The World as I Found It (47 page)

Russell didn't quite know what to say either. Resounding silence as he pretended to savor the final paragraph — the last jarring alliteration — where the repentant Charlie lashes himself to a “tall and terrible tree” in a lightning storm, calling out to God to strike him down as Penelope struggles to free him. Remembering his own misdeeds in his now buried novel, and seeing D.D.'s hungry and desolate look, Russell heard himself say that he thought her story, while not entirely successful, showed definite promise.

Wringing her hands, D.D. brightened and said,
Do
you? Do you
really
? I want the truth, the total, terrible truth.

Truly, he said, feeling trapped. I would not lie about another person's talent. The story shows genuine … potential.

But
darling
, said D.D., wringing her hands. First you said it has promise, now you say
potential
. Sucking the chewed end of her pencil, D.D. thought a moment, then said hopelessly, It's the ending, isn't it? I'm just too subtle. That's my
whole
problem. The white poodle, for instance — did you get the symbol of the paschal lamb? And the fact that there were
three
trees — that doomed feeling of Calvary. I thought of having Charlie nail his hand to the tree with an iron spike. Would you have liked that better?

Frowning, Russell said in a hush, I think not. The ending's best left as it is, I think, though the language might stand a little, ah … toning down.
Not much
, he added gently. But a bit. A bit.

D.D.'s bangs gently slapped her face. You don't like it! Oh, God, I knew it, I knew it!

But I
do
like it, he protested.

Thank God, she said, rushing into his arms. I could never love a man who didn't love my work,
never
.

Russell saw another story that was somewhat better than the first, but in his heart he knew where the girl's best talents lay. Nevertheless, she was something new for him — someone modern, rather. Unlike Ottoline, D.D. was always open to his advances, even hungry for him, bouncing and panting, with her eyes rolled back into her head. Even after two weeks, her lust for him hadn't diminished; she said he was a better lover than men half his age, a compliment he didn't entirely believe but was nonetheless pleased to entertain. Indeed, his opinion of D.D. and her writing, though certainly qualified, grew in more or less direct proportion to her desire for him.

As for his letters to Ottoline, they continued, albeit with increasingly fictionalized accounts of his activities. But then after two weeks, burdened by conscience, he came clean — half clean, anyhow. He told his mistress that he had just met a young American woman named Doris Dudley. And lest Ottoline think this was just a dalliance or that he was seeing just anyone, Russell said that the young woman was a writer and was actually somewhat talented. Being totally aboveboard, if not provocative, Russell even said he had slept with Miss Dudley and was really quite fond of her. Yet here he was quick to assure his unappreciative and, he hoped, now jealous mistress that the girl would never displace Ottoline in his affections, much less occupy that innermost spiritual sanctum that he reserved strictly for her.

He was no less candid with D.D. When she asked if he was seeing any women in England, he said, Just one at present. But she's married and we are merely very warm friends. I'd call it a spiritual friendship, actually.

They had just finished making love. Looking at him jealously, D.D. said, But that's what I must have with you! We must be
one flesh
! You must know me, you must!

But I do know you, said Russell evasively.

No, you don't! No man has
ever
known me. But before we finish, we must know each other
completely
— I mean the way Keats said, with our souls fusing — D.D. clapped her hands together dramatically —
solution sweet!

Russell groaned. I've always hated that line. Much too mushy.

But, damn it, said D.D., reaching between her legs and then smearing the goo on his chest. Sex
is
oozy and mushy!

Russell recoiled as if he'd been doused with scalding coffee. The towel — hand me that towel! You're behaving like a savage.

D.D. pounced down beside him. And you're acting like a damned prude. My being bloody and oozy last week didn't stop you from poking it in. And quit staring at me like that. You look like some nasty old lizard.

Never in his life had a woman spoken to him in this way. I did not
poke
it in, he protested. Certainly I did not
smear
you with it.

He thought that was the end of it, but a moment later, as he was sponging himself off over the little basin by the dresser, he glanced up at the mirror and saw her behind him. Hissing, D.D. had her tongue between her teeth and her thumbs plugged in her ears, her fingers wriggling like gills.

