Camilla (21 page)

Then we just walked very quietly for a while, holding hands, and all about us the first real snow of the winter started to fall, dropping its soft white stars between the houses onto the street, falling so softly, so tenderly about us. All the city noises seemed muted, muffled in whiteness. The streetlamps came on, the light streaming from them in moving gold arcs. The intimacy of streets is more beautiful and comforting when it is snowing than at any other time.
The snow curls around the corners, falls like silence between the houses, piles over the curb so that street and sidewalk are lost in white. I knew that by tomorrow the snowplows would have cleaned the streets, feet would have smutched the sidewalks, the remaining snow would be black and soiled; but as I walked through the evening, holding Frank's hand, the snow was free and pure, and it seemed part of my happiness.

We went to the Stephanowskis for supper and they made me feel warm and welcome. After supper we played some new recordings Mr. Stephanowski had brought over from the shop, and then it was time to go home. I didn't dare stay out too late.

Frank said, “Camilla, I wish I could take you home in a taxi, but I'm afraid it will have to be the subway.”

“I'd rather go in the subway anyhow,” I said.

The snow had stopped falling, though the sky was still full of snow clouds. With the snow on the ground and the heavy white clouds hanging low over the city, everything seemed touched by a strange white light, almost the way you might expect it to look on the moon.

When we got out of the subway and started walking toward the apartment house, Frank and I were suddenly very quiet, as though the talking we had been doing all day had drained us of words. I felt that I could not say another thing because now the beautiful long day was over and I knew that it had been the biggest day of my life so far. I thought that I could not bear it because the day was over and I did not know when I would see Frank again. He had said nothing and I could not ask.

Then, suddenly, in the middle of the quiet snowy street, Frank stopped and said, “Camilla.”

We stood there very still in the street and we were alone; there was no one coming in either direction; there were only dark houses on either side and the snow between. We stood there very close together, and almost without moving we seemed to become closer and Frank's cold clean cheek was pressed against mine. We stood there with our cheeks together, cold and clean, and I felt my heart beating terribly rapidly, and I could hear Frank's, too, a strong swift thumping against my chest.

Then without saying anything we started walking again. We walked until we got to the house and then Frank just said, “Good-bye, Camilla,” in an odd sort of way and left me.

The elevator boy leered at me and said, “Haven't seen your boyfriend lately.”

“What?”

“Your boyfriend. Mr. Nissen.” He gave a strangling sort of giggle.

“Oh, him,” I said, and it was as though I hadn't heard because my mind never touched even the thought of Jacques. I was still out in the snow with Frank and I thought I would die of agony because he had left me without saying anything about seeing me again.

When the door of the elevator had closed behind me I stood in the hall without pulling out my latchkey and things I had not noticed during the day came back to me: David's saying that I was the nicest of the girls Frank had brought to see him. Who were the other girls? What about Pompilia Riccioli? Luisa had said that Frank liked girls. Perhaps I was just
one of dozens of girls Frank liked for a day and then dropped in favor of someone else.

But then I thought, No. I couldn't have been as happy as I was all day if it hadn't meant something to Frank too.

That night I dreamed a dream. I dreamed that I was standing on a cold and snowy plateau somewhere at the isolated edges of the world. I was standing there all alone, and all about me the snow was falling. No matter in which direction I turned I could see nothing but snow. Snow on the ground, snow in the sky, snow falling in the air about me. And I knew that I was terribly frightened and terribly alone. Then, out of nowhere, Frank was standing beside me. He said, “Camilla,” the way he had said it on the snowy sidewalk, and then he took me and held me tightly in his arms and kissed me. When he kissed me in this dream all the snow melted away and we were standing in a green field filled with flowers, with tulips and narcissi and daffodils and irises, with all the flowers that had had the courage to push up through the snow, knowing that spring would be there.

