Harlan Cozad McIntosh

“ Martin knew an alternative in that purple morning. A gun—the shot—the quick flutter of his hand.
“No,” he whispered. “Too demure. Fruitful, but demure.”
Outside, the sun blended into trucks and the yapping noise of turning wheels. He dressed and went into the street, stopping at the nearest bar. And strangely, in all his tiredness and fear, arose the man as he had been—straight from the ocean, with clear eyes that had watched the sea so often, and with hand half-raised as though holding the helm of his ship. It was momentary; but the bartender stood looking at him quietly and with respect. ”

“ The ice locking her mind moved restlessly.
“They do good, Martin. Not everyone plays with love and pain the way you do.”
“Let me rest, Deane. I want to rest.” He leaned for a moment against the divan and then got up. “You’re the only one I care about,” he said wearily. “Can these ponderous technicians, with their burden of world-pain give you happiness? Can you let their hard lines of conduct, which apply to the diseased, disturb our concept of life? Top-heavy and non-elastic—surely they cannot appeal to your ideas!”
Deane knew that he was splendid in his agony. She wanted to kiss his cheeks. ”

“ Drink it, Roberts!—That I should measure my life in terms of one night! One night with Martin, with his [302] young face and old eyes. With his laughter and his understanding. What agony to be born one night and die the same! Better not to be born at all.... Why, Martin, did you swagger through the door with your flapping dungarees and proud head?... Angels dancing in the eyes that hold only devils now. Such insolence! A bright, beautiful distillation of evil. Martin—the god of selfishness, salt to the desire. A blinding picture that grows with absence. ”

“ And what he saw beneath, caused Martin to tremble and lean back in his seat, with his heart beating faster as though the secret had been upon his lips or in his mind. However, that fever which comes upon a man as he sights dimly before him the object of his life’s search—the feeling that it might kill if the secret was discovered, left him suddenly. ”

“ I must forget myself in this issue.”
“Issue?” asked Deane, frowning a little.
“Yes, Deane,” went on Carol. “It’s Martin and you. It is domestic suicide. I watch you clutch this insane illusion of love—bemused by carnal appetite. Lost on the horizon of flesh, your perspective becomes astigmatic. Drowned in beast’s blood, you deliberately blind yourself to an obvious incompatibility. It is my duty to my strength, my life, my God, to break this union.” ”

“ Martin asked himself, observing in spite of his anger this dark woman’s passion, “to condemn the ovary that cries out for its sister?—and absolve by ritual the formulated counterpart in man?” He stood there, pondering in this procession of new thought. “And am I wrong, that I can’t feel the love that topples ethics, puts wire in soft fingers with one breath!... Why can’t I feel the music of one breast upon another? ”

“ And all the hopeless libido went out of him before this other one who was so straight and quiet and held him like—Carol thought, and thought again—like—and then quite swiftly it was revealed to him; like one man holds another. This chemical transmutation within him was so rapid that even Martin failed to see it. Just the same, as Carol, firmly gripped by Martin in equality, knew himself another man, he lifted his shoulders, stiffened in his new pride as he beheld new vistas ”

“ Martin smiled with her and she was satisfied, promptly forgetting the adviser.
“Drew looked very sad when he left, Martin,” she said. “Tell me—did he go just because of you?”
“Deane,” Martin said quite seriously, “we mustn’t keep on thinking that all these forces are created by me.” Martin was pale in the shadows. “That would be a timeless, horrible thought—a possible eternity. Can anything be more terrible than eternity? All this action is separate from myself. It must be. It’s not possible that my demand has been too much!” He was speaking hoarsely when Deane put her arms around him. ”

“ Silence, dead and liquid, held the Verda from both sky and sea. A restless mist, moving downward, obscured the stars. On the land side heat-lightning followed in [15] sheaves. A thin black cloud raised the horizon. It built higher and darker as it rushed at the ship.
Martin pulled off his skivy-shirt. The heat covered his face with perspiration and he drew his arm across his forehead. Isolated on the fo’c’sle head, away from the ship and its crew, there was no proportion. The wind dried his throat and he bent under the apron to breathe, closing his eyes against the lightning. ”

“ Although he was accustomed to this pale Orient, an atmosphere of mauve with the suggestion of a darker tone enhanced by lights, direct and indirect, it seemed to stimulate him now as though it were a new experience. He took a crystal flagon from its glass shelf and shook the bottle slightly, watching the opalescent liquid as hungrily as though he were going to drink it. Removing the stopper, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, shivering; and as an afterthought, carefully shook two drops upon his fingers and rubbed them into his temples. ”

“ Roberts chuckled hoarsely. “My sinful innocent—never to have seen the colored lechery behind his muscles!... Rio—epitome of flesh—carnality in Mother Goose’s shoes—a bundle of white snow—quite terrified.... I’ve seen his bleak face, whipped by wind and wave, and so have you. But it takes death to bring me the knowledge of his simple, frightened passion. Oh!—he will never fail you, although he doesn’t know why.... Enough of him—enough of his cautious, boastful gallantry which makes one sick when one is well, and makes one laugh when one is sick.” Again the adviser hesitated. ”

