The Collected Stories

ends and you return home, let this be nothing more for you than an episode. He’s due back soon. Tell him that you took the bath. You’ll be able to have one in Madrid. We’ll be spending almost two days there, and I’m told the hotel is modern. I’m sure you have someone in New York you love. Sit down awhile.”
    “I’ve just broken up with a woman.”
    “Broken up? Why? You didn’t love her?”
    “We loved each other but we couldn’t stay together. This past year we argued constantly.”
    “Why? Why can’t people live in peace? There was a great love between my husband and me, though I must admit I had to give in to him on everything. He bullied me so that I can’t even say no to my own child. Oh, I’m worried. He never stayed away this long. He probably wants you to declare your love for me so that when he comes back everything will be settled between us. He is a child, a wild child. My greatest fear is that he might attempt suicide. He has threatened to.” She uttered these last words in one breath.
    “Why? Why?”
    “For no reason. Because I dared disagree with him over some trifle. God Almighty, why am I telling you all this? Only because my heart is heavy. Say nothing about it, God forbid!”
    The door opened and Mark came in. When he saw me sitting on the sofa, he asked, “Sir, did you take your bath?”
    “Yes.”
    “It was nice, wasn’t it? You look refreshed. What are you talking about with my mother?”
    “Oh, this and that. I told her she’s one of the prettiest women I’ve ever met,” I said, astonished at my words.
    “Yes, she is pretty, but she mustn’t remain in Turkey. In the Orient, women age quickly. I once read that an actress of sixty played an eighteen-year-old girl on Broadway. Send us an affidavit and we’ll come to you.”
    “Yes, I’ll do that.”
    “You may kiss my mother good night.”
    I stood up and we kissed. My face grew moist and hot. Mark began to kiss me, too. I said good night and started down the stairs. Again it seemed to me that I was on board ship. The steps were running counter to my feet. I suddenly found myself in the lobby. In my confusion I had gone down an extra floor. It was almost dark here; the desk clerk dozed behind the desk. In a leather chair sat Mrs. Weyerhofer in a robe, legs crossed, veiled in shadow. She was smoking a cigarette.
    When she saw me, she said, “Since I don’t sleep anyway, I’d rather spend the night here. A bed is to sleep in or make love in, but when you can’t sleep and have no one to love, a bed becomes a prison. What are you doing here? Can’t you sleep, either?”
    She drew the smoke in deeply and the glow of the cigarette temporarily lit up her eyes. They reflected both curiosity and malaise.
    She said, “After that kind of bath, a man should be able to sleep soundly instead of wandering around like a lost soul.”
    Mark began telling everyone on the bus that his mother and I were engaged. He planned that when the bus came back to Geneva I should ask the American consul for visas for himself and his mother so that all three of us could fly to America together. Mrs. Metalon told him several times that this would be impossible—she had a business appointment in Ankara. I made up the lie that I had to go to Italy on literary business. But Mark argued that his mother and I could postpone our business affairs temporarily. He spoke to me as if I were already his stepfather. He enumerated his mother’s financial assets. His father had arranged a trust fund for him, and he had left the remainder of his estate to his wife. According to Mark’s calculations she was worth no less than two million dollars—maybe more. Mark wanted his mother to liquidate all her holdings in Turkey and transfer her money to America. He would go to America to study even before he graduated from high school. The interest on his mother’s capital would allow us to live in luxury.
    Mark had decided that we would settle in Washington. It was childish and silly, but this boy cast a fear over me. I knew that it would be hard to free myself from him. His mother had hinted that another disappointment could drive him to actually attempt suicide. She suggested, “Maybe you’d spend some time with me in Turkey? Turkey is an interesting country. You’d have material to write about for your newspaper. You could spend two or three weeks, then go back to America. Mark wouldn’t want to come along. He will gradually realize that we’re not