Jacky S
Suburban Souls, Book II
11
How now, how now? How go maidenheads? Here, you maid?
…what opinion he must have of my modesty, that he could suppose, I should so much as entertain a thought of lying with two brothers?
LILIAN TO JACKY.
Thursday, January 19, 1899.
My very own Jacky,
Are you? No, you are not. You do not love your little girl as she ought to be loved.
I almost had an idea of what would happen to you Thursday night, and I waited a good long time before going up to my room, supposing that if you had missed the train, you would have thought of returning here. I am truly sorry at what happened to you, without nevertheless being able to pardon you the affront you put upon me after all for next Sunday.
No, you are not a man, as you fear a few moments of bad temper or a scolding, for that is the only reason that prevents you coming on Sunday. I can plainly see that I shall never occupy anything else but the second place in everything and every way.
I thank you extremely for all the commissions which you have done deliciously well, therefore I will abuse your kindness and ask you to be so kind as to go to the Opéra Comique when you receive this note, and take the eight-franc seats you mention for Saturday evening.
We will settle up Sunday if I see you, or by letter if you do not come. I count upon your amiability for these tickets. Can you send them to me by post?
You will lose if you don't come. You would find something good, for I feel inclined for a little naughtiness. Those who wish to profit therefrom, please take notice!
I love you too much and I am unhappy.
LILY.
January 23, 1894.
I had executed all the commissions entrusted to me by Arvel's daughter, and had been able to obtain for her, or rather for her father, a very large percentage, such as he would probably not have succeeded in getting. And by the manner in which the little piece of business was done, he must have known that I had managed it. The seats for the theatre, I also bought, and sent by registered letter, to avoid the accident (?) of the preceding October, and I also wanted her to feel that I had never forgotten the lost bank-note. She was so careful not to allude to this when she saw me, that she no doubt felt the implied reproach. I have no recollection how I answered her last letter, but I think I sent her a statement of accounts, and once more impressed upon her that it was impossible for me to leave Paris on a Sunday. I added that I should come down to Sonis on Monday night, the twenty-third of January, by the usual train, with all the receipts for her Papa, and another volume of Justine, ready in an envelope, and if I did not see her, I should slip everything in the letterbox of her villa, and return the way I had come.
So I went accordingly, and found my Lilian strolling in the dark with her dogs. To my great surprise, she was extremely gracious, and had evidently given up as a bad job an idea of trying to drag me away from my dominical duties. She had enjoyed herself very much at the opera, having gone with one of her workgirls. I replied that I had intended to go myself and see her at the play, and she said I ought to have done so. I could not very well answer that perhaps she had not gone with the girl, or that if she had, the latter might have told her parents that I was there. All this proved the bidden complicity of both mother and father, and had I opened my mouth on this topic, it would have led to useless quarrels.
I told her during our walk that Lord Fontarcy was shortly coming to Paris again, and very probably he would show a desire to see her once more.
“You would have to be very kind to him this time, especially as Clara would not be there. You could not refuse giving him pleasure with your mouth, the same as you like to do with me.”
“Oh, no, I could never do that to him! I would use my hand, but nothing else. I have no idea of disgust with you. I would do anything for you!”
“We will see later how far your devotion will take you. I shall feel great excitement in forcing you into the arms of my friend, and I am sorry I do not know anybody else I can trust. You can have no idea how pleased I am to think that you love me well enough to prostitute yourself for my pleasure.”
“Yes, I do love you and all your ideas.”
She said this in a low voice, under the influence of an inward wave of voluptuousness, for I must not forget to remind the reader that our conversations, during these nocturnal rambles, were carried on to a running accompaniment of the most lewd kisses and reciprocal gropings and touchings.
“I have the vilest ideas with regard to you,” I continued, “There is nothing revolting, degrading, or horrible between man and woman but what I should like you to execute with me, and I will eventually force you to say that I have become a vile, repugnant brute in your eyes.”
“Never, never! You don't know what you say. Have I not told you over and over again that everything you do in regard to the pleasures of love is perfection, and just what I like? I have enormous delight with you.”
“I am afraid you would refuse many things when it came to a pinch. Look at all the horrors described in the book you are reading, and which no one should ever know you have perused. By the way, I have brought you down another volume. Well, you have noticed how the poor martyred heroine, Justine, is forced to go with nearly all her persecutors to the water-closet, and wait until they have evacuated, to cleanse their fundaments with her tongue. Would you do that with me?”
The answer came quickly, without hesitation:
“Certainly, I would! I'll go to the closet with you. But I won't let you go with me.”
I now made her tell me the story of Gaston's attempted rape in the train again, and I could not help excusing him. She agreed with me that she had done wrong to lead him on, having never granted him the least favor, but now, knowing what she did about men and their desires, she would never have let him kiss her and play with her to such an extent, if she had no intention of giving way.