“ In the half-light of the room Martin could see her profile—could feel the intensity of her womanhood; and it caused him to forget, momentarily, her companion. Holding her throat that way, the way her breast rose under her satin gown, the unnatural silver in her dark hair caused Martin to speculate—to wonder at his own abreaction. He felt awkward and indecisive, yet withal, an inconsiderate urge and tightness under his collar. He could scarcely restrain himself from walking over and speaking. ”

“ He hadn’t got a job at the Station—or was Roberts lying. “Gentlemen here vested with that privilege!”
Rio took a train to Forty-second Street. The bright, flashing lights of Broadway shut out the early stars. The hurrying expanse of faces had less individuality than waves. There was no bond between their eyes and his, impassionate. They were as eternal, as indestructible as ants. They passed him, died, were born and passed again; a long, driving throng, pale and imperishable, [64] typed and counterparted into immortality. Rio turned away, disgusted. Martin wasn’t there. He’d die in such a sea. ”

“ There was a card on his desk marked MR. ROBERTS. Martin studied him with concentration, knowing that this man through whom he might be placed demanded understanding, subtle coyness and perhaps, beauty; for he saw a person hesitant in sex and yet requiring it; a man lurid of cheek, yet pale; a contradiction with a flush abnormal as its pallor. The look of Roberts was more theory than fact; although Martin thought, amusedly, that certainly this personage, most elegant, existed almost regally. ”

“ Don’t laugh, Deane, but I can smell icebergs.”
“What do they smell like?” Deane asked curiously.
“Some sailors say the bergs smell like wet sea moss; others say it’s like a pocket of cold salt. But to me they have no positive odor. It’s more like a taste. It’s like kissing an ammoniated mirror.”
“That’s strange,” said Deane, looking at him queerly.
The wind outside was raging and whistling through the radio antennas as through the rigging of a ship.
Deane made fresh coffee. As Martin was finishing his cup, she asked him gravely, “Martin, how are you going to live? What will you do?” ”

“ Martin waited, amazed at the clarity of Roberts’ words, amazed at this strange and powerful mind, still formidable. Again the adviser looked at him.
“Die?” he asked peevishly. Then more firmly, “No you won’t, darling. Unhappy men don’t die.... Could you give me your strong, brown arm without shuddering? It would mean a great deal to me.... I can see your strong, brown arm where there’s heat and dark, flashing clouds. It’s peeling a tangerine—cutting a fruit for lips as soft as the flesh in my spine—oh, wicked!... A dark girl’s belly—the cup for your mouth. Oh, God, Martin! ”

“ Through the darkening blue her white cheeks softened, became pink and sent out threads of coral. Poseidon shook his head in wonderment and happiness. It was just what a man wanted. That was all. The memory of Deane faded from him as Amphitrite, her face still coral, gently removed his crown.
As the water became darker, Deane’s dream became less happy. She couldn’t compete with green hair, a white face and those commanding, jeweled hips. She was despondent. She didn’t want King Poseidon. She wanted the earth again and stars and a warm, comfortable hand. ”

“ He found retreat in their noise and liked to feel that he was a lever or cam, bending or turning inconspicuously in the tide of words. He hid his revulsion as an automaton and mixed his sweat with the oil of the machinery. There was an acrid taste of hot lead in the air, a taste of ink, the taste and rattle of matrices. Martin could feel his shoulders bend into the machine—could see the horizon shrink to the area of light on his copy. Type, type, type—up with the line. Feel the grinding of the fellow, pressing, digesting. Out with the slug, searing hot and good to calloused fingers. ”

“ Not even Deane believed.”
“Not even Deane,” repeated Martin, his wounded arm shaking against the silken counterpane.
Roberts’ eyes were becoming glazed.
“They’d all feel cheap, if they could see us now. Your arms around a corpse—a corpse that strikes to prove itself!” His thin hand pushed against Martin’s broken nose, falling again and again on Martin’s face which failed to recognize the pain. “You love me, though I’m defeated, my dear boy.” ”

“ Drew leaned forward frowning, puzzled. “What kind are you?” he asked. “You, Martin, could vulgarize the very Church.” He sipped his drink, although Martin left his own glass untouched. “Prosaic as it may be,” Drew went on, “it is not myself with whom I’m concerned. It isn’t myself, or Roberts, or even you that I am most deeply worried about. It’s Deane.” He lifted a finger, decisive, commanding. “In her you have found sweetness, tenderness and passion—a physical, well trained animal. Don’t speak!” He held his finger warningly again as Martin’s brooding shoulders straightened. ”

“ A pretty picture, eh, Rio?” said Martin bitterly. “A naked white man, as bloody by this time as the Sudanese, racing through the Red Sea with a dying boy who thought I could make him live—for that was what he kept saying all the time.”
“Cut it,” said Rio, his face hard. “Did you get him to the boat alive?”
“Yes,” answered Martin. “The nakhuda and another Arab hoisted him aboard and we laid him on the deck, out of the sun, with his head propped up. There were only minutes left, with nothing to do but magic; so I rubbed his wrists and whispered the Lord’s Prayer to him. ”

