Free Appointment in Samarra by John O'Hara Page B

I know what it is. What s the condition?
    That you be in bed when I get home, he said. Now? In the afternoon?
    You always used to love to in the daylight. He reached over and put his hand high on the inside of her leg. She nodded slowly. Ah, you re my sweet girl, he said, already grateful. I love you more than tongue can tell.
    She spoke no more the rest of the way home, not even goodbye when she got out of the car, but he knew. It was always that way when they were away from their home, and made a date to go to bed when they got home. When they made a date like that she thought of nothing else until they got home. She wanted nothing else, and no one else could take anything of her, not even the energy that goes into gregarious gayety. Always she seemed then to crouch a little, although she didn t actually crouch. But whenever they did that, from the moment she agreed, to the ultimate thing, she began to submit. And driving away he knew again, as he had known again and again, that with Caroline that was the only part of their love that was submission. She was as passionate and as curious, as experimental and joyful as ever he was. After four years she was still the only woman he wanted to wake up with, to lie glowing with yes, and even to have intercourse with. The things that she said, the words he had taught her, and the divining queries that they put to each other they were his and hers. They were the things that made her fidelity so important, he believed; and when he thought of how important those things were, the words and the rest, he sometimes could understand that the physical act in unfaithfulness can be unimportant. But he doubted that infidelity is ever unimportant. He stopped the car at Harry Reilly s house, where Reilly lived with his widowed sister and her two sons and daughter. It was a low stone and brick house, with a vast porch around three sides. He pushed the bellbutton, and Mrs. Gorman, Reilly s sister, came to the door. She was a stout woman with black hair, with a dignity that had nothing to do with her sloppy clothes. She was nearsighted, wore glasses, but she recognized Julian. Oh, Julian English. Come on in, she said, and left the door open for him to close. She did not bother to be polite. I guess you want to see Harry, she said. Yes, is he here? he said. He s here, she said. Go on in the living-room and I ll go up and tell him. He s in bed.
    Oh, don t disturb him, said Julian, if he s still asleep.
    She made no answer. She went upstairs. She was gone less than five minutes. He can t see you, she said. He stood and looked at her, and she returned his look without a word and her expression said, It s up to you.
    Mrs. Gorman, you mean he won t see me? said Julian. Well, he said to tell you he can t see you. It s the same difference.
    I came here to apologize for last night, said Julian. I know you did, she said. I told him he was a fool to raise a stink about it, but you can t change him. He has a right to stay sore if he wants to.
    Yes, I know.
    I told him what he should of done was give you a puck in the mouth when you threw the drink at him, but he said there were other ways of fixing you. She was completely ruthless and honest, but Julian had a suspicion that she was a little on his side. You don t think it would do any good if I went upstairs?
    Only make matters worse, if you want my opinion. He has a black eye.
    Black eye?
    Yes. It isn t much of a one, but it s there. The ice from the drink. You must of slung it pretty hard. No, I guess the best thing you can do is go. You won t get anywhere hanging around here now, and he s upstairs waiting till you go so he can curse you out once you get outside.
    Julian smiled. Do you think if I leave and he curses me out, it d be all right if I came back then?
    Her face became a little angry. Listen, Mr. English, I don t want to stick my two cents in this one way or the other. It s none of my affair. But I want to tell you this much. Harry Reilly is a sore