The Recognitions (133 page)

him, and leaving him with his anathema on his own lips, —et eum a societate omnium Christianorum separamus . . . Or Father Martin, turning away, —et a liminibus sanctae Matris Ecclesiae in coelo, et in terra excludimus, et excommunicatum . . . —But dear boy, you can't want to go that Sunday, why that is the day of the canonization, this little Spanish martyr, and We have tickets . . . you can't want to go to Fenestrula that Sunday. —But I do, I ... that . . . that's the day I want to ... to celebrate my . . . the canonization in my ... in this way with my work, I ... you understand, he finished abruptly with the appeal which never failed to her, for in a last resort of charity, Mrs. Deigh always "understood." He found himself spending more time at her place in the Via Flaminía; for though with her prominent nose she did not really resemble the fat woman from the boat, whose mean features clung desperately together as though in fear of being lost in the expanse of that face, there was a fullness in Mrs. Deigh's acceptance which counterbalanced and finally outweighed altogether . the distant rejection of the fat woman. Stanley shifted on the edge of a Queen Anne chair, and hitched his shoulders up. The scapular which Mrs. Deigh had made herself, and given him, itched under his shirt. He caught the glare of Mrs. Deigh's wrist watch, and looked down at his own. —Of course, dear boy, if it's what you want, she said, and sighed. —We know how important your work is, and that is as it should be, but We had hoped . . . The chain rattled. -Yes, I ... —Well then, perhaps this afternoon We shall drive together to see Cardinal Spermelli, he was acquainted at Fenestrula. If We dare leave Our Hadrian for that long a time . . . she added, and shook her head. Hadrian was not, as Stanley vaguely suggested one day (thinking about something else) her son, but an aging bull terrier, once white, and now suffering a severe skin infection he'd got from a dye she used when she tried to make him match a yellow velours gown she often wore in public. Stanley had learned to watch his step around the place, after almost trampling the poor old fellow one day he was up and around, for though Hadrian wore a hearing aid and so certainly heard Stanley coming, he moved with that perilous assurance of old age everywhere, taking for granted that way would be made for him. Not that Stanley did not watch his step anyhow: he'd also come near enough to trampling Dom Sucio, and the look he got for that was tempered by anything but senile infirmity. It was in fact quite venomous. Now whether Dom Sucio had seen him, when he saw the little figure cavorting in a window display in the Corso Umberto costumed as one of the Nibelungs, in some sort of Wagncrian panorama got up for German and Scandinavian tourists, Stanley did not know, any better than he knew if he dared report it to Mrs. Deigh; for the little man certainly guarded his interest in her with as much jealousy as the Nibelungs showed for their treasure hoard, and he never failed to fix Stanley with a look which sent shivers down that un-Siegfriedian spine, as he did now, entering. —Dear Dom! she cried, —We are off to see Cardinal Spermelli, We think Stanley will like him arid We know he will like Stanley, - he always likes young boys, especially musical young boys. Stanley simply cannot wait to see his area musarithmica. Is he well? —His what? Stanley got in. Dom Sucio sat down on a needlepoint footstool and shook his head gravely. —White ants, he said. —What? —White ants, dear lady. —But Dom Sucio . . . you told me that white ants had invaded the Vatican, the very Papal archives, but . . . —They have eaten through the six-foot thick wall of the Cortile del Pappagallo, they have eaten a number of books and a cardinal's ceremonial cape, and the Swiss guards have reported the spearhead of a new attack swarming across the very piazza of Saint Peter's. —But Cardinal Spermelli? —He complains of a feeling of burrowing in his right leg. He has worked for so long you know, dear lady, always seated in the same chair. The chair collapsed yesterday. —Oh! Mrs. Deigh moaned, rising, —We hope it will not be as bad as the time he had the bee in his stomach. Come, come dear boy, she said to Stanley, and he followed her out. —We do wish that you would get your hair cut, dear boy, said Mrs. Deigh as they set off. It seemed advisable, under the circumstances, that Stanley wait for her in the Automobile. She was gone for a good half-hour inside the yellow portico where they stopped, and he sat patiently licking the ragged edge of his mustache in the Automobile's kaleidoscopic interior. At the foot of the large single seat, facing the peep-hole and oncoming traffic over the chauffeur's shoulder, was placed what appeared to be a prie-dieu. Its petit-point seat was even worked with the initials I H S, but this, Mrs. Deigh told him, was Hadrian's "little chair," and it was here that Stanley sat now, as the chauffeur helped her back into the car, and they set off again for the Via Flaminia. After she had got settled, Mrs. Deigh handed him a letter, —for Fenestrula, dear boy . . . And he could hardly thank her. But she sat staring up at the damask ceiling, clicking her teeth, so he tried 908