“ There will always be violence in your dreams, and that will be some outlet. And there are gymnasiums and little fishing boats where you can break your neck in a more restrained fashion.” Deane closed her hands on his, and spoke with a desperate gravity. “And you can always swear loudly to me about the world’s tyranny—perhaps I’ll swear a little, also. But you can’t go back to bad ships and worse men, and be part of an organized brutality. I want you here with me. I want you to work on your beautiful ideas and build a solid foundation for both of us. You look different, Martin. ”

“ Martin went slowly to Roberts’ apartment house, his head lowered. His right arm was in a sling, the lower part of his mouth was bruised and split. His nose was swollen. He went up in the elevator to Roberts’ rooms and rang once. A doctor came out into the hall. For a moment the two men regarded each other speculatively. Martin saw the blue, introspective eyes, the strong turn of the chin and the gray hairline, receding deeply at the temples. The physician saw a young man with a broken, illusive face. ”

“ He crossed the deck and faced the shore. An aluminum crust broke the dark shoulder of mountain, rising higher till its bright shale covered the swing of beach with moontide. Burning from the painting ran the moonspindle, striking the ship. Martin dropped his head and stared into the blue foam.
Above him, Orion swung easily past the foremast and returned; Polaris grew in the north; and behind him, the Southern Cross lay on her side. He grabbed the mainstay, pulled himself up on the apron and lay on his back. ”

“ Martin took the other by his arm.
“I want to be as good a friend as you’ve been to me, Roberts,” he said, trying to speak calmly. “Every contact, economic or social that I have, you’ve made for me. I’d not be myself if I were unappreciative. That’s not it alone, though. We have many things together—food—and music—isolate cynicisms—and all these have their place. You understand. You know, also, that even with [87] the best of friends, sometimes a path divides. Certain diversions, certain loves, are found impossible in common.”
“But love is what I need,” said Roberts quietly. ”

“ The little man looked at his beer and drank it slowly, bitterness and necessity in his expression.
The nearest Relief restaurant was at the far end of the Bowery. Martin walked along, sticking to the edge of the sidewalk, glad that his dungarees were clean. The horizons of the sea outlined the figures of the people about him. They moved down the street, slack-mouthed, too tired to be desperate. Martin saw them as an old river, full of eddies and currents—muddy, yet retaining the purity of utter despondency.
In a doorway, out of the late afternoon sun, a man lay [32] sleeping as though drugged. ”

“ He slipped off the side of the fountain and faced Rio. In the quiet night, without a moon, the open stars drew their icy shine across his eyes. He lit a cigarette and in the brief flare, Rio could see the drawn lips, the contemptuous silhouette and the sharp lines in his face.
“Time doesn’t count, Rio. Kindly don’t be in a hurry.” Martin spoke softly. “And remember, I’m talking about [351] myself and not you, so don’t be anxious. You’ve asked me a question in your manner, and I’ll answer it in your manner, Rio. I am.” ”

“ Rio stared at the door where Martin had left.
“There goes a clever lad,” he said. “He knows us well.” He turned to Roberts and glared at him. “He knows you well, indeed. I’d hate to be you. I can see the black days. And,” he added, laughing, “he knows me, all right—but, he don’t know himself. He’ll whip himself to death.” At the word “whip,” Rio had hesitated. Although the room was cool, he started sweating. Without even saying good-by to Deane, he put on his cap, quickly went outside and slammed the door so hard that the floor shook. ”

“ Roberts spoke bitterly. “Martin! For the last time I ask you to forget a cycle that has brought you only unhappiness.”
Martin got out of his chair.
“You should never try to be clever with me, Roberts. I respect the frank demands of the body. Petty intrigues disgust me. Your intricate desires have overruled your intelligence. As an invert I respected you. As a subverter I find you intolerable.”
Roberts walked toward him, motioning, his head shaking. His shining black hair fell across his face which had turned from red to a lurid purple. The white part of his eyes took on the same color. ”

“ Beulah nodded graciously, her eyes a little brighter.
Kate thought once more, “You old bitch! I hope you choke on it and get as blue as blue can be!”
“Kate, dearie,” said Beulah, after her fourth, “there’s just the right touch of bitters to the bottle—it makes one have a feeling of heavenly bliss!”
Kate smiled and thought, “You don’t know a good drink from a bad one. You just take all you can get, and that’s all you know. You might have been pretty in your day—but your blooming days are past forever.” ”

“ You own it all, from the boiling center of the earth unto the farthest, coldest star.”
Martin held him closer. He stared at Roberts until the sick man’s eyelids lifted, showing the brief, unfocused glance. There was recognition, but complete indifference. The vacant, polite smile was only a slight movement of the lips. Had Martin not been blinded by his own fine helplessness—his deepened affection, he would have seen another thing. He would have noticed the oddly rounded chin with its slackness—its hint of cogent lechery below the hungry bones that stretched the cheek of the adviser. ”