Doris! he demanded. What —

But then, before he could say another word, she had him locked round the neck, panting as she fired her agile tongue into his mouth. And then, just as suddenly, she stopped, gravely serious as she asked:

Do you believe God is watching us?

You mean, Do I think God is a voyeur?

Don't you dare profane him! D.D. was more than just vehement — she looked as if she would strike him. Covering her breasts, she continued:

He
is
watching, you know. If you were more alive, you would see that — you'd feel far more than you do. You think I'm just a whore, don't you! You think I was just put here for your amusement!

D.D., he said, moving toward her. I certainly didn't mean to offend you.

But she pushed him away. I won't have your blasphemy and condescension. I know what you're after, and the free lunch is closed.

They lurched back and forth through good days and bad, with Russell hungrily following her sex, half conscious, like a bird bobbing along a trail of crumbs. He had hardly known her a month when his lectures ended, and she invited him to come with her for a week's visit to her parents' home near Chicago. D.D. made it all seem very casual. In view of the short time they had known each other, Russell saw no danger that the Dudleys would feel their daughter was “bringing him home.” Besides, he had a paper to deliver at the University of Chicago, and he was curious about the Middle West.

A few days later, after a stopover in Chicago, they arrived by train in Wazooka, Illinois, D.D.'s hometown, where her father was waiting in his fire-engine-red Pierce-Arrow. Portly Dr. Dudley, a well-to-do dentist, councilman and booster, was a mustached man of massive good health who immediately took charge of his daughter and her foreign guest.

Don't you dare, he said with comic gruffness, poking his cocked finger like a pistol into Russell's ribs when he attempted to tip the colored porter bringing up their luggage. You just keep your hands out of your pockets while you're here, Mr. Russell. Here go, Jimmy.

Dr. Dudley then insisted on giving his guest the “cook's tour” of Wazooka. Honking and waving to everyone they passed, he pointed out the new school, the meat-packing plant and the town characters, sitting on crates and busted-out chairs by the ice house and garage. Friendly sorts, rather, only Russell noticed that they all seemed to have the most extraordinarily deformed ears — either too big or too small, and all oddly crumpled. With their lips fat with snuff or cheeks bugged out with chaws of tobacco, they waved and called out things he couldn't understand over the flat plains wind and the noise of the engine.

Big fish in that little backwater, the Dudleys lived in a lofty, white-turreted house that presided over a quiet street of hedge-bound bungalows. A stone wall bristling with a fence of iron arrows surrounded their property, and every morning Dr. Dudley raised a flag into the boundless Midwestern sky with that absurd and flabby American optimism which, to Russell's English soul, was like staring into the void. Mrs. Dudley was a handsome woman, far more reserved than her husband, but active nonetheless in their church and various civic organizations. She was always on the telephone, one of two that seemed to never stop ringing. Gadabout Dr. Dudley, meanwhile, seemed to always be off to another meeting. Scarcely had they finished supper that first night than Dr. Dudley, Grand Mugwump of the Aragolak Oddfellows, came down attired in an oversnug tuxedo and wearing on his head a whole hollowed-out beaver, complete with teeth, tail and clawed feet.

Try this on for size, he said, his laughter like air wheezing from a tire as the hat slid down over Russell's aristocratic ears. Dr. Dudley was showing his guest the Oddfellows' mystic handshake when D.D. groaned,
Daddy
…

Now, daughter, countered Dr. Dudley tolerantly, feigning ebullient surprise. I'm just trying to show your English friend how we
are
here in Wazooka.

Russell went along with these rites with the hapless bonhomie of an explorer among aborigines, eating corn on the cob and bloody steaks that “still mooed,” rocking on the porch, drinking beer and pitching horseshoes. And without any particular effort on Russell's part, the indefatigable Dr. Dudley took right to him, bringing him downstairs the second night to show him his weapons collection — rifles, swords, Indian war clubs and a scalp of fine red hair that Russell politely declined to handle.

Oh, dearest darling, said D.D., waylaying him afterward, Daddy really likes you. He's never shown that junk to anybody I've brought home before.

