Anthony The Absolute. Merwin Samuel
chin dropped on his deep chest. He seemed to be mediating, in a crestfallen sort of way; but I observed that his eyes wandered aimlessly about the room. Finally he said:
“Suppose I had killed him.”
“You did n’t,” I replied shortly.
He covered his face with his shaking hands.
“It’s the murder in my heart,” he muttered.
I could only look at him.
After a little he dropped his hands, leaned back on the pillow, and gazed at me.
“You’re blaming me,” he said.
I shook my head.
“You are. But not so much as you will. Do you know what I’m doing out here? Do you suppose I left my business to come halfway around the world on a pleasure trip – at my age? Chuck everything worth while, just when I’m at the top of my stride? No, you don’t know; but I’m going to tell you.”
I put up my hand, but he plunged gloomily on: “My wife eloped with a man. A man I knew. They came out here. I’ve come to find them. I’m going to kill him and her. With a knife.”
“You must not do that,” said I. I recall now that the thought came to me to deal with him as if he were a lunatic, and humor him. So I said, “You must not do that.”
“It is the only thing to do,” said he, rather dogmatically. “How can I face my friends again if I fail? A man who doesn’t even try to protect his home!”
“It would be murder.”
He shook his head. “No honest jury would hang me for that. It is the unwritten law.” Then, as if conscious of the weakness of his argument, he added: “Besides, what difference does it make? Those two have committed worse than murder against me. It does n’t matter a particle now what becomes of me. I loved my wife. I gave her everything that money could buy. I bought her an automobile for her own only last year. I took her to Europe. And when I married her she had never had anything or been anywhere. I wanted her to be the mistress of my home, and she insisted on sacrificing all that – and me – to her music. So I got her the best teachers in New York and Paris. Even left her in Paris to study. That’s where she met him. She insisted on going into opera. I forbade that – naturally. I wanted children – she refused. Tell me – is that asking too much?”
He had been talking in a monotonous tone; but now his voice began rising, and his face was twitching nervously.
“Is it?” he went on. “Is it asking too much for a husband to have sons to bear his name and inherit his property? When I saw what was going on, she told me to divorce her. I said, ‘By God, that’s one thing I won’t do for you! I’ve some sense of honor, if you haven’t! You’re mine, and yuu stay mine!’ Then she ran away with that crook. But she can’t have him, I tell you! She can’t have him!”
I suggested that he lower his voice. He gave me a curious, wild glance, and fell silent.
It occurred to me that, knowing all this, I had no right to go away – that I must stay and prevent this terrible thing from taking place. I said as much to him.
“No,” he replied, with some vehemence; “there’s nothing in that. You could n’t prevent anything. The best thing you can do is to run along. I don’t even know where they are; but I’ll find them. You can’t hide long on the China Coast – not from a man that’s really looking.”
I thought this over for quite a little time. It was true enough that I could not prevent his giving me the slip. I could not lock him up or detain him in any forcible way. It seemed to me that I must do something; but as the moments passed it grew increasingly difficult to imagine what it could be.
It was all very disturbing. I helped him get up. Then, as he seemed fairly well able to dress himself, I went out and walked for a while on the Bund. When I returned I found him stretched out on my sofa, smoking.
“Come on in,” he said in a strong, sober voice. What an extraordinary fund of vitality the man has to draw on! “I want to talk to you.”
As I sank into a chair beside him, I felt once more that he was the stronger of us, I the weaker, even after all we had been through.
He knocked the ash off his cigar. It missed the ash-tray and fell, part of it, on the leg of my trousers. “I beg your pardon, old man,” he said, and carefully brushed it off. Then he settled back against the wall and stared up through his smoke at the pattern on the ceiling.
“My hand is n’t quite steady yet,” he added calmly.
Then he went on: “I should n’t have told this to you, Eckhart. It is n’t the sort of thing a man can tell. But, as it happens, you know why I did it. I’ve been stewed to the brim for two days. I’m through with that now, though. Until a certain job is done, I touch nothing stronger than wine. Here’s my hand on it.”
I had to clear my throat. I managed to say huskily: “I can’t take your hand on that, Crocker.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Very well,” he said. “If you prefer it that way. It goes, however. I drink no more now. That is one thing I really have you to thank for, Eckhart. Until you spoke out, back there on the ship, I did n’t realize how much I was drinking. What you told me this morning has clinched the business. I’m through. And you will find that I am a man of my word.”
“I am glad of that,” said I, “because I believe that, with the drink out of your system, your philosophy of life will change. I hope it will.”
He shook his head at this.
“No, Eckhart. Now, see here. You have today seen deep into a man’s heart. What you saw was not drink, merely; it was fact.”
His manner of saying this gave me an uncomfortable feeling that he was speaking the truth. Indeed, my increasing conviction as to the great reserve power of the man was distressing me.
“As I told you this morning,” he went on, “there is absolutely nothing you can do in the matter. Except killing me, of course – you could do that. But you won’t.”
“No,” said I sadly; “I won’t.”
“And I’m going to ask you to take the only course that an honorable man can take in the private quarrel of another – stand aside and try to forget what I have told you. You have my drunken confidences; forget them.”
“See here!” I broke out. “Were you faithful to your wife before she turned against you?” His eyes hardened. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Precisely what I say.”
“You’re talking nonsense, Eckhart – ”
“I am not talking non – ”
“Yes, you are!”
He had swung around, and was sitting up, looking me squarely in the eye, as he shouted me down. My heart sank. Mere squabbling would get us nowhere. I did not know what to do. I do not now know what to do.
He went on:
“Yes; I was, to all intents and purposes, faithful to her. I did as well as a normal, healthy man can be expected to do. Let us not be childish about this. You and I know that man is physiologically different from woman. We know that what there is of purity and sacredness in marriage and in life will be lost forever once we lower our ideal of woman’s virtue.”
“No,” said I; “as a scientific man – ”
I could not go on with my protest; for thoughts of a few wild moments in my own relatively quiet life had come floating to the surface of memory. Who was I, to oppose the double standard of morality that has ruled the world so long!
He was still looking at me in that intent way. There was deep sadness behind the hard surface of his eyes.
“I came here to thank you for all your kindness, Eckhart,” he said then. “As for what you have heard, remember it is mine, not yours. That is all. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll help