closed. The day wasn’t Sunday, and it wasn’t any holiday I could think of. When we got to Fifth Avenue, there were American flags flying as far as the eye could see. “Good God Almighty,” I said wonderingly.
“What does it mean?” said Helga.
“Maybe they declared war last night,” I said.
She tightened her fingers on my arm convulsively. “You don’t really think so, do you?” she said. She thought it was possible.
“A joke,” I said. “Some kind of holiday, obviously.”
“What holiday?” she said.
I was still drawing blanks. “As your host in this wonderful land of ours,” I said, “I should explain to you the deep significance of this great day in our national lives, but nothing comes to me.”
“Nothing?” she said.
“I’m as baffled as you are,” I said. “I might as well be the Prince of Cambodia.”
A uniformed colored man was sweeping the walk in front of an apartment. His blue and gold uniform bore a striking resemblance to the uniform of the Free American Corps, even to the final touch of a pale lavender stripe down his trouser legs. The name of the apartment house was stitched over his breast pocket. “Sylvan House” was the name of the place, though the only tree near it was a sapling, bandaged, armored and guy-wired.
I asked the man what day it was.
He told me it was Veterans’ Day.
“What date is it?” I said.
“November eleventh, sir,” he said.
“November eleventh is Armistice Day, not Veterans’ Day,” I said.
“Where you been?” he said. “They changed all that years ago.”
“Veterans’ Day,” I said to Helga as we walked on. “Used to be Armistice Day. Now it’s Veterans’ Day.”
“That upsets you?” she said.
“Oh, it’s just so damn cheap, so damn typical,” I said. “This used to be a day in honor of the dead of World War One, but the living couldn’t keep their grubby hands off of it, wanted the glory of the dead for themselves. So typical, so typical. Any time anything of real dignity appears in this country, it’s torn to shreds and thrown to the mob.”
“You hate America, don’t you?” she said.
“That would be as silly as loving it,” I said. “It’s impossible for me to get emotional about it, because real estate doesn’t interest me. It’s no doubt a great flaw in my personality, but I can’t think in terms of boundaries. Those imaginary lines are as unreal to me as elves and pixies. I can’t believe that they mark the end or the beginning of anything of real concern to a human soul. Virtues and vices, pleasures and pains cross boundaries at will.”
“You’ve changed so,” she said.
“People should be changed by world wars,” I said, “else what are world wars for?”
“Maybe you’ve changed so much you don’t really love me any more,” she said. “Maybe I’ve changed so much—”
“After a night like last night,” I said, “how could you say such a thing?”
“We really haven’t talked anything over—” she said.
“What is there to talk about?” I said. “Nothing you could say would make me love you more or less. Our love is too deep for words ever to touch it. It’s soul love.”
She sighed. “How lovely that is—if it’s true.” She put her hands close together, but not touching. “Our souls in love.”
“A love that can weather anything,” I said.
“Your soul feels love now for my soul?” she said.
“Obviously,” I said.
“And you couldn’t be deceived by that feeling?” she said. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”
“Not a chance,” I said.
“And nothing I could say could spoil it?” she said.
“Nothing,” I said.
“All right,” she said, “I have something to say that I was afraid to say before. I’m not afraid to say it now.”
“Say away!” I said lightly.
“I’m not Helga,” she said. “I’m her little sister Resi.”
24
A POLYGAMOUS
CASANOVA …
A FTER SHE GAVE ME the news, I took her into a nearby cafeteria so we could sit
“What does it mean?” said Helga.
“Maybe they declared war last night,” I said.
She tightened her fingers on my arm convulsively. “You don’t really think so, do you?” she said. She thought it was possible.
“A joke,” I said. “Some kind of holiday, obviously.”
“What holiday?” she said.
I was still drawing blanks. “As your host in this wonderful land of ours,” I said, “I should explain to you the deep significance of this great day in our national lives, but nothing comes to me.”
“Nothing?” she said.
“I’m as baffled as you are,” I said. “I might as well be the Prince of Cambodia.”
A uniformed colored man was sweeping the walk in front of an apartment. His blue and gold uniform bore a striking resemblance to the uniform of the Free American Corps, even to the final touch of a pale lavender stripe down his trouser legs. The name of the apartment house was stitched over his breast pocket. “Sylvan House” was the name of the place, though the only tree near it was a sapling, bandaged, armored and guy-wired.
I asked the man what day it was.
He told me it was Veterans’ Day.
“What date is it?” I said.
“November eleventh, sir,” he said.
“November eleventh is Armistice Day, not Veterans’ Day,” I said.
“Where you been?” he said. “They changed all that years ago.”
“Veterans’ Day,” I said to Helga as we walked on. “Used to be Armistice Day. Now it’s Veterans’ Day.”
“That upsets you?” she said.
“Oh, it’s just so damn cheap, so damn typical,” I said. “This used to be a day in honor of the dead of World War One, but the living couldn’t keep their grubby hands off of it, wanted the glory of the dead for themselves. So typical, so typical. Any time anything of real dignity appears in this country, it’s torn to shreds and thrown to the mob.”
“You hate America, don’t you?” she said.
“That would be as silly as loving it,” I said. “It’s impossible for me to get emotional about it, because real estate doesn’t interest me. It’s no doubt a great flaw in my personality, but I can’t think in terms of boundaries. Those imaginary lines are as unreal to me as elves and pixies. I can’t believe that they mark the end or the beginning of anything of real concern to a human soul. Virtues and vices, pleasures and pains cross boundaries at will.”
“You’ve changed so,” she said.
“People should be changed by world wars,” I said, “else what are world wars for?”
“Maybe you’ve changed so much you don’t really love me any more,” she said. “Maybe I’ve changed so much—”
“After a night like last night,” I said, “how could you say such a thing?”
“We really haven’t talked anything over—” she said.
“What is there to talk about?” I said. “Nothing you could say would make me love you more or less. Our love is too deep for words ever to touch it. It’s soul love.”
She sighed. “How lovely that is—if it’s true.” She put her hands close together, but not touching. “Our souls in love.”
“A love that can weather anything,” I said.
“Your soul feels love now for my soul?” she said.
“Obviously,” I said.
“And you couldn’t be deceived by that feeling?” she said. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”
“Not a chance,” I said.
“And nothing I could say could spoil it?” she said.
“Nothing,” I said.
“All right,” she said, “I have something to say that I was afraid to say before. I’m not afraid to say it now.”
“Say away!” I said lightly.
“I’m not Helga,” she said. “I’m her little sister Resi.”
24
A POLYGAMOUS
CASANOVA …
A FTER SHE GAVE ME the news, I took her into a nearby cafeteria so we could sit
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