Part 12 (1/2)

But my mother had for the moment marvelously recovered. She might have been addressing Anneke, so purely sovereign was her sally. ”Then your requests must be generally worthless,” she superbly brought out.

He seemed not to mind this a bit. ”In that case there must be something in the way I ask!”

But she was no less sly. ”Is it your tone?”

”Don't compare my tone with yours!” he rallied. ”Mine's perfectly charming. You don't see me intimidating anybody, do you? The nicest thing about me is-you know what?-I'm amenable.”

”Yes,” my mother said. ”I'm aware of your amenability.”

He permitted himself a practised hesitation. ”Oh, when it comes to that, I can recall yours. It doesn't take much digging up, if you're interested in the archaeology of it. You remember that night after the parade-”

”There were lots of parades,” Enoch said suddenly; his voice came between them with the brusqueness of a guardian or keeper. I had nearly forgotten the third person in the room, and all at once I thought it odd that the private visitor, Enoch's visitor who had come on Enoch's business, should direct everything all deftly at my mother: and odder yet that Enoch should pace and pace (his footfalls continued to shudder and tramp and weave a ring) and let them sniff up their cage unhindered. ”Dozens of parades,” he said, ”nothing but parades”-still, it was impossible to tell from this whether he spoke in defense of my mother, inside the bars; it might as easily have been an accusation.

”She knows which one I mean.”

”No,” my mother protested. ”I don't.”

”It was January.”

”I don't remember any January.”

There was a brief disparaging silence.

Then: ”She doesn't remember any January,” Enoch said.

”There!” confirmed my mother.

”I see it does you good,” the visitor said softly, ”to think of me as a fossil.”

”I never think of you at all.”

”A real moral good. It's what makes you Mrs. Vand.” He stopped and loosed a self-amused sound, not really laughter any more. ”You don't mind my saying Mrs. Vand? I'm rusty on Allegra, and I think I ought to say Mrs. Vand, under the circ.u.mstances, I mean-”

”Under the circ.u.mstances that's who I am.”

”What?”

”I am Mrs. Vand.” my mother responded stoutly.

”I don't argue it. It couldn't be plainer. I admit to it,” said the visitor, ”gladly, gleefully. I even applaud it. Look, I admit to it with all my heart-”

”I told you to keep your heart out of it.”

”-only I'm somebody too. Look at it that way, Mrs. Vand.”

”You're Nick.”

”All right-”

”And Nick doesn't exist. That proves it.”

”Proves what?”

”That I never think of you.”

”Never?”

”You're the man in the moon.” She was all confidence again. ”You're not there, that's all. You don't exist,” she repeated.

”Not for you, then maybe for someone else.”

But she was practical and patient. ”You don't exist for anyone.”

”No one?”

”Isn't that what I'm saying? No one. Not a soul.”

He seemed to suck on the moment that mildly intervened. ”You prefer it that way?” he pretended to wonder after a while. ”You really prefer it?”

”I more than prefer it. I intend it.”

”You intend it. See!” he said. ”Didn't I tell you we were on the same side? We peep through the same pair of eyes, Mrs. Vand!”

”You might just as well keep your eyes out of it too,” she came briskly back.

”Eyes too? Eyes and heart-you don't leave me much to negotiate with. There's nothing left but arms and legs! You didn't think I came for a wrestling match?”

”You're rough enough, even for that.”

”Rough? Oh, like a diamond in fact! But I know what you mean. I haven't any facets. I come all in one lump-not a solitary s.h.i.+ny part. Still,” he reasoned, ”it doesn't change what I'm worth.”

”I can tell him what he's worth, can't I?” But it must have been the window and the walls as much as Enoch my mother sneeringly addressed; and there was no reply from any of them. Meanwhile the visitor appeared to be mopping away a long meandering trickle of fresh amus.e.m.e.nt: from all that foam his intimate skeptical tones came up h.o.r.n.y and hard, like the dogged dependable back of a turtle. ”I'd like to hear it, Mrs. Vand,” he pursued-”it's just for that I'm here. Perhaps”-and surely the hearty din of his ”perhaps,” with its far convivial reverberations, was struck for Enoch too-”perhaps we can all agree on a price,” he gave out, and let the notion stand.

It stood. ”Price,” said Enoch solidly. ”There you are, Allegra.”

”It isn't as though I didn't expect it,” she complained. ”It's exactly what I expected, didn't I say so?”

But Enoch once more only answered ”Price,” and went on dropping m.u.f.fled steps around the room.

”If you expected it,” resumed the visitor, ”that's better yet We accommodate one another-that's even more than I expected! Although I'm not surprised at your point of view. Mine is just the same. That's the crux of it all-we hold a single intention, Mrs. Vand: you and I! It's remarkable, isn't it?-when you think of it?”

”I have better things to think of,” countered my mother.

”Of course. You're thinking of a price.”

A syllable of outrage fell from her.

”Ah, but when I bring you exactly what you want,” he comfortably reproved. ”I'm perfectly willing not to exist, you see, for someone else”-somehow she obliterated the flare of her little cry-”as long as I can manage to exist for you. That's the thing, after all. One wants one's due.”

Her spite was light and fine. ”Oh, if you were to get that!-”