The Collected Short Stories of Conrad Aiken

THE WOMAN-HATER

It was half past ten on a night in May, and the three medical students had just been through their notes in histology for the third time. The windows were open, and a sound of dripping could be heard on the stone window-ledge; the desultory drip, gradually slowing, that succeeds a spring shower. One of the men lay face down on a couch, his face pillowed sideways on his bare arms. His eyes were shut. The other two sat in fumed-oak Morris chairs, with their legs stretched out before them, and smoked cigarettes. Empty glasses stood on the floor beside them. They had taken off their coats.

“Well, what do you say, Bill? How about it?”

“I guess it’s stopped raining.”

“Sure, it ain’t gonna rine no more.… Let’s go.”

Bill, retying his loosened necktie, got up and went to the window. He rested his freckled hands on the sill and leaned out.

“Yes—it’s stopped, all right. And the stars are coming out.…” He turned around, looked down at the man on the couch, and idly dislodged a cushion from the couch-arm, so that it fell on the sleeper’s face. “And, by God! I couldn’t learn another symptom if I was paid a million dollars for it. Wake up, Pete.”

Pete lay unmoving. “Leave me alone,” he murmured.

“Oh, come on, Pete. It’ll do you good. You need a little excitement to get the adrenals working.”

“No,” said Pete. And then with violence: “NO!”

“What time did you tell her we’d meet her, Dil?”

Dil got up and stretched, eyeing his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. He smoothed his sleek hair with his hands, with something of an air of vanity. He was dark and handsome.

“I said we’d be at the stage-door at twenty of eleven.… What do you say about another little drink?… Say, Pete, what’s the matter with you, anyway? Why don’t you come and meet her? She’s a peach. She’s a creamer. She isn’t any ordinary chorus girl, you know.”

“Women don’t interest me,” said Pete.

“There he goes again,” said Bill. “What’s the use?”

“You’re both of you damn fools,” said Pete. “Just spending your money for nothing. What does she care about you? All she wants is food and somebody to dance with. She just uses you to kill time. She’s probably got a couple of husbands in New York.”

“You’re crazy,” said Dil mildly.

He went into a bedroom, and came back with his coat.

“Come on,” he said.

“All right,” said Bill. “Wait till I get my coat. Sure you won’t come, Pete?”

“No, I’m going to bed. And for the love of Pete don’t be so damned noisy when you come back. Last night I thought somebody was being murdered.”

The two men put on their hats, without comment, and went out. Dil carried a malacca stick with a silver band around it. They went down the stairs in silence, and emerging into the spring night turned to the left.

“It’s funny about Pete,” said Dil. “I wonder what’s the matter with him.”

Bill ruminated.

“He was always that way,” he said. “That was the way he was all through college.”

“Didn’t he ever have a girl?”

“Never a girl. Never would go to a dance or anything. You know, it isn’t that he’s shy, or anything like that. He came into my room once, by accident, when I was giving a tea. And he got along perfectly all right. In fact, my sister was crazy about him. She tried like the devil to get hold of him again. Even called him up on the phone to ask him to dinner. I was there when he answered it. And he just kind of drawled back at her, kidding her along. He just kept saying, ‘No, I guess not, thanks,’ till she got tired. Gee! she was mad. He didn’t bother to give any excuse. Just refused point-blank.”

“Maybe he just needs to be waked up.”

“Maybe he does.…”

They turned to the left again, entering a main thoroughfare, which was crowded and brightly lighted. They passed a lunchroom, and then the portals of a stone church. A lot of sodden confetti was scattered on the wet sidewalk.

“He’s right about one thing,” said Dil. “This business costs a lot of money. I’m getting kind of low.”

“By gosh, that’s true.”

“But then, it’s worth it.”

“Sure. There was a picture of her in Theatre Magazine last week. It said she was considered the most beautiful woman on the musical-comedy stage.”

“Everybody runs after her. I wonder why it is she’s taken such a fancy to us. I guess maybe she meets so few men who are decent to her. You know how it is.”

“Well she seems to like us, all right. Anyway, she likes you.”

“I’m not so sure about that. But she’s pretty keen on you, Bill. I could tell it last night by the way she looked at you.”

“Oh, go on.”

“When she was dancing with you. I had an idea I’d better go home and leave you alone together. But then I thought you might be embarrassed.”

Bill gave a flattered and uneasy little laugh.

“That’s just the way I felt about you,” he said. “I guess maybe she’s pretty fond of us both, really. It must be a kind of a relief to a woman like that to feel sure that a man isn’t all the time trying to take advantage of her. She feels safe with us.”

Dil hung his stick over the crook of his arm.

“You don’t suppose she gets bored with us, do you?” he said. “I was wondering last night whether she just thought of us as kids. It was when she was talking about that week-end party she went to at the painter’s on Long Island. It sounded pretty gay—almost fast.”

