Clara Callan (17 page)

I also think that behind all his stern disapproval (he really is worse than Evelyn when it comes to criticizing things) there is a very vulnerable and childlike quality. I don’t know. I just find him very fascinating to listen to. And there is a sweetness about him too. The other night we went for a walk and I wanted to see the Christmas windows in the department stores on Thirty-fourth.

“Oh, not there, Nora,” he kept saying. “Not there.”

But he went along, and when we got there I tried to point out to him how thousands of people stand in front of those windows and dream of a better life for themselves. People just get a terrific kick out of those things, and he should try to be more tolerant of stuff like that. And he looked at me and gave me that rare smile and said, “Maybe I should try to see some of this stuff through your eyes, Nora.”

And I said, “Maybe you should, Lewis.”

He’s invited me to Christmas dinner with some friends and I’m nervous about that. I can just imagine the kind of people who will be there: writers and book publishers and college professors. At first I said no because I didn’t think I would fit into that kind of company, but Lewis was so insistent that I finally agreed, and now, to tell you the truth, I’m scared half to death. I don’t know where any of this is going to go, Clara, if in fact it goes anywhere. At the moment, I am just taking it day by day. We are not sleeping together, if that’s what you are thinking. I wouldn’t rule it out however because I find Lewis, oh, I don’t know, attractive in his own way. Laugh if you like, but I can’t help it. Enjoy the holidays and wish me luck at that dinner party!!!

Love, Nora

At my door at eight o’clock this morning, two men from the railway express, setting down a huge wooden crate on my veranda. Clearly, it could not get through the door. What am I to do about this, I wondered, but the men were good enough to dismantle the crating, prying the boards apart with their crowbars. And there for all to see, and worthy of at least three exclamation marks, was Nora’s Christmas present!!! An enormous radio, a Stromberg-Carlson encircled with a red bow, and with more knobs and dials than a motor car. According to the instruction booklet, I can now listen to programs from as far away as Paris and Berlin. I can now listen to Herr Hitler in the flesh, so to speak. The console also has a turntable for playing phonograph records and Nora has included an album of Rubinstein playing Chopin.

The men were more than a little taken with this engineering marvel. As one fellow put it, “Isn’t it a beaut?”

She certainly is and it must have cost Nora a small fortune. There followed a flurry of anxiety about where to put it. The front room is
too small, and it occurred to me that my poor piano, dusty and neglected somewhat these past few months, might resent this brash, handsome newcomer. I settled finally for a corner of the dining room, and spent the rest of the day reading the booklet and fiddling with the dials. A couple of hours ago I began to pick up squawks in various foreign tongues. Bless Nora’s heart, but when will I find the time to give this thing its proper due? Standing in its corner, it seems to command attention, a minor household god to whom obeisance must be paid.

Dear Nora,

Many thanks for the radio. What magnificence! As always, you are far too generous and my gifts to you (I hope both the blouse and skirt fit) now seem humble indeed. But it is a wonderful present and thank you again. At first I didn’t know where to put it; the front room seems too small with the piano there, and so I settled finally on a corner in the dining room where it doesn’t look entirely out of place, though I am not exactly happy with it there either. That was a long ugly sentence, wasn’t it? I’m half-thinking of selling the piano. After listening to Rubinstein play Chopin’s nocturnes, I wonder why anyone with limited talent like mine would even approach them. Well, I shall see.

The Brydens had me over for dinner yesterday, and I was glad to be with them. It’s odd but this Christmas I seemed to miss Father more than even last year. I don’t know why. Anyway, it was good of them to think of me.

Then Marion came by this afternoon for a visit, the Stromberg-Carlson inspiring her usual vocabulary for surprise and admiration. Marion still sounds as she did a dozen years ago in high school, still encountering life’s wonders and vicissitudes with her little store of childhood exclamations like “Holy Cow” and “Gee Whiz” and
“Gosh,” etc. She listens to your program religiously and wonders if you have a photograph of yourself or of Effie. Like the movie stars you see in Woolworth’s. She also wanted to know if you had met Rudy Vallee in your travels, and if so, what is he really like? If you can answer these questions, you will make Marion’s life even more radiant.

How did things go at your dinner party with Mr. Mills and his intellectual friends? Did you manage to avoid getting a word in? I would think that the best policy on such occasions (mind you, I have little experience) would be to nod knowingly and offer some bland comment that could not possibly suggest contradictions such as, “Yes, you have a point there,” or “Well, that’s certainly possible.”

