you a lot more than I have. I’m sorry if you feel left out, but that must have been your own decision. It wasn’t mine.”
It was her turn to cry out.
“Oh! How can you be so—so cruel! How can you be so obtuse? I don’t think you’ve understood anybody’s feelings but your own, or been interested in anybody’s feelings but your own, for the past ten years. You’ve been so busy scheming how to get on that Court that you’ve just lost all touch with human emotions! You no longer have a heart, if you ever had one!”
“That isn’t how Janie sees it,” he said, knowing he shouldn’t, but driven by some devil he seemed unable to control. “Now is it?”
“Oh!” she cried again. “Oh!” And began to cry, which he thought was probably just a trick, so far had they parted from one another in these recent years and so little did he trust the honesty of her emotions now.
“The thing I will always remember about this day,” he went on quietly in words that he knew were searing, but again, he seemed unable to stop, “is that my own wife spoiled it for me with this telephone call. I thought all my family would be happy for me. The rest are, but the most important one is not. I feel a dead weight of opposition as I take up these new burdens. It doesn’t make them any easier to carry, and it spoils the day that should have been one of the happiest of my life.”
“You are impossible,” she said in a choked voice. “Just impossible. So superior. And so smug. And so—so perfect.”
“I’m sorry,” he said evenly, “but if that’s the way you feel, then maybe we’d better be honest about it and get a divorce.”
“Oh, no,” she said with a bitter little laugh. “Oh, no, I won’t let you get away with it that easily. I’ll stay around for a while and go right on pretending that everything’s all right. You’ve put me in hell, but that will be your hell, Tay. The perfect Justice will continue to have the perfect wife. And how envious the rest of them will be. And how happy we will be.”
“I’m going to hang up now,” he said in a dulled voice. I’ll see you at home. We can talk about it there.”
“No!” she said. “We won’t ever talk about it again! We’ll just go on, that’s all. We’ll just go on.”
“All right,” he said in the same lifeless tone. “Well just go on.”
But how they could, or how he could take up his new responsibilities with the clear head and untroubled heart he felt he must have, he did not know; and all through the afternoon as he took more calls, accepted more congratulations, answered questions from the media, taped two television segments for the evening news, a leaden sadness and worry dragged him down. Just before he left the Department of Labor at 6 p.m., after his secretary had gone for the day, he put in a call to the Washingtonian.
“Catherine Corning, please,” he requested, holding his voice steadier than he at first thought he could.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, “but I believe she’s gone for the day.”
“Do you have a home number for her?”
The standard Washington answer came back.
“I’m sorry, but she has an unlisted number and we’re not permitted to give them out. If you wish to leave your name and number, I can have her call you tomorrow—”
He took a deep breath.
“Just tell her that her friend from Civics I called.”
“Civics I?” the receptionist asked in a puzzled voice. “What agency of the government is that?”
“Just tell her,” he said with a sudden impatient harshness. “She’ll understand.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?”
“That’s for her to decide,” he said in the same tone. “Just do as I say, please.”
“I’ll see she gets the message.” There was a sniff. “I only hope you know what you’re doing.”
I hope so, too, sister, he thought bitterly as he put on his coat and hat and let himself out, saying good night to the handful of guards on night duty. You
It was her turn to cry out.
“Oh! How can you be so—so cruel! How can you be so obtuse? I don’t think you’ve understood anybody’s feelings but your own, or been interested in anybody’s feelings but your own, for the past ten years. You’ve been so busy scheming how to get on that Court that you’ve just lost all touch with human emotions! You no longer have a heart, if you ever had one!”
“That isn’t how Janie sees it,” he said, knowing he shouldn’t, but driven by some devil he seemed unable to control. “Now is it?”
“Oh!” she cried again. “Oh!” And began to cry, which he thought was probably just a trick, so far had they parted from one another in these recent years and so little did he trust the honesty of her emotions now.
“The thing I will always remember about this day,” he went on quietly in words that he knew were searing, but again, he seemed unable to stop, “is that my own wife spoiled it for me with this telephone call. I thought all my family would be happy for me. The rest are, but the most important one is not. I feel a dead weight of opposition as I take up these new burdens. It doesn’t make them any easier to carry, and it spoils the day that should have been one of the happiest of my life.”
“You are impossible,” she said in a choked voice. “Just impossible. So superior. And so smug. And so—so perfect.”
“I’m sorry,” he said evenly, “but if that’s the way you feel, then maybe we’d better be honest about it and get a divorce.”
“Oh, no,” she said with a bitter little laugh. “Oh, no, I won’t let you get away with it that easily. I’ll stay around for a while and go right on pretending that everything’s all right. You’ve put me in hell, but that will be your hell, Tay. The perfect Justice will continue to have the perfect wife. And how envious the rest of them will be. And how happy we will be.”
“I’m going to hang up now,” he said in a dulled voice. I’ll see you at home. We can talk about it there.”
“No!” she said. “We won’t ever talk about it again! We’ll just go on, that’s all. We’ll just go on.”
“All right,” he said in the same lifeless tone. “Well just go on.”
But how they could, or how he could take up his new responsibilities with the clear head and untroubled heart he felt he must have, he did not know; and all through the afternoon as he took more calls, accepted more congratulations, answered questions from the media, taped two television segments for the evening news, a leaden sadness and worry dragged him down. Just before he left the Department of Labor at 6 p.m., after his secretary had gone for the day, he put in a call to the Washingtonian.
“Catherine Corning, please,” he requested, holding his voice steadier than he at first thought he could.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, “but I believe she’s gone for the day.”
“Do you have a home number for her?”
The standard Washington answer came back.
“I’m sorry, but she has an unlisted number and we’re not permitted to give them out. If you wish to leave your name and number, I can have her call you tomorrow—”
He took a deep breath.
“Just tell her that her friend from Civics I called.”
“Civics I?” the receptionist asked in a puzzled voice. “What agency of the government is that?”
“Just tell her,” he said with a sudden impatient harshness. “She’ll understand.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?”
“That’s for her to decide,” he said in the same tone. “Just do as I say, please.”
“I’ll see she gets the message.” There was a sniff. “I only hope you know what you’re doing.”
I hope so, too, sister, he thought bitterly as he put on his coat and hat and let himself out, saying good night to the handful of guards on night duty. You
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