Bill pondered. The lights of the theater-canopy were just ahead of them. The people were beginning to come out, and the line of cars was forming. “Why should she?” he said. “After all, we’re as old as she is. And we aren’t either of us fools.… Of course a girl like Mae is bound to run into some fast parties. She has to be a good sport. But that doesn’t prove anything against her. And you’ve only got to look at Mae to see that she’s nice. And the way she’s all the time telegraphing and telephoning to her mother.”

Dil sighed.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Right turn.”

They greeted the doorman at the stage-door with the dignified knowingness of men of the world, and informed him that Miss Melville was expecting them. Dil tapped the ferrule of his stick against the door-jamb. They waited in silence, and other men were waiting also, with their coat-collars turned up. They looked like conspirators. Two chorus girls came out, two men stepped forward quickly and bowed, taxis came and went.

“She’s coming now,” said Ollie, the doorman.

“Hello, boys!” she cried. “I didn’t see you out in front tonight.”

“No, we had to sweat for an exam,” said Bill.

She stood on the step, drawing the fur collar against her lovely chin. She smiled amiably at each of them in turn, and they smiled back at her.

“You look fine,” said Dil.

“Don’t waste time flattering me,” she said, “let’s get a taxi.”

They got a taxi and piled into it and drove to the Shawmut. The hotel lobby was crowded, and so was the grill-room, but they found a booth. The band was playing a fox-trot and people were dancing in the railed-off center of the floor. A lot of the tables had toy balloons tethered to them, and some of the couples carried balloons with them as they danced.

“Same old crowd,” said Mae. “There’s grandpa and his cutie. He’s got a new pair of spats.”

“Would you like a little fox-trot?” said Dil.

“I don’t mind a little one. Let’s go.”

Bill ordered the supper while they danced. Dil was talking to Mae, and she seemed to be listening with great amusement. They took a few turns and came back.

“I’ve been telling Mae about Pete,” said Bill.

“He sounds too fascinating,” said Mae. “Tell me some more about him. Does he live with you?”

“Sure, he lives with us,” said Dil. “Regular old crab. Got the best head in the class.”

“He’s a real woman-hater. Won’t have a thing to do with them. My sister tried to get him to come to a dinner-dance once, and he turned her down flat.”

“What does he say about women?” said Mae. She leaned forward on her elbows. Her eyes were very bright. Then she took out a little mirror and began titivating her eyelashes and nose with a tiny finger-tip. She smoothed the powder round her nostrils.

“Oh, he just says ‘women don’t interest me.’”

“Well, I’d like a drink,” said Mae.

“I’ve got a flask,” said Dil, “and there’s some White Rock coming.”

“Is my nose all right?”

She snapped shut the lid of the little box and looked brightly from one to the other. Then she opened it again and, tilting her head to make sure that her hair was not disarrayed, she patted a golden wave or two lightly with the palm of her hand.

“Perfect,” said Bill.

“Absolutely perfect,” said Dil.

The music stopped, the couples drifted back to their booths with trailing and bobbing balloons, and in the distressing silence the waiter opened the White Rock. As soon as he had gone away Dil took out his flask and poured from it into the three glasses. The saxophone began again. Mae subtly swayed her shoulders, narrowing her eyes a little.

“Mm—what I mean!” she said, lifting her glass.

“Well, here’s to poor old Pete,” said Dil.

“Oh, yes, tell me some more about Pete. Is he good-looking?”

“He’s red-haired and blue-eyed,” said Bill. “Red curly hair. He’s not what you’d call handsome exactly—do you think so, Dil?—but he’s awfully nice-looking. He’s terribly innocent.”

“This is a nice drink,” said Mae. “I needed it badly. Gosh, it was hot in that dressing-room! I thought I would die. I thought I would faint or something. I tell you what, boys, I’m going to bed early tonight.”

“Oh, don’t say that. The night’s still young.”

“I’m going to bed at one o’clock on the dot. You see if I don’t. Just the same, I’d like to do something exciting, if I weren’t so tired.”

“Are you feeling tired? This drink will fix you up. We were feeling pretty shot ourselves. We’ve been working since three this afternoon. But I’m feeling a lot better already. All you need is a little jazz.”

“What would you like to do, Mae?” asked Dil. “How about riding out to the Bell-in-Hand and having a dance? Some of the fellows are going to be out there.”

Mae considered, her pretty head on one side. She watched the couples dance by, watching with a sort of melancholy, bored expression. She rested her chin on knitted fingers.

“I want to do something exciting,” she said. “Gosh, how I hate this sleepy town.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” said Bill.

“Sleepy Hollow,” said Dil.

“What else does Pete say about women, Dil? I bet some girl turned him down. That’s the way it usually is.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just the way he is. He’s a real woman-hater. We tried to make him come and meet you, but he wouldn’t. He said women didn’t interest him.”