I’m anxious to know how it went. Your Mr. Mills sounds like an interesting but unusual consort. I’m wondering just what you have in common. He is certainly not the sort of fellow you’ve gone out with in the past, but then perhaps that fact alone is what makes him appealing. I just hope, Nora, that you don’t come out of this with another “busted heart.” You know how hard you tend to fall. Is it worth warning you to be careful and take your time with Mr. Mills? Probably not. I was about to say something, but I’m sure you would only be annoyed with me. What, after all, do I know about men? And you’re right. Not much. Anyway, Happy New Year! And thanks again for the radio!

Clara

Dear Evelyn,

Thanks so much for Mr. Pepys’s diary, which I am thoroughly enjoying. He has a wonderfully accurate eye for the world around him, and I am learning a great deal about what it must have been like to have lived in London two hundred and seventy years ago. I am also listening to the radio these days, thanks to Nora who sent me this extravagant present — a Stromberg-Carlson, on which I can hear everything
from that madman in Germany to the perilous adventures of the folks on “Chestnut Street.” Speaking of which, I was home last Tuesday and so I heard kindly old Uncle Jim’s Christmas Eve peroration on the season. You’ll be happy to know that my face remained quite stony throughout, except for an occasional guffaw. Well, all right, maybe not a guffaw. I’m sure, however, that there wasn’t a dry eye in the village, or probably across our two great lands. You certainly know how to tap into the great spongy heart of the people. That is a compliment by the way, and the “spongy”
is yours, is it not?

I had a rather feverish letter from Nora who seems very taken with her Mr. Mills. Like you, I hope she doesn’t come down with a terrible thud. Mills sounds to me like the sort of man who has other things on his mind besides the opera or the Italian campaign in Ethiopia. Ah well, Nora has been down this road before. I hope 1936 is a good year for you, Evelyn. While I am at it, I might just as well hope the same for myself. It has to be an improvement on this one.

With best wishes, Clara

Dear Clara,

Happy New Year!!! And many thanks for the skirt and blouse (perfect fit!). I’m glad you like the radio. Ain’t it a beauty? I’m enclosing a dozen signed agency photographs (they make me look kind of glamorous, don’t they?) and you can give one to Marion or anyone else who asks. You can also inform her that unfortunately I haven’t met Rudy Vallee, and so I can’t tell her what he’s like.

I’m very happy these days, Clara. The program is going well (did you hear any episodes over the holidays?) and there’s a very sweet man in my life. Many people (Evelyn, for instance) think Lewis is some kind of ogre, but they don’t know him at all. In fact, he’s extremely considerate and loving. There is a public side to him that can be pretty frightening, I admit, but in private he’s just a very sweet man and the most interesting person I have ever met. The Christmas
dinner, by the way, was just a lot of fun. I didn’t find it heavy going at all. In fact, I felt very much at home with Lewis’s friends.

On New Year’s Eve, we were invited to a big party at this book publisher’s, but we decided to be alone. We walked over to Times Square to see the new year in. At first Lewis nixed the idea: “All those people, Nora, please!” He can get like that, all choosy about mingling with the “peasants,” but I told him it would be fun and it was. Lewis is a bit of a snob, I must admit. He went to Princeton University and has spent most of his life around intellectual people. I told him he has to get out and see what makes ordinary folk tick. He admits that he doesn’t know enough about how the average Joe lives. He knows all about political and economic ideas, but he doesn’t understand much about ordinary life. Anyway, he enjoyed himself or at least was sweet enough to say he did.

He’s going to California next week to talk to some people in the movie business. This is for another article he’s writing. I don’t know when the piece about our program will be published, probably not until the fall. It looks as if I have this intellectual guy for a beau, Clara. It’s really something, isn’t it?

Love, Nora

For the first time in five years I have missed a day of school. I have been ill since Friday with a terrible grippe. Mrs. Bryden dropped in this morning with some broth and poor Marion trudged through the snow to bring me Saturday’s paper and a letter from Nora. I rewarded her with a studio photograph which shows Nora smiling coyly, the childish signature scrawled across the bottom.

“Gosh, she sure looks glamorous, doesn’t she, Clara?”

I have to admit she does.

Marion said she didn’t know what she would do without the radio. “It sure helps to pass the time,” she said.

I hear that expression more and more. When people are playing euchre or assembling a jigsaw puzzle or listening to the radio, they say that they are passing the time. As if time were something to get through and be done with. But if one regards time as finite, then would one not want to slow it down somehow and savour its every moment? Impossible, of course, but that might be an ideal worth striving for. Marion, of course, may well be waiting for earthly time to pass so she can get off to heaven where presumably time is not a major concern.