Conscious of his age, Russell was rather surprised by this warm reception, but he needn't have been: the prominent Wazooka Dudleys thought he was rich and, best of all, titled, having been told by their daughter that he was next in line for an earldom. The third day, Dr. Dudley dressed Russell in cape and goggles and took him for a long and dusty drive. Presumed heir of all creation, supremely confident, even reckless in his driving, Dr. Dudley showed the greenhorn “God's country” — so many flat and snoring miles of corn, swine, rail depots and cattle. Yet this rich land that Russell found so bleak and unpromising spoke eloquently to Dr. Dudley, who in the sonorous tones of an auctioneer gabbed about endless “deals” involving options, liens, deaths, deeds and probate sales. Lurching to a stop in a cloud of dust, he made a grand sweep of his arm, as if to tell the suitor that if he played his cards right all this and more might be his one day.

Giving him a conspiratorial little goose on the shoulder the fourth day, Dr. Dudley confided, I'll tell you the truth, Mr. Russell. She's stubborn, our D.D. Gets something in her head and won't turn it loose. Guess it's partly me. Wanted a son, got me a tomboy. Well, I raised her to be independent, but, heck, I'll be frank. Her mother and I were kinda worried about her for a while. She was just a little confused, I guess, but I'm glad — darned glad she's straightened out and found herself a nice fella like you. Just wanted you to know that. You're all right in my book.

Russell didn't know how to react to the “glad” part and was sorely tempted to ask Dr. Dudley just what he meant by the “confused” part. But before he could get a word in, the jocular doctor, uneasy after this moment of male intimacy, deftly changed the subject.

That afternoon, though, Mrs. Dudley piqued Russell's curiosity again. As they walked in the garden, she confided her daughter's great admiration for him, telling him how happy she was that Doris had finally brought home someone respectable.

I want to get to know her again, ventured Mrs. Dudley cryptically. For a while I'm afraid we didn't know our daughter.

Really? said Russell diplomatically. When was this?

Stopping to pick a weed their elderly gardener had missed, Mrs. Dudley considered a moment, then said, Oh, after she left the convent, I guess. Or before. But then, seeing this was news to him, Mrs. Dudley got all fluttery, saying, Goodness! I forgot all about the roast.

Grasping, Russell hastily said, You used the word “convent,” Mrs. Dudley. I thought you and Dr. Dudley were Presbyterians?

Oh, said Mrs. Dudley, flinching. Well, of course, this was after Doris converted. Much against our wishes, I might add.

To which he, ever the gentleman, replied, Oh, and smiled politely as the mother cheerfully added, But it's all over, quite as if it was, then hurried off to check her loin of pork.

I
refuse
to discuss it! insisted D.D. when he questioned her later. Then, spitefully, she said, I told you that you don't know me! But you know what I really hate? You never even asked!

But hearing this, the suitor didn't want to ask. That night, Friday, Dr. Dudley departed for his Shriners meeting in a tassled maroon fez on which
ABDUL
was written in rhinestones. Upstairs, D.D. and Mrs. Dudley, who, on second glance, seemed to Russell rather cold toward her only child, had a brief screaming match. Hurried feet and slamming doors. Then, with a transfigured look, D.D. ran down the stairs, saying in a vicious tone, Don't worry about her. She urgently led him by the hand to the closetlike back stairs, where she bolted the door and lit a candle.

I'll bet you never had a nun before, did you? she said. That's Sister John Christopher to you —
bride of Christ
. Do you know how hard I prayed not to be tempted? Do you think for a second it
worked
? They shaved my head and screamed at me. I thought I was nuts. D.D.'s eyes glowed as she pressed closer to him. I've had visions, you know — at night there, under the covers, I was on fire. They were all lesbians. They used to tie me up in wet sheets.

In her open palm, he saw a rolled condom. Her knees wobbled as she hiked up her dress and guided his trembling hands, saying, Do you love me?
Do
you? A nun doesn't come cheaply, you know. For this, you can say ten thousand Hail Marys! Two hundred thousand Our Fathers …

In the flickering darkness, her powerful vagina gobbled him in like a Chinese handcuff as a floorboard creaked. And like a loose egg he was cooked — two minutes, done.