"Yes".
She brought herself back to a straight sitting position and said, "I wanted to explain and tell you that I…"
"My dear child, do you imagine that you can possibly tell me anything I don’t know already?"
"No", said Erica, "I guess not. But I don’t want you to think that Charles makes a habit of that sort of behavior. He has some Jewish friends downtown and knows quite a lot of refugees…".
"That’s a little different", said Marc. "I’m sure that if I’d been sixty-five and preferably direct from Europe, he’d have been perfectly charming".
Erica let out a long sigh and then said, slightly embarrassed, "You know too damn much!"
At the end of a brief silence he remarked, "There’s a man over there selling popcorn. Do you want some?"
"No thanks".
A middle-aged couple stopped on the walk in front of them, glanced from the sleeping derelict to the New Zealand fliers and then started toward Marc’s and Erica’s bench. They both moved over. After another pause Marc said in a low voice, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees so that all she could see was the back of his head and part of his profile, "But you know, Eric, your father’s quite right not to want you to get mixed up with me".
After waiting for her to answer he asked, "Did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, I heard you".
"I don’t blame him. I guess he realized what was likely to happen, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered. It’s obvious that I don’t fit into your particular social set-up. I don’t know when I’ve felt so completely out of place as I did after René walked off and left me and before you came along. It would be silly for me to try and deny it. I was the only Jew in the room, except for a couple of refugees and they don’t count. I’d probably just go on being the only Jew in the room so far as your family and most of your family’s friends are concerned, which isn’t awfully pleasant for either them or me".
He had stopped again, evidently still expecting her to say something, even though it was again obvious that if he agreed with Charles, then nothing she could say would make any difference.
She continued to sit motionless and silent beside him, feeling completely cut off from him, as though he had suddenly closed the door in her face without warning, leaving her standing on the mat outside. It had happened so fast that to the people passing by and glancing casually in their direction, she thought they must already look as though they were as unrelated and as irrelevant to one another as they themselves were to the middle-aged couple at the other end of the bench.
Anything would have been better than to find that Marc was, in effect, taking the same side as her father. Where does that leave me? Exactly nowhere. That was probably what Marc had meant when he had made that remark about how uncomfortable it was to be stranded somewhere out in the middle. Uncomfortable is not the word for it, thought Erica, and with her eyes following a shabby, very young girl who was wheeling a carriage down the walk away from them, she asked indifferently, "Have you any other reasons for thinking he’s right?"
"Didn’t you listen to what I was saying a while ago?"
"Yes, of course I was listening".
His voice was pitched so low that it was almost inaudible, and she could still see nothing more than the back of his head and part of his profile. "Do you think I usually talk about myself that way?"
"I don’t know". She went on mechanically after a pause, "I suppose I thought you wanted me to understand as much as I could so that I…" So that what? So that nothing. Understanding doesn’t get you anywhere; you are not permitted to make use of it. It is of no practical advantage, since the issues have been decided long ago and both sides have agreed that it is too bad, really most unfortunate, but human nature being what it is, nothing can be done about it. We’ll stay on our side of the fence and you stay on yours, and that way, there won’t be any complications and nobody will get into trouble.
"Did you ever see The Insect Play?" asked Erica.
"No".
"The last act is the battle between the Black and the Red Ants for the space between two blades of grass. If there’s anyone on Mars at the moment, I guess that’s about the way we look to him…".
He did not let her go on. He said, not patiently, but as though he had been scarcely listening, "I was trying to give you the other side of your father’s case, Eric".
"My father’s case is already quite complete, you needn’t have bothered. Anyhow, I didn’t take it that way. I thought it was the case for the defense".
"No, it wasn’t. With things as they are, you haven’t any case and neither have I, and if I’d had any sense, I’d have said, ’Hello, how are you,’ and left you standing by the notice board trying to find the train from Quebec under ’Departures’."
That was as much as Erica could stand.
She said, "Well, better luck next time. You came pretty close to it, anyhow", and got up, adding over her shoulder as she started away from the bench, "I guess we’d better be getting back".
He caught up with her after a few steps, but she said nothing to him all the way back down the square, across Dorchester Street, past the line of carriages, through the arched stone entrance of the station and along the concourse to Track 5, where Miriam’s and Mr. Aaronson’s train was already in sight, far down at the other end of the long shed.
He was standing beside her in the crowd behind the rope barrier by the gate when he said suddenly, "I meant to buy you some flowers".
For one appalling moment Erica thought she was going to cry. She blinked, swallowed, kept her eyes fixed on a sergeant of the Provost Corps who was standing just inside the gate talking to a railway policeman, and when the danger had passed, she asked stonily, "What for? As a sort of going-away present?"
"Don’t be a bloody fool!" said Marc, exasperated.
Then suddenly it was all over. She said, "You can’t call me a bloody fool the second time we meet, it isn’t polite". She let out her breath in a long sigh of relief and then asked with interest, "What kind of flowers would you have bought me?"
"I don’t know. What kind do you like?"
She glanced down at her beige suit, observing tentatively, "Everything seems to go with it…" and, after another pause, "I think I would have liked dark red carnations".
"Supposing there weren’t any?"
"Then I would have liked white carnations".
"I object to this persistent use of the past conditional", said Marc. "I’m asking you for purposes of future reference so the least you can do is put it in the indicative. Do you always insist on carnations?"
"No", said Erica faintly, "just get whatever you like".
The train had stopped and as the first passengers began to appear on the long platform stretching away from the gate, he asked, "Could we have dinner together some night next week?"
She turned suddenly so that she was facing him and said quickly, looking up into his oblique, greenish eyes, "Are you sure you want to?"
"I told you I haven’t any sense", he said under his breath. "Wednesday?"
"I’d love to".
"I’ll call for you about seven. There’s Mr. Aaronson".
"Which one is he?" asked Erica.
"The fat man with the brief case and the cigar, just in front of those two sailors. Do you see your sister anywhere?"
"It’s much too early for Miriam to put in an appearance. She’s always the last one off". She drew back a little as Mr. Aaronson came through the gate and said, "You’d better go, hadn’t you?"
"Yes, I guess so. Good-by, Eric, see you Wednesday".
"Good-by, Marc".
The long concrete platform was empty except for a few straggling passengers, some porters and a noisy little motor pulling half a dozen clattering freight wagons toward the baggage room when she caught sight of Miriam at last, stepping down from a car near the other end.