The King is dead. I heard it on the radio last evening and it was all the talk at school and on the street. The children are anxious to know if they will get a holiday.

Stormy and cold. In all its fury, the fourth season is upon us. The village is snowbound; even the train had trouble getting through this evening.

National holiday to commemorate the King’s funeral. Mrs. Bryden told me she got up at four o’clock this morning to listen to the service from London. Still stormy and very cold. This is one of the worst winters I can remember. The monster in the cellar devours coal by the shovelful. At this rate, I will have to order another ton to see me through to spring.

Dear Clara,

It’s been ages since I’ve been in touch and I apologize, but the days just seem to fly. How is everything with you? Boy, you’re having some kind of winter up there, aren’t you? I’ve been reading about it in the
Trib
. It’s been pretty cold and snowy down here too. Got a note from Evelyn the other day (she’s been working at our agency in Chicago for a couple of weeks), and she said she had never seen so much snow. She also mentioned that the Halperns (remember Jack Halpern who brought me to N.Y.) have a baby boy and they are just thrilled.

What do you think of our new King? Isn’t he handsome? I’m sorry his father died, but Edward is more suited for the times. This is one area where Lewis and I can get into a squabble. He is very anti-English and thinks the idea of a monarchy in this day and age is ridiculous. He doesn’t mind making fun of the Royal Family and that just rubs me the wrong way. We’ve had a couple of pretty good tussles on this subject, but then I guess you can’t expect two people to agree on everything. What about you? Writing any poetry these days? Drop me a line, why don’t cha?

Love, Nora

P.S. If you need any more pictures, let me know. The agency sends out about three hundred to listeners every month. Isn’t that something?

Dear Nora,

Thanks for your note. You are certainly right about the winter. I’ve never seen anything like it; day after day it snows and every weekend there seems to be a storm. It gets you down a bit and it’s certainly hard
on coal. I’m going to have to order more to get me through to spring. About all I seem to do is shovel myself out in the morning, battle my way through snowdrifts to school and then shovel the front walk again when I come home in the afternoon. It’s all a bit discouraging. I just don’t seem to have much news for you. I was down with a terrible cold early in the new year, but I have recovered and am once again as healthy as a horse. Getting through a winter like this is not as difficult physically as it is mentally. No, I am not writing any poetry these days. Inspiration seems to have dried up, though I have several ideas for poems. I am just so infernally lazy and lacking in ambition. I’ll write again when I am more cheerful.

Clara

A few hours ago I had a dangerous and foolish little adventure that left me thinking about Mother and how she died. For years, I wondered whether she stumbled accidentally in front of that freight train or stepped deliberately into its path. And tonight, for the briefest of moments, I think I understood how easy it is to let go.

Another storm began late yesterday afternoon and all evening the wind rose. By ten o’clock I could not see across the street for the blowing snow. Throughout, I felt such a restlessness: I was reading a bit, fiddling with the radio stations, going down to the cellar to check the furnace. About eleven o’clock I decided to go for a walk. An absurd idea in the middle of a blizzard, and I cannot explain why I gave in to such blind will, but give in I did, and dressing warmly (I had at least enough sense for that) I went out into the night. At first, I felt sheer exhilaration at the commotion of it all, emboldened in that white and howling air. Keeping to the middle of the road I walked towards the train station. I would go no farther, for beyond lay the township roads and open fields with the full force of the westerly blowing across them. As I moved towards the edge of the village,
there was nothing but a wild whiteness and here and there a house light glimpsed through the snow. Most people had sensibly
gone to their beds to sleep away the storm.

When I saw the outline of the station, I turned and started back. I was warm enough in my coat and tam, a scarf covering most of my face. Then quite suddenly I lost my way, or my sense of direction failed me. In any case, I stumbled and fell into the roadside ditch. I did not hurt myself for the snow was soft, but nevertheless I was upended and I turned over on my back. I was now below the road, listening to the wind, feeling the snow sift across me. It was filling the ditch, but I was sheltered from the wind and feeling almost — what is the word — languorous, no, stuporous might be closer to describing my state. I had no desire to move and as I brushed the snow from my eyes, I thought of how easy it would be to lie there unseen until it no longer mattered. Was I too “half in love with easeful Death?” Had Mother also felt this way on that summer morning thirty years ago? One doesn’t need the songs of nightingales “to cease upon the midnight with no pain.” That much I realized
lying in that ditch three hours ago. What roused me I cannot say. I only know I did climb out and with difficulty found my way through all that swirling snow back to the dark shapes of trees and houses. And how delicious to come in from the cold, to taste a cup of hot cocoa and to feel the warmth of flannel on my skin. I must be the most foolish woman in the province.

