. He stood up and paced. She was at her desk, he noticed, eyes large and excited.
But he could do nothing, say nothing. He was impotent. Good God! he must. How? No way he could think of. The thing was smothering him.
Before--days and weeks before--he had kept it down. But now it had slid from underneath and was in his head. There was no outlet. He dared not talk.
No thoughts were in his mind. Henrietta, his children, home, morality, marriage, none of these was in his mind. But there was a restriction, a wall he could not pass. There were things holding him with merciless hands. They gripped at his body and thrust themselves like gags into his mouth.
She had risen and was standing near the window. If he kept to his pacing he must come near her. It was her fault. He was just pacing. She was in his path. If he walked straight to the end of the room she would be in his path. Why should he turn out for her?
He paused beside her. He must say nothing. It was talk that was impossible. He stood looking at her until his eyes grew bewildered.
There was a moment in which he seemed to vanish from himself, as if he had stepped bodily out of himself. His thought paralyzed with a curious terror, he saw nothing. The moment of unconsciousness passed and he was still alive and still on his feet. His voice lay under control in his throat and the memory of his name sat like a perpetual visitor in his thought.
But there was a change. A miraculous thing had happened. He was no longer Basine. He was a stranger in a strange world. He was holding her in his arms. An impossible sensation was in him. This was something he couldn't believe. He wanted to look at himself. He had his arms around her. But there was no woman in the circle of his arms. He was holding something that let his delirium escape. Torments were emptying themselves in the embrace. The miseries that had accumulated under the surface of his months of resistance, were leaving him, flying from him.
His heart was growing unbearably light.
"Oh!" he murmured. Her arms had tightened and he saw her eyes approach him. They were rapturous.
She was warm, intimate, close to him. Her lips, still piquantly strange, were offering themselves. She was unlike everything he knew. A startling vigor, as if he had been changed into a rampaging giant, swept him as they kissed. He was great, strong. He could walk over the heads of the world. He had no need for further embrace. He stepped away, his face radiant.
Ruth looked at him in confusion. This was a new Basine. He frightened.
The mask was gone, the frown of preoccupation. She grew dizzy in the light of his eyes. He was a stranger. What should she call him? But he was talking to her in a voice that he seemed to have kept secret.... "I love you, Ruth. I love you."
He laughed. She smiled uncertainly and felt that her face looked awkward. She could see the lines of her cheeks bulging as she lowered her eyes. This confused her and made her feel stiff. There had been something of this sort a few minutes ago in Paul Schroder when he had tried to take her hand. But now the thing she had noted calmly in Schroder seemed a puny imitation. Here it was real. He was laughing, softly, joyously. He was like a boy. Her heart filled with panic. She put her arms quickly around his neck and pressed herself close to him.
The panic went out of her deliciously.
"George, I love you. I'm so happy."