This talk and a lot more of the same kind, that I cannot now remember, had made both of us most fearfully excited, and we must have formed a strange picture, if anyone had met us, on the dark road. Lilian's hat was all awry, her hair disarranged, and her face, neck, and throat glistened with the saliva my delighted tongue had deposited on her warm flesh. We held each other closely embraced, and her arms must have been black and blue from the way I had pinched her, always much to her delight.
I desired her greatly that evening, and in my pocket was a leather belt, which I had bought that day, as I had hoped my wayward girl might take me into her house again. Of course, I did not tell her of my peculiar purchase.
I had noticed that she was much stouter, as I held her in my arms, and I told her so. She agreed that there was a slight increase of fat.
“That is because you are no longer a virgin,” I explained. “What makes you say that? I am a virgin, I assure you.”
“You seem strangely altered in many little ways,” I answered, “and your entire bearing, which last year was that of a young girl, is now to my idea more like that of a married woman.”
She laughed. I continued:
“I can soon see if you are a virgin or not.”
“How?”
“I have only to insert my finger gently, if you will let me.”
“Certainly, I will. Why not?”
“Why not indeed? Come along, put your foot up!”
“What do you mean?” she asked, feigning surprise.
“You have only to place one of your little tootsies on yonder bench and I shall be able to tell you in a jiffy.”
She laughed and began to walk a little bit faster, getting away from the bench, and complaining that she was afraid some one might see us. Why had she not found that out before? The silly girl was utterly mistaken in me, and believed she could make me digest the most transparent falsehoods. As I walked by her side, silent for a moment, I could not help asking myself if the game I was playing was worth the candle? Should I not do better to leave her alone entirely to rot in peace, entrenched in her lager of lies, with her mother's lover? The thought of the old gentleman made me inclined to take up my position again, as I wanted to be certain of what was at present mere conjecture. And I was very curious to see what would be Lily's next maneuver. Why did she so wish to keep up the fable of her virginity? I had told her scores of times that she could do as she liked with her body. I was not jealous, nor did I expect fidelity; all I desired was a little love now and again, if she cared to grant it to me, and when she told me to leave her, I would do so without a word, and keep all my suffering to myself This evidently did not suit her, as she must have wanted me to be jealous, so as to have some feeling to work on. At present, I was impregnable. I waited for her to speak, and as I thought, she tried to punish me for my suspicions anent her maidenhead, by trying to arouse my jealousy-which did not exist.
She had been invited to dine out the evening before (Sunday), by Madame Rosenblatt and her sister, together with some gentlemen friends; cousins, brothers-in-law, or what not. If memory serves me rightly, one of them was an officer. I candidly confess that I do not recollect the story properly, as it was rather muddled. In plain words, it was a lie. The only thing that was true, was that she had had what is vulgarly called a jolly good spree, and had dined in a private room with a merry party. I only asked her quite coolly how she managed to elude the vigilance (?) of the silly old grandmother. She replied that Madame Rosenblatt had sent her a false telegram, inviting her to dine with her at her house. The dinner had taken place at the Hôtel-Restaurant Narkola, which I knew from experience to afford bedroom accommodation, as well as meals. She had been so jolly, and drank so much wine, that she had lost a silver purse which hung on the silver chatelaine I never saw. She pretended to be very much put out about this loss, as she was frightened that her Mamma would notice it and ask her awkward questions. There were twenty francs in the purse, too. I replied that there was a slight balance due to me on the commissions I had executed for her father, and I should be pleased to offer her that, and shortly I would give her a new silver purse, although it might not match the one that was gone.
“Oh! That would not matter, but I dare say you think I have told you this story to make you give me something.”
“You should not say that. I only know that you say you have lost a purse with money in it. You therefore need not repay me for the two seats I got for the Opéra Comique, nor shall I claim of you the little sum due to me on your Pa's account. As for the purse-”
“Never mind about that. I thank you for the seats, but I am afraid you will think I expected you pay for them.”
“I do not think anything. I only know that it gives me great pleasure to make you the smallest present in the world and you know very well that it would be impossible for me to accept money from you for theatre tickets.”
She thanked me briefly, and looked up to me with surprise and timidity, as if trying to read me and utterly failing to do so.
I inwardly resolved never to allow her or her people to penetrate my thoughts. The only way was to change my conduct and humour every time I saw them or the daughter. I had no chance at Sonis unless I became a perfect comedian, or walked off altogether.
So I entered on my part at once, instead of showing my suspicions about her virginity, or the absurdity of the story of her dinner with Madame Rosenblatt. I was very gay, respectful, and tender during the finish of our long walk and as we reached the door of the house I gave her the accounts and receipts for her Papa and another volume of Justine. I returned her the letter from Nice, but I kept the typewritten envelope, on which was her name and address. Without asking her to let me into the house, I made as if to go, holding out my hand to say good bye. She broached the subject herself.
“I can't take you into the villa tonight, as Granny won't let me sit up. Even now, she is waiting for me to come to bed, and I shall be scolded for stopping out so late. There is another thing too, that I hardly like to tell you. I am unwell again. I thought it was all over and now I have got what is almost a perte, or flooding, which fatigues me very much.”
