The Rosy Crucifixion 3 - Nexus by Henry Miller

See, she’s peeved, said Stasia. She doesn’t understand, said I.
    Again a flare up. What don’t I understand? What is this? What are you driving at, the two of you?
    We really didn’t have much to say while you were gone, I put in. We were talking about truth and truthfulness mostly … Stasia, as you know, is a very truthful person.
    A faint smile spread over Mona’s lips. She was about to say something, but I cut in.
    It’s nothing to worry about. We’re not going to put you through a cross-examination.
    We only want to see how honest you can be, said Stasia.
    You talk as if I were playing a game with you.
    Exactly, said Stasia.
    So that’s it! I leave the two of you alone for a few minutes and you rip me up the back. What have I done to deserve such treatment?
    At this point I lost track of the conversation. All I could think of was that last remark—what have I done to deserve such treatment! It was my mother’s favorite phrase when in distress. Usually she accompanied it with a backward tilt of the head, as if addressing her words to the Almighty. The first time I heard it—I was only a child—it filled me with terror and disgust. It was the tone of voice more than the words which roused my resentment. Such self-righteousness! Such self-pity! As if God had singled her out, her, a model of a creature, for wanton punishment.
    Hearing it now, from Mona’s lips, I felt as if the ground had opened beneath my feet. Then you are guilty, I said to myself. Guilty of what I made no effort to define. Guilty, that was all.
    Now and then Barley dropped in of an afternoon, closeted himself with Stasia in her little room, laid a few eggs (poems), then fled precipitously. Each time he called strange sounds emanated from the hall bedroom. Animal cries, in which fear and ecstasy were combined. As if we had been visited by a stray alley cat.
    Once Ulric called, but found the atmosphere so depressing I knew he would never repeat the visit. He spoke as of I were going through another phase. His attitude was—when you emerge from the tunnel, look me up! He was too discreet to make any comment on Stasia. All he dropped was: A rum one, that!
    To further the courtship I decided one day to get tickets for the theatre It was agreed that we would meet outside the theatre. The evening came. I waited patiently a half-hour after the curtain had risen, but no Mona. Like a school-boy, I had bought a bunch of violets to present her. Catching a reflection of myself in a shop window, the violets in my mitt, I suddenly felt so foolish that I dropped the violets and walked away. Nearing the corner, I turned round just in time to catch sight of a young girl in the act of recovering the violets. She raised them to her nostrils, took a deep whiff, then threw them away.
    On reaching the house I noticed that the lights were on full blast. I stood outside a few minutes, bewildered by the burst of song from within. For a moment I wondered if there were visitors. But no, it was just the two of them. They were certainly in high spirits.
    The song which they were singing at the top of their lungs was—Let Me Call You Sweetheart.
    Let’s sing it again! said I, as I walked in.
    And we did, all three of us.
    Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you…
    Again we sang it, and again. The third time around I put up my hand.
    Where were you? I bawled.
    Where was I? said Mona. Why, right here.
    And our date?
    I didn’t think you were serious.
    You didn’t? With that I gave her a sound slap in the puss. A real clout.
    Next time, my lady, I’ll drag you there by the tail.
    I sat down at the gut table and took a good look at them. My anger fell away.
    I didn’t mean to hit you so hard, said I, removing my hat. You’re unusually gay this evening. What’s happened?
    They took me by the arm and escorted me to the rear of the place, where the laundry tubs used to stand.
    That’s what, said Mona, pointing to a pile of groceries. I had to be here when