Dear Clara,

I’m sorry for not writing before now, but you know how the weeks go by, and you don’t realize how much time has passed. Anyway, here is something that I want you to think about. Lewis is planning a trip to Europe this summer. He’s been asked by a magazine to write a series of
articles on European politics and he thinks that maybe later on he can publish them as a book. So he is going to visit Italy, France and Germany and he has asked me to come along.

I talked it over with Evelyn and she said that the agency would probably not be too happy about me being away for several weeks. She could, however, write me out of the script for a while, though any longer than three or four weeks and we might lose what she calls “listener identification.” So I decided maybe I would just visit Italy and Lewis could go on to France and Germany on his own. I’ve always wanted to see Italy and so then I thought, well, it’s the summer and why not ask Clara to come along? Lewis will be busy throughout the day interviewing people and it would be more fun if I had someone like you for company. We could have a swell time sightseeing and having lunch together. So, what do you think? Lewis wants to leave about the middle of July and he is going to Italy first, so we could be back no later than the middle of August. Don’t you think it would be terrific?

Last night I told Lewis that I was going to ask you and he said, “Fine. Sure, bring her along.” Now you don’t have to worry about costs. I’ll pick up your fare if you can look after your own spending money. So there you have it, a chance for a free European holiday. Will you think
seriously
about it and let me know as soon as you can? Lewis wants to make arrangements as quickly as possible because the Olympic Games are on in Germany this summer and Europe will have a lot of visitors. So let me know, okay? Evelyn says hello!

Love, Nora

P.S. Is the new Chaplin picture playing in Toronto yet? If you can get a chance to see it, do so because it’s very good. Paulette Goddard is wonderful and of course Chaplin is Chaplin.

A jaunty letter from Nora who is going to Europe this summer with her Mr. Mills. She wonders if I would like to come along. To Italy! Well! Land of Michelangelo and Raphael, of Corelli and Puccini and Dante. Wouldn’t Nora be surprised if I accepted her invitation? Yet, things are so very unsettled over there. There could well be a war if you can believe the radio and newspapers. I can’t imagine being caught up in a war. But do I not need an adventure? Is it not time to see the world?

Dear Nora,

Thank you for your letter with its invitation to go to Italy with you and Mr. Mills this summer. Allow me to surprise you by saying that I would be happy to go, and I look forward to it. There now! Have you fully recovered, or are you still on the floor? I hadn’t thought a trip to Europe would be in my plans, but this seems like a good opportunity to see that part of the world, and it would be a shame to pass it up. And who knows? Perhaps I shall meet a handsome count and become a devout Papist and mother of twelve, living in my villa and overseeing the labourers in the vineyards.

I wonder about the possibilities of trouble over there. Aren’t you a little concerned about the situation? Germany seems determined to provoke the French, and, of course, if anything comes of that, you can expect England to get mixed up in it. I’m afraid I have become a great listener of the radio news and it is all bad. Another war over there seems altogether likely these days. Perhaps, however, they are exaggerating things. What does your Mr. Mills think about all this? Since he intends to write about these matters, I would imagine that he’s given it all a good deal of thought.

Can you tell me what dates you have in mind so that I can begin to
plan. It’s months away, but you know how I am and I can’t help it. What sort of clothes ought I to bring? What does one wear aboard the ship? I imagine that Italy in August is quite hot (sounds wonderful to me right now). I will look for some books in the Linden library on climate and customs, but anything you can tell me about the place would be helpful. It is really very kind of you, Nora, to offer to pay my fare, but I would feel much better if you allowed me to pay at least half. Then I wouldn’t feel like such a sponger.

We still have plenty of snow, but with the strengthening sun and milder winds, it is melting fast and soon there will be green leaves and violets in the woods and trilliums underfoot. Hurrah for spring!

Clara

Dear Clara,

How happy you’ve made me! It’s good to know that you’re coming to Italy with us and it’s even better to hear you sounding so gay. It must be the spring weather and I can certainly understand that. What a winter you’ve put up with!!! I’ve told Lewis that you’re coming along and he was happy to hear it. The more the merrier! He’s looking forward to meeting you (I’ve told him all about you) and I’m sure you’ll find him an interesting person, to say the least. When you first meet him, you might wonder what I see in him. He’s a grouchy and complicated man, but he can also be charming and considerate when he’s in the mood. He is also very affectionate (if you get my meaning), though you wouldn’t know it to look at him.