“Anyhow you are not enceinte!”
“How amusing you are!” she replied, laughing.
“Poor little girl! I suppose you must suffer too from the 'whites'?”
“How strange you should have guessed that!” She spoke with feigned astonishment.
“I had some fleurs blanches for the first time in my life last Saturday. How ought I to cure them?”
“You must see a doctor and take a course of tonics, and some iron and quinine. I will make you some quinine wine. You should use a syringe with some astringent for the 'whites.'“
“You know I can't take injections!”
This was playing the game rather too strong, but I withheld a bitter laugh, as I bade her a loving farewell and saw her go into the house.
This had been an evening of revelations for me. Papa had left her at home to bring on her periodical flow by hook or by crook, and permission was granted to go with the paying friends and lovers at the accommodating Hôtel-Restaurant Narkola, where I could play the spy the next day if I wanted to know about the banquet. And there was the repeated lie of the maidenhead! Lilian little knew that in habitual liars, persistent, obstinate denigration is equivalent in many cases to an avowal.
I stopped short in my stride on the way to the station, and although it was a frosty night, a heavy sweat broke out upon my brow, as I thought of what might have been. Up to last October, I was deeply struck with Miss Arvel, and had I been rich enough, I do not know where my weakness might have taken me. To think that I might have given my name to her, introduced her into my family, and one day found old Eric in my bed! My marriage would have broken the heart of my poor, sweet, devoted invalid at home. I should have pensioned her off, and sent her to some warm climate-had I been rich. Other men have put away wives and mistresses after years and years of cohabitation; why should not I have done the same-had I been rich? I could have refused nothing to Lilian Arvel, or her parents, and so should never have allowed myself time to analyze their motives-had I been rich.
And I wonder what the few passengers waiting on the platform of the station of Sonis that wintry night, thought of a mad Englishman, who suddenly lifted his head out of the depths of the broad, warm collar of his fur-lined pelisse, and, taking his pipe from between his lips, shrieked aloud:
“Thank God, I'm poor!”
I should not have been human if I had not been extremely annoyed at Lilian's conduct towards me. I was wounded in every way, and I felt there was a lack of confidence; she would tell me nothing of her inmost feelings. I was to be an ordinary victim to her wiles, and this being entirely repugnant to me, I resolved to let her run loose. I was getting tired of her tricky ways.
These thoughts crowded into my brain, as on the twenty-forth of January, I started making her some quinine wine. It was a great success and I manufactured several quarts, which met with the approval of everybody at the villa, as I gave them to her later on.
Lord Fontarcy now reappeared in Paris, and the day after I had made the first lot of wine, we had a quiet bit of luncheon together all alone, as Clara had not accompanied him this time. Naturally, after we had discussed serious matters, the talk reverted to Lilian, and in as few words as possible I stated the case, without seeking to spare my own poor self. His face showed great preoccupation and I could see that he was, in point of fact, quite disgusted with her.
“Why can't she be frank and good to you quite simply, or else let you go in peace and never see you again?”
This was a plain, Anglo-Saxon way of putting things which a woman like Lilian was totally incapable of understanding, and had she been as he wished, this story would never have been written. I asked him if he cared to see her, adding that I knew she would be glad to join us in a little orgy, but he declined, and in a few cautiously worded sentences, led me to understand that he did not approve of her conduct in general, and having no faith or confidence in her, preferred to have nothing to do with her. He was, I think, vexed at her having broken her promise to Clara and him concerning the proposed visit to his place in London, being very sensitive on all such simple points of honor, if I may be permitted to use such a term here. What pleased me most about my good old friend was, that although inwardly disgusted with Lilian's stupid game of hide and seek, he studiously avoided saying anything that I might have construed as being against her. But I read his kindly thoughts:
“She is fooling thee, but that is your own lookout; if you like her calculating, capricious ways, who shall gainsay thee, surely not I, thy friend? But I will have nothing to do with her. She is too dishonest for me, and I fear her, and all such scheming maidens after her kind.”
All the above he did not say, but I knew him well enough, after a friendship of twenty years, to be able to know exactly his great horror of deliberately wicked women.
On leaving him late in the afternoon, I stopped mechanically in front of a jeweler's shop, and my eye fell upon a row of silver purses. I remembered how Lilian had told me that she had lost hers from off her châtelaine, and I resolved to buy her one, and send it to her as a present, which would signify: “Good bye, sweetheart, good bye!”
I chose a pretty purse, with a separation in the middle to divide the gold from the silver, and going into the nearest post-office, I sent her a letter-card, couched, as well as I can recollect, in the following terms:
JACKY TO LILIAN.
Thursday, January 26, 1899.
Little jade,
I have just had lunch with Fontarcy, who desires to be remembered to you. I have bought you a silver purse, with a separation.
“Purse-separation.” How do those words strike you?
I will send it to you shortly, and also your quinine wine, which will be ready in ten days.
I hate you!
“PIGNOUF.”