Then I woke up. I didn't know what time it was, but it couldn't have been terribly late, because there were still lights on across the court. And suddenly, for no reason that I could explain, I flung around on my pillow and began to sob. I sobbed and sobbed and I couldn't stop and I was terribly afraid that Mother or Father would hear. I pressed my face into the pillow and finally the sobs stopped coming. But there remained an awful aching in my body and all I wanted in the world was to be standing out on the snowy street again, close to Frank, with my cheek against his.

Then I thought about his kissing me in the dream, and I
tried to imagine what it would be like if he really kissed me, and I knew that I wanted him to kiss me more than anything in the world.

The next morning at first I didn't remember the dream. I got up and took off my pajamas and stood in front of the long mirror on my door looking at myself almost in the same way I had looked at myself on that morning of my birthday when I had first realized I was Camilla Dickinson. I stood there naked and looking at myself until I began to shiver, and then I dressed and went into Mother's room; and I was able to put my arms around her as she lay in bed waiting for her breakfast tray, and kiss her, and say, “Good morning, Mother.”

Her arms went around me terribly quickly, terribly gladly, and she said, “Oh, good morning, my darling, my darling, good morning.”

My father was standing in front of his mirror tying his tie, and I said, “Good morning, Father.”

He smiled at me. “We seem to have our old Camilla back.”

Oh, no, I wanted to tell him. This is a new Camilla, an entirely different Camilla.

But I just said, “Well, I think I'll go call Luisa.”

“Oh?” my father said. “Does that mean Luisa or her brother?”

“It means Luisa,” I said. “I thought maybe I'd go down to see her this morning.”

“I see,” my father said. “Well, I'm delighted that you've decided to consult us about it this time, at any rate.”

“Don't, Raff,” my mother said quickly. “Don't take your bad mood out on Camilla.”

“Are you in a bad mood, Father?” I asked.

“Your mother says I am.”

“Camilla darling, I'm so glad you enjoyed—” my mother said. “Frank must be a nice boy to have given you such a happy day yesterday.”

“Yes.” I thought of the day and I was excited and happy. And I was frightened because I was afraid there might never be another like it.

“I don't like your being out alone so late at night,” my father said.

“I wasn't alone. I was with Frank.”

“Frank's just a child.”

“Frank is seventeen,” I said. “Next year he's going to college.”

“Oh, let her enjoy herself these last few weeks, Rafferty,” my mother said.

My father gave a start of annoyance. I was suddenly very frightened. “What did you mean, ‘these last few weeks'?” I asked.

“Camilla, oh, darling,” my mother said, “your father and I have—I'm sure it's the best thing for you, the very best— we've talked and talked about it.”

“About what?” I asked.

My father turned around and looked at me. “Camilla, I'm going out now. I wish there were time for us to have a talk before I go but there isn't. I'll have to talk to you when I get back.”

“I want to know what it is now!” I cried, and there was panic in my heart.

“I haven't time to talk to you now, dear,” my father said. “I'll be back for supper and I'll talk to you then.”

“I'm going out right after supper,” I said. “Please, Father, what is it?”

“Who are you going out with after supper?” my father asked. “Luisa? Or Frank?”

“I'm going to see David,” I said. “David Gauss. I promised I'd play chess with him.”

“Camilla, really,” my father said. “You pick the most inconvenient times— Who on earth is David Gauss? Where did you meet him and why are you playing chess with him?”

“Raff, go on.” Mother sat up in bed and frowned anxiously. “I'll talk to Camilla.”

“I intend to wait long enough to learn who David Gauss is,” Father said.

“He's a veteran,” I cried. “He lost both his legs in the war. Frank took me to see him yesterday. He can't ever walk again and he has no one to play chess with and I know how to play.”

“Oh,” Father said, and he sounded less irritable and excited. “I see. Where does he live?”

“On Perry Street.”

“In the Village?”

“Yes.”

“He certainly doesn't expect you to go all the way down to Perry Street alone and back at night, does he?” Father asked.

I began to feel angry. “I don't think he thought about it. He doesn't know where I live.”