to look out through one of the lighter portions of stained glass. Finally settled, with his knees drawn up under his chin, and staring as best he could through the Saint's breechclout in the martyrdom of Saint Stephen depicted on his right, as the car slowed, and halted in traffic, he suddenly cried out and almost went through the damask roof. —There she is! There she is! ... —There who is? . . . dear boy . . . —There she is! ... sitting at that ... at that table at that cafe . . . —Dear boy ... The Automobile swept on, and Stanley recovered himself somewhat. —Nothing, I ... someone I ... someone I knew . . . once. —But dear boy, you're so pale . . . She reached forth for his hand, quivering with the letter to Fenestrula, and brought her wrist watch directly under his gaze. Vividly recalling the topsy-turvy contortion there afterward, he would also remember the time: it was just six. —Well we got used to poverty in Spain, so we don't really mind it here, said the tall woman sitting on the cafe terrace next evening. She drew away from the figure standing over her and gazing at the tables beyond. It was Stanley, and he was scratching himself up under his coat. When he moved on, she leaned across and whispered to her husband, —Do you itch? Maybe it's just my imagination but ever since we left . . . none of those monks looked like they'd really bathed in literally years. —So if you didn't want to go to bed with me I just naturally took it for granted you didn't go to bed with girls, so I just naturally took it for granted you were queer. What are you doing here, are you Catholic? The girl at the next table looked up at Stanley as though he were intruding, but he stood gazing searchingly beyond them. At the table to his left, an American Protestant minister in rimless glasses tasted Cinzano for the first time, made a wry face, and said, —It's just part of this big job we're all pulling together in. Do you know this new word, Caprew . . . ? It's made up of the first two letters of Catholic, Protestant, and . . . —Me Catholic? Christ no, I just came over to see the art here. —Well you sure picked a lousy time, the girl said, watching Stanley recede among the tables. It was just six. —Why do they get excited about the ruins in Rome here, Berlin is just as good now. —You can always see an ancient city better when it's been bombed. Stanley looked on. He saw the pale girl he had seen before, outside the Bronze Door when he sought Father Martin; and as her face had taken the place of his then, Father Martin's face rose before Stanley now, and turned away, as Stanley turned away from her. She was sitting alone, and reading A Room with a View. —I've really practically finished this novel, all I have to do now is put in the motivation, said a young man at the next table he stopped near. —I've been reading Dante trying to get some ideas. Then Stanley thought he saw her, at a table with a number of faintly familiar figures, halfway across the crowded terrace. He tried to hurry in that direction, his mind again filled with the rash of irrelevancies flooding in as Father Martin's face bowed and was banished by that of the fat woman, pursing the small lips silently, losing flesh, the eyes widening, hollows deepening, to become the face he sought now and believed he had just seen, except, he considered, bumping tables and chair backs in his haste, weak-kneed, except for what she appeared to be wearing: a white turban knotted with a flair over the forehead, white cuffs and a broad white collar over her shoulders, her lips brightly colored and the glimpse of a narrow long black skirt. —Stanley! —Wha . . . haa? ... Don Bildow had his wrist in greeting. —I wondered what happened to you when you didn't get off at Naples . . . —Yes, I ... I'm in a hurry, I ... —So am I, wait, listen . . . Don Bildow looked appealingly through his plastic rims. His hair looked thinner, and his brown suit more threadbare. The brown and yellow tie was getting soiled about the knot. —Just one thing, if you've got any . . . —I ... I have to go! Stanley broke from his grasp saying, —And I don't even know what that stuff was that you asked . . . —No, that's all right, said Bildow catching his arm again, —the Methyltestosterone, I got that, the nurse on the boat was fine about it when I ... but listen, now I need . . . Do you know the Italian word for contraceptive? There's a girl waiting for me and I . . . Waitl . . . When Stanley reached the table across the terrace, there was no one there he knew. A blond boy had just finished saying, —I don't care if Saint Joseph of Copertino did fly around and perch in trees, that hasn't a thing to do with it! —I saw you! said a voice from a vaguely familiar face, and a large red forefinger was rested on Stanley's hand. 910

—But . . . where? he asked, taken aback, for in spite of the dark blue suit and short blond hair, the heavy face was familiar. —Chez that perfectly obvious woman, you came in as I went out. —But it was . . . —Me. I called to ask about a shop where I could buy undies. But what was a boy like you doing there? I won't think. Then the 'finger slid away as he turned and introduced Stanley to the rest of the table with, —I'm afraid, my dears, it's one of those odious Pilgrims, and he's already been stoned in the streets, see his hand. But it's only a finger? What naughty game were you playing? . . . —But I ... —And as I was telling you, this morning I'd gone to this brazenly recherche little church, since they're supposed to have an honest-to-God Titian hidden there somewhere. Of course there was a line, so I waited my turn, and do you know, I found myself on line for benediction as a pregnant mother? —Was there a girl here? Stanley broke in. —My dear boy stop being indecent or you'll have to go away. What is the matter, do you have lice? You're scratching like Thomas a Becket. —Look! —Why it is, it's Herschel. Now do you see what he's married to? His studio paid her ten thousand dollars. Something named Adeline. —But does he have to take her everywhere? —That's why they paid her ten thousand dollars. Of course he doesn't have to take her to bed. Have you heard he's not to play Saint Sebastian in this film after all? In the martyrdom scene you know, he has to be practically naked when they shoot all those horrid arrows at him, but one look at the divine tattoo on his . . . —Please, Stanley interrupted again, —don't any of you . . . —And think, they won't let me have little Giono until Wednesday, when I'm received. Why I'm in a state of Grace this very moment. In a moment of silence, as Stanley got his breath, a feeble falsetto across the table rose with, —Blessed Mary went a-walking . . . —That's her! you . . . that's a song she sings, she . . . —Baby, do you know her? —Yes, you . . . where is she? She was here, she . . . wasn't she? Wasn't that her wearing that funny . . . —Careful, baby. Rudy designed that specially for her. It's her brwidal gown. —Her . . . what? —I should say, her trwousseau. —But you . . . she . . . she's . . . getting married? —Baby, didn't you know?

