So tonight I will perform with him again, and tomorrow set off home, but this letter must be posted today, for you must know that the Bell coming back to you is no longer the pleasure-seeking somnambulist who eloped with poor old Wedder. You must answer some difficult questions for me. You must tell me how to do good and not be a parasite. Tell Candle too, for since he and Bell will soon be lifelong partners we must work together. Tell my dear Candle that his wedding Bell no longer thinks he must do all she bids. Tell him also that Millie Cronquebil was wrong in one thing she said: I will not be a better wife because of the variety enjoyed in the Notre-Dame, unless it pleases him to see me lying flat murmuring “formidable!” in a variety of astonished tones.
Meanwhile, all the best, both of you,
From she you love most,
Ding Dong Bell.
P.S.
Stroke the pussies, pat the dogs, kiss Mopsy and Flopsy for me.
“Well, Candle?” said Baxter, laying down the letter and smiling at me, “are you not terrified by the prospect of the return of this truly formidable partner? Think of what she did to Duncan Wedderburn!”
I was now too joyful to resent his kindly condescension. My pulse was accelerated. The ductless glands released such vital secretions into my blood-stream (I felt them doing it!) that my muscles expanded and I had the strength of several men.
“No, Baxter! I fear nothing from my Bella. She is a kind woman and a perfect judge of character. She knows a man’s inmost soul as soon as she shakes his hand. In Wedderburn she sensed the selfish sexual male rampant and served him exactly as he wished. He was fool enough to want a life of unending ecstasy. It was not her fault that no organism can survive through that. I am a virgin. My ecstasies with her will be varied by milder, more comfortable modes of affection. The main strain will fall on you, Baxter. If you do not show her how Mr. and Mrs. McCandless can improve the world you will hideously disappoint her — our marriage may not happen. Are you not terrified?”
“No. I will tell you to improve the world along lines clearly indicated by your characters and talents. . What is that sound?”
The hour was a little after midnight. As on the night Bella had left us the curtains were wide and I saw the moon through the window, though drifts of hurrying cloud sometimes hid it. The sound was a key turning in a lock downstairs, the front door opening and closing, a light rapid step ascending the stairs. I rose to face her as the study door opened — Baxter stayed seated. She stood before me, her face more gaunt and lined than it had been but her smile as delighted and delightful as ever. She had unfastened her travelling-coat so that I saw both the darned lining and my tiny pearl gleaming in the lapel. She laughed as she saw my eye fix on that, then said, “I am glad you are both still up and the old place is exactly the same — except for this. This is new.”
She strode to the fireplace and examined a lidded crystal vase on the overmantel. It contained our gobstoppers.
“The covenant of our plighted troth!” she cried. Removing the lid she took one out, ground it to powder beneath her firm white teeth, swallowed it then, opening her arms to us, cried, “O my God and my Candle, how wonderful to be home but what is there to eat downstairs? Sweets are not enough for a hungry woman. Duncan Wedderburn taught me that, besides what the scar on my stomach meant.”
This reminded her of something else. Suddenly she stared hard at Baxter, her face growing thinner, the pupils of her eyes expanding to completely blacken the irises. “Where is my child, God?” she asked.
19. My Shortest Chapter
Had Bella not arrived so soon after her letter I think Baxter would have had a reply prepared for that question, but it came now as a shock and changed him horribly. I do not know if the blood drained from his sallow skin or flushed into it, but in two seconds the colour turned greyish-purple. Sweat that suddenly beaded his face did not trickle but sprang from it, for he did not tremble, he vibrated. His loose clothing stayed unmoved but the outlines of boots, hands and head grew indistinct like plucked guitar strings. Yet he answered her. From a woeful cavity in that huge dim head tolled a slow, hollow, iron-sounding voice, each word blurred but not drowned by an echo of itself.
“THE. EVENTS. WHICH. LED. TO. YOUR. CRACKED. HEAD. ALSO. DEPRIVED. YOU. OF. YOUR. . YOUR. . YOUR. . . YOUR. . . ” Silence. His lips were wrestling to say a word for which he could find no breath. I watched the tongue flicker against the back of his upper teeth, saw the word began with L so must be life. Half his brain was trying to tell Bella the truth about her origin, the other half was appalled by the attempt and so was I.
“Your child, Bella!” I shouted. “The shock that destroyed your memory killed the child in you!”
Baxter grew perfectly still, staring at her with aghast eyes and mouth wide open. So did I. She sighed and said softly, “I feared that,” then smiled at Baxter as kindly as if no tears were flowing down her cheeks. Then she sat on his knee, embraced him as far round the waist as her arms could reach, rested her head upon his chest and seemed to fall asleep. He too closed his eyes and his normal colour slowly returned.
Feeling relieved but jealous I watched them a while. Eventually I sat by Bella, embraced her waist and rested my head on her shoulder. She was not completely asleep, for she moved her body to let mine fit it more easily. The three of us lay a long time like that.
20. God Answers
Maybe an hour passed. She roused us by yawning and sitting up. The following conversation began in the study. It ended round the kitchen table where Bella demolished most of a cold boiled ham with bread, cheese, pickles and two or three pints of sweet milky tea. Though used to her quick recovery from emotional shocks I had never before seen it happen so physically. Her face lost the thin haggard look, her cheeks grew rounder, her brow smoother and softer, the tiny lines and wrinkles faded from her freshening skin. From looking any age between twenty-five and forty she became any age between twenty-five and fifteen. Was my strictly scientific eye dazzled by the loving glance she gave me? Surely not, yet more than ham and tea were erasing her marks of weariness and strain. Her eyes fed on our faces, her ears and brain digested our words into the substance of her thought, strengthening it as swiftly as her teeth and stomach used the eatables to renew her body. Between chewing and swallowing she spoke very wisely, provoking a debate which decided her future career, and mine too, and a date for our marriage. But perhaps her radiance did daze me slightly. I talked as much as Baxter and she put together but I remember hardly anything I said. However, I very distinctly recall exactly how the debate began.
Bell said, “Why did you sweat and stammer and tremble when I asked about my child, God? Were you afraid your answer would drive me mad?”
Baxter nodded with a force which made us fear for his neck.
She said, “I suppose that is not surprising. I was a child when I ran away from you — how could you have told childish Bell Baxter that she had lost a child of her own? Especially when you did not know who the dad was. You made me strong and sure of myself, God, by teaching me about the fine and mighty things in the world and showing I was one of them. You were too sane to teach a child about craziness and cruelty. I had to learn about those from people who were crazy and cruel themselves. I knew there was something wrong with the world as soon as Wedder told me I had been a mother. I knew my daughter could have been terribly hurt as soon as Dr. Hooker pointed smugly at the little poor girl and blind baby. When Mr. Astley explained how rich nations depend on infant mortalities I knew she might be dead, and I almost wished she were dead when I learned at Millie Cronquebil’s how weak and lonely women are used. You are to blame for nothing, God, nothing at all where I am concerned. But you know and hate (do you not?) how the weak are made to suffer?”