Alfred Kreymborg

“ Stick to your joy, Erna!”
Erna was indulging in more abstract matters than she had ever attempted, for she said: “I can’t help it, I suppose. I love joy and happy people. An’ fresh air, strength, freedom.” But it was Nielsen’s fault, he used such a subtle method of probing her.
“That’ll do, Erna,” he interrupted. “You have spoken. There is nothing to be added to fresh air, the breeder of strength, the breeder of freedom. This ought to be enough philosophy for one day, eh? We’ll have headaches soon, won’t we?” ”

“ The customers, who had been joined by others from the rear dining room, refused to leave the kitchen, each one wishing to pay Erna homage by compliment or by taking her arm. Jimmy Allen was forgotten. At first, the girl, conscious of the sensation she had created so accidentally,—killing rats was not entirely new to her—faced her worshippers with an exultant smile. Soon, she tired of their praise, and more so of their physical attentions, a repetition of their usual conduct toward her. Furthermore, the storekeeper’s attitude rankled deeper and deeper, until anger controlled her. ”

“ Nielsen smiled. “If what you say is true, we’re all of us more or less immoral.”
“Why so?”
“Because every one barters his soul some time during his existence, and some of us are doing so all the time. At heart, you know, we’re most of us, unmoral, in appearance, moral, but in action, immoral.”
Breen laughed in amiable derision. “What scrambled egg philosophy!” he cried. “Where did you learn it, noble scholar?”
“Nowhere,” Nielsen answered and frowned. But his ready good nature intervened and he observed gently: “At any rate, Breen, I disagree with you regarding Erna.” ”

“ And she was only a waitress. But she was far more than that, an individual, as Carstairs had vaunted that time; she had lived a life harder to endure than that loaded upon his educated acquaintances, for example, and yet, she, lacking their knowledge and so called experience and wisdom, controlled life; life did not control her. And Nielsen, who seldom overlooked dissecting himself along with others, admitted readily that Erna attracted him powerfully, and not in the name of the story, which he had forgotten—for the present, anyhow. ”

“ He leaned closer to the keyboard, lowered his head and was soon engulfed in what he was rendering—so much so, that he did not turn to keep in touch with the pictures, as was his habit. The yearning sentimental composition had made him captive.
Let others talk against Erna, he would still hold fast to his faith in her. Breen was a cynic, and Nielsen too. They flattered themselves that they knew human nature, but they did not, for they were lacking in sympathy. He had been foolish to listen to their prattle concerning Erna. ”

“ Even such a fine tonic as that supplied her so freely by her resource of blood found the healing of her wound no ordinary matter, but she had recovered, except for an occasional memory. Her battle with her craving for Nielsen did not assist her attachment for Jimmy; on the contrary, the latter degenerated by contrast. And Jimmy, himself, was very much to blame as well. He had changed toward her.
It is no doubt true that possession often breeds boredom, and boredom, carelessness. Erna, before possession and after possession, was not the same individual, and Jimmy treated her accordingly. ”

“ Nielsen broke in. “When are we to hear an end to this?”
“He’s jealous,” said Erna.
“Of course,” Nielsen admitted. “To the painter go all the spoils. No one ever poses for a writer. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Why?” she challenged.
Nielsen got up in a hurry. “What?” he demanded in mock seriousness.
“Order, order!” she said roguishly and looked away.
“But—”
“Order, order!” Breen echoed. “The lady is right. We must have order. Besides, we haven’t ordered.”
Nielsen fell back with a philosophic sigh. “All is unfair when bad puns make their appearance.” ”

“ Nielsen laughed, and she followed his example.
“Erna, I envy you,” he started again.
“Why?”
“Nothing downs you long. You’re such a happy Indian that you’re able to run your world.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. It takes happy people to run the world, you know.” ”

“ He had no desire to make any personal use of Erna’s present mental condition, but nevertheless, he proceeded: “Erna, you must be tired.”
“Yes?”
“Certainly. You need a little rest—a little diversion. Let me help you out; there’s a sensible girl. Will you come over and spend part of the evening with me?”
His request had not been a bold one; he had made it seriously, and with no thought of himself. But Erna gave him a sharp look. He met her glance with an honest one and pursued: “I don’t want you to pose for the story, as I asked you yesterday—honestly, I don’t. ”

“ His greeting of Erna was of the heartiest cordiality and cheer. And he required only a minute or two to settle her comfortably on the couch and to make her feel otherwise at home. She was not surprised. On the contrary, she entered immediately into the mood of the young writer’s hospitality.
“Well, Rat-wife, how’ve you been?” he commenced. “I haven’t seen you since this morning.”
“Why do you call me Rat-wife?”
“Because you’re a professional rat catcher.”
“I’ve caught rats before,” she confessed.
“Have you? Great! I always thought you must have had another vocation in life.” ”

“ Erna related the rest of the incident. He was quietly attentive to every detail, and at the conclusion of her recital, broke out cheerfully: “The trouble with the German is that he’s too slow to catch even a cockroach. Therefore, he resents speed. So Landsmann calls you down. And the girls—well, they’re children, like most females. You’re entirely too dramatic for their comfort.”
Erna never quite understood Nielsen, but she mellowed down to some of her old good nature. Nielsen continued his reassuring nonsense, and gradually, the rest of her good nature was restored. ”

“ While the ordinary magazines must minister to a large public little interested in poetry, this magazine appeals to and will develop a public primarily interested in poetry as an art, potentially the highest, most complete human expression of truth and beauty. Thus it offers to poets a chance to be heard by their own audience, in their own place, without the limitations imposed by the popular magazines. And to lovers of poetry it offers each month a sheaf of new verse in delicate form uninterrupted by prose articles demanding a different mood. ”