—But to ... who? Who's she going to marry? —Maybe it wouldn't be descrweet to tell. —But you must, she ... I ... —All rwight, we won't name the grwoom. You can guess. We'll just tell you she's going to become a nun. Now, can you guess, Who? —But you . . . huuu . . . Stanley could only breathe in gasps. —Baby, don't take on so, we don't want any jealous suitors. —Huuuu . . . —Isn't Rudy's habit sweet on her? I mean the habit he designed. She has a very trim body anyway, you know. Not all round and plumpy like women. —An . . . nnn . . . nun? —Rwudy said he trwied to make it look as Do-ramican as possible. And imagine Rwudy marrwied! —She's . . . marrying . . . Rudy? Stanley brought out. —It's no one you know, silly. It's no one anyone knows, no one can see what he sees in that one, who shall be nameless. A piece of trade. Ordinary, common, vulgar . . . —But wait, I ... she . . . where did she go? Stanley demanded looking round helplessly. —Rudy designed another with the most divinely inspired halo hat, and the longest swishiest magenta sash with oodles of gold, why I could have taken vows myself when I saw her in it. But did you hear her talk? about stigmata, and a lance tipped with golden fire piercing her heart, and pus-filled holes in her forehead smelling like lilies and all sorts of the most gory details. Oh no! "Lilies without, roses within." But not that. Oh no! On her face . . . —Pure Caravaggio. I told her I knew I'd seen her before, but I refused to ask her who she knew in New York, I never want to think of that rude vulgar nightmare again, ever. I said, I'll just pretend I've met you in a painting. Pure Caravaggio. But did you see my Raphaels this afternoon? Benito is only seven! and you should hear him chatter with that exquisite little pink tongue . . . —Please, tell me . . . Stanley said now, getting his voice down where he could almost control it, —where did she go? —Do stop scratching! Simply all she talked about was going to Assisi, to run in and out the door of the Portiuncula church there and get just oodles of indulgences for someone she knows in Purgatory, someone who came down into the celestial sea on a rope, I don't know, she made it all sound just too camp. —But she's . . . gone there now? —She wants to go just more than anything, but she has no way to get there. I told her to simply go barefoot. Put your faith in God, baby, I told her. She'll protect you. 912

—But she . . . then where did she go? —She went off with a vulgar person in a green silk necktie, who said he was going to enter her in a movie contest. That's simply all I know. There. There, do you see that rather clumsily collegiate person over there? with a green silk necktie? sitting with that odd little . . . —Thank you, Stanley said, turning away, and he hurried off. —Is it trwue that the Cardinals can roller skate between the sala ducale and the cappella Sistina? —I don't care if Moses is accused of witchcraft in the Koran, who reads the Koran? Stanley caught up with the man in the green silk necktie at the terrace edge, as he was leaving, and immediately got across a pertinent description. —Do you know her too? She's terrific, isn't she. I didn't even know she was a-merican, except for whatever the hell she was wearing, she looked like a regular eye-tye madonna, do you know what I mean? —Yes but I ... where is she? —Well I'm here doing publicity for this movie on the life of the B.V.M., and we're running a competition for the lead. She's a natural for it. You know, I came up to her and I said, Spikka ing-glish? like that. I never learned Eye-talian, they didn't teach it at Yale. —But she . . . —Not that I ever knew anyway. So I ask her if she was ever in the movies, and you know what she said? She said once she went and saw a picture about a funny man in a round black hat and a little mustache ... —But ... —Another time she saw Uncle Tom's Cabin where Little Eva gets pulled up on ropes to heaven, so I said, Not going to the movies, I mean ever acted in one. We've got a six-language sound track on this life of the B.V.M., we've rented a whole town for it. —But . . . —We rented all the people in the town too. It's color. She's a natural for the B.V.M. What'd you do to your hand? —Well that, I ... there was a sort of a riot . . . Stanley fal-tered. —You in that too? Look. My checkbook, see? See that? A bullet. It stopped a bullet for me. I have to go. It's nice meeting you. See that little jerk who's with me? I have to have dinner with him, he's an ex-king. He wants a good publicity man to help him get his throne back. So long. It's nice meeting you, if you know her too. She's terrific. A natural . . . the B.V.M. incarnate ...