“I'm sorry, Camilla,” Father said, “but I can't allow you to make that trip alone at night.”

“I've been to Luisa's alone.”

“Not with my knowledge.”

“I have to go,” I said. “I promised.”

“I'm sorry, Camilla,” Father said again. “I forbid you to go there alone, and that's final.”

“Perhaps Carter could take her down,” Mother suggested.

“Carter goes off on Sunday evening.”

“Father,” I said, “David was in the war. He lost both his legs. I promised him. I have to keep my promise.”

My father opened his mouth to speak again and the telephone rang. Mother answered it. “Hello? . . .” She held the receiver out to me. “It's for you, darling. I think it's Frank.”

It was. “Hi, Cam,” he said. “Listen, about your going to see David tonight. Do you want me to take you?”

It was as though somehow he had heard the conversation between me and my parents and was coming to my rescue. “Oh, Frank, that would be wonderful!” I cried.

“Well, listen,” he said, “if it's okay with your mother I'll pick you up at Carnegie after your concert and we'll go out and get something to eat and then I'll take you over to David's and bring you home.”

“Oh, Frank, that would be wonderful,” I said again. “Wait a minute and I'll ask Father.” I turned to my father. “Father,” I said, “Frank says he'll take me to David's and bring me home.”

“Will he call for you here?” Father asked.

“He wants me to have supper with him,” I said. “He'll pick me up at Carnegie after the concert and then he'll take me to David's and bring me home.”

“Very well, dear,” Father said. “This one time.”

“It's all right,” I said to Frank. “He says it's all right.” And I felt as though a whole sky full of birds had risen up inside me and were flying to the sun.

My father pulled me to him roughly. “I'm sorry if I've seemed disagreeable this morning. I'm trying to get a million and one things done in a short time and it makes me irritable. I'll be off now.” He patted me on the shoulder and then turned to Mother and said, “I'm sorry, Rose. I've been a bear this morning. Forgive me.”

My mother put her arms around my father then and clung to him. The strange thing was that never before had I seen my mother do anything that I felt to be
me
, but now she clung to my father in the way in which I would have liked to cling to Frank. I moved over to the window because I felt that perhaps I shouldn't be looking.

My father stood there for a moment, holding my mother. Then he said, “All right, Rose. Relax. Calm down.”

I turned and saw my mother's face and she looked as though my father had struck her. She said, “Oh, Raff—”

And my father said, “Okay, say it. Get it off your chest.”

My mother said, “I've tried to say it so many times, and it never seems to mean anything to you.”

I could see that my father was trying to be patient. “You've been trying to say what?”

“And I can't say it now. I can't say what I want to say. I hold you—I—I clutch you, because I love you so desperately, and time is so short, we have such a little time in which to live and be young, even at best, and I put my arms around you and hold you because I want to love you while I can and I want to
know
I'm loving you, only it doesn't mean anything
because you aren't afraid. You aren't frightened so that you want to clutch it all while you can.”

Now I knew that they had forgotten that I was in the room, standing half obscured by the window draperies, and I was afraid to move, because I felt that this was very big, that what my mother was trying to tell my father was terribly important, and if I moved, even the smallest bit to let them remember I was there, it might break it.

My mother said, “Jacques is afraid. That's why—”

“Why what?” my father asked harshly.

“We hold each other because we're afraid and there's so little time for love and comfort.”

Now my father's voice was rough. “You can say that in almost the same breath that you say you love me!”

My mother gave a cry of despair. “You see, you see! I've tried to tell you again and you don't understand!”

My father turned and left the room and all of a sudden I realized that he was crying. I had seen my mother cry so many times I couldn't count them and it always distressed me, but it didn't rock my foundations. If my father cried then Atlas's foot indeed had slipped.

My mother stood very still for a moment. Then she rushed out after my father. I waited by the window for a long time, my cheek pressed against the cold glass, but they did not come back.