“ Nothing else existed; in no other way could he hope to reach the realm of artist. He must drive Erna and the other evening’s sensations from his memory. She had served as his model, no more; so he must not permit her personality or his own to interfere again. Furthermore, he must be cautious on her behalf as well. She was a joyous, healthy animal. Jimmy Allen was a joyous, healthy animal. They were mated, and were living together, undoubtedly. The chapter was closed. He must not desire more.
Nielsen tightened his resolve. ”

“ Let each one, in his own way and for himself, perhaps, pay her attentions—I don’t mean, make love to her—but simply, well, let him take her to the theatre or to supper some evening—she’s free nights—and find out how close he can get to her—I don’t mean seduction—but that he penetrate her character. Let each, in his own way, learn for himself, and later we’ll compare notes and decide whether the respected lady has the moral or the unmoral tendency or even whether she might develop an—er—”
“See here, Breen!” Carstairs exploded. ”

“ She hated Landsmann’s more and more. She could not endure the place many days longer. And this would be her first home. But suppose she should want to change—as she had done so often before, due to her hatred of any steady existence? Her hands would be tied. Marriage meant loss of freedom. She cared for Jimmy, yes, but not quite enough. If she were only given more time for a decision! Perhaps, Mr. Nielsen would help her to decide. But she would not ask him.
“What’s the matter?” Jimmy demanded once more and with returning anxiety. He came closer.
Erna turned toward him. ”

“ He then arighted himself, went over to the piano, moved the photograph of an older woman to one side and placed this picture near the centre. He was soon occupied studying the effect, and ultimate satisfaction was his.
He again sat down at the piano, but was unable to take his glance from the picture. Eventually, he smiled, gave the picture an au revoir look and again turned his attention to the keyboard and manuscript. He had decided to finish his composition just the same. The dirge continued intoning its gloomy measures, but a note of prophecying gladness appeared. ”

“ Come on, Erna!”
Still, the girl refused to answer, but it was evident that she was weakening—as Jimmy was aware too. Hurriedly, he recounted his victory of last night, emphasized the fact that he was stronger than ever, knew “more about the game,” and outlined the near future: that he was soon to meet Young Walcott, whom he would dispose of, and some unknown from Chicago. He would have quite a little money shortly, and he could support her “as a decent woman should be supported.” She would be happy. They would both be happy. “Come on, Erna!” he concluded. “Be a sport!” ”

“ IV An evening performance was in full swing at the Phoenix Music Hall, a small but well attended five and ten cent moving picture and vaudeville establishment on Eighth Avenue, not far from Landsmann’s. At present, the moving pictures were doing a turn, and the auditorium was dark. Music from a piano, placed close to the stage, was the only accompaniment, but it was an adequate one. A young, slender, anaemic individual was seated at the piano. ”

“ His manager, the astute Jerry Nolan, was losing patience with him. He bluntly attributed his protégé’s decline to the fact that he was “livin’ with a woman. A man’s got to cut out drink if he wants to succeed as a athlete, but he’s got to be sure to cut out women. They sucks his blood an’ strength.”
Jimmy did not agree with this sentiment. He continued to live with Erna. What is more, he had threatened to move out of the Nolan apartment and “to throw up the sponge”—quit the prize-ring—if his manager persisted in arguing along these lines. ”

“ It was Bainbridge Breen who had spoken. The girl left the dining room with a cheery: “All right!” The young artist turned to his friends, Carstairs and Nielsen, who were sitting with him at the rear table: “Mocha tart is still the prince of Landsmann pastries.”
“You’ve made up with Erna, I see,” Nielsen ventured quietly.
“Oh, of course! I’m too busy a man to spend any time harboring animosity. Besides, I guess I’m sufficiently broad-minded to forgive the girl her indiscretion.” ”

“ The composer was ready with a hot retaliation when Nielsen interposed: “Now don’t let’s revert to that topic again, Breen. We can never know the whole story, and it only annoys John to refer to it. We know that Erna was down and out at the time—she’d just come to Landsmann’s, was unsettled and that sort of thing—that much we know and that young Allen followed her there with an offer of cash. At least, she intimated something like that to John and said it was a case of being good or bad then and there. She chose being good. ”

“ Erna averted her glance. The old thoughts passed in quick review: Landsmann’s—Mr. Nielsen’s advice—scraps of the past—home. She could live with him a little while and then marry him if all went well. That seemed best for her. ”

“ Breen applauded. “There’s nothing like work after all, and we all seem engaged to that lady at present. She’s the best wife in the world.”
Nielsen smiled philosophically, but the tired expression had revisited Carstairs’ face. The trio continued eating their supper, and the conversation strayed to other and less personal topics.
That same evening, Erna was to meet Jimmy Allen. The hero of Landsmann’s was well ahead of their appointment time, for he was strangely excited. He had some news to impart to Erna. ”

“ Breen, although silenced, was busy reflecting; Carstairs’ ire was appeased. Nielsen concluded: “Let’s take up Breen’s proposition, John, each in his own way, whatever that may be, and then we’ll compare notes some day and settle the business. After all, Erna’s only a waitress; we needn’t spend more than an ordinary amount of excitement over her.”
“But she isn’t a waitress. I tell you, she’s a woman.”
“All right, woman let her be,” Nielsen conceded gracefully. “Now, we don’t want to sit here throwing words and phrases around all evening. We’ve been at it too long as it is. ”

“ He must forget himself. She would think him a fool. Besides, she might learn how much he—No, she must not learn that. He commenced improvising.
The young composer blundered considerably at first, but his self-resentment helped him, and his efforts soon displayed more coherence and warmth. Should he open his program with “To Thee”? Why not? Why wait until later? But she might understand. She might catch its significance and then—But how could she know that he had written the composition? It might just as easily belong to some other composer. ”