Mae smiled at Dil in a queer sleepy sort of way. Her eyes were very blue and very deep.

“He didn’t want to meet me?” she said.

“It would have been the same with anybody,” Bill said, a little anxiously. “He never goes out anywhere. Never goes to a show.”

“What’s he doing now?”

“Now? This minute? Probably gone to bed.”

“Well, let’s go and wake him up.”

Dil laughed. Bill poured out the rest of the White Rock. The glasses were empty.

“By gosh, that would be amusing,” said Dil. “I wonder what old Pete would do if we came in and woke him.”

“Throw a fit or something,” said Bill.

“I’d like to meet a real woman-hater. I’ve never met one. Does he bite and scratch?”

Dil smoothed his black hair; he was very urbane.

“Oh, no. He’s very polite. But the only things that interest him are surgery and hunting. He went big-game hunting in Africa just after he got out of college. Shot a couple of lions, and nearly got killed by a lioness.”

“My, my, just think of that. Where was this—in California?”

They laughed, and drank.

“No movie stuff,” said Dil. “Honest-to-God Africa. He’s got the gun to prove it.”

“Well, now, isn’t he the little hero,” said Mae primly. “Let’s go and wake him up and talk to him. I’d like to talk to him. We can go there, can’t we?”

“Sure, we can go there.”

“That’s a swell idea,” said Bill. “By gosh, it’ll be fun to see Pete in a situation like that! By gosh, I wonder what he’ll do. It wouldn’t surprise me if he shot you or jumped out of the window.”

“No; do you know what I think he’ll do? He’ll just take one look at Mae and go to sleep again. That’s what he’ll do. He’ll open one eye like a sick hen and then shut it again and tell us to go to hell.”

“What will you bet? I’ll bet I can make him like me,” said Mae. “I’ll bet you a dinner. Give me a cigarette, that’s a good boy.”

“All right, I’ll bet you can’t.”

“Come on, then, let’s go.”

“Wait till I pay the bill. You go ahead and get a taxi.”

Mae and Bill got up and moved through the returning dancers, and a moment later Dil followed them. They walked down the steps from the lobby under the lighted glass canopy and got into a scarlet taxi. The stars were out. Mae sat between them and held their arms, and laughed.

“This is great,” she said.

“It’s only just around the corner,” Bill murmured. “Here it is.”

“What—already? We could have walked.”

“Well, you’ll have walk enough going up the stairs.”

“All right, you’ll have to push me.”

They put their hands against the small of her back and pushed her, all three of them laughing. Bill took out his key and opened the door. The apartment was dark, and he felt along the wall and switched on the light. Everything was exactly as they had left it—the glasses still on the floor, the window open, and the cushion just where Pete had flung it. A purple galleon was embroidered on the cushion, and there was a rip at one corner.

“He’s gone to bed,” said Dil. “Just what I said.”

“Where does he sleep? In here?”

Mae went to one of the bedroom doors, on tiptoe.

“No, here.”

“Let me see him.… You leave this to me!”

She flung off her cape and went to the door. Bill reached his hand in and turned on the light. Pete was asleep. His head was twisted a little to one side, and his left arm lay outside the blanket, across his breast. His lips were lightly closed, and his face had the soft and relaxed look of one who sleeps deeply.

“Isn’t he darling!” Mae whispered. “Sh-h-h!”

She removed her slippers and went to the bed, where for a moment she leaned over the sleeping figure.

“Hello, Pete!” she said softly.

Pete didn’t stir. His breath was perfectly even. Mae knelt on the bed, stretched herself out beside him, very gently, and put her arm across him. She leaned her face above his, by degrees allowing him to feel more and more of her weight. Then she inclined her head and gave him a kiss. As she withdrew her face, smiling deliciously, Pete opened his eyes. He didn’t move—his face didn’t change expression. He looked up at the smiling and beautiful face that hung over him, very much as if he thought he might still be dreaming. Then he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her down to him, without saying a word.

Bill and Dil retreated. Bill sank down on the couch, and Dil went to the window. They both felt a little hurt.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Dil.

“Can you beat it?”

“So that’s the end of poor old Pete.”

Bill went to the door and looked in. Mae was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling still, and Pete was staring up at her, entranced, as if his visitant were a sort of archangel. Neither of them said anything.

“The drinks are on us,” said Bill, “any time you’re ready. Come on, Mae, and let the great man get some clothes on.”

Mae jumped up and laughed.

“So that’s that,” she said. “Put on a record, someone, and let’s dance. Don’t look so gloomy, Bill!…”

“By gosh, that was too easy.”

“I like him,” said Mae. “He’s a darling! Why didn’t you tell me he was such a darling?”

“Oh, yes, he’s a darling, all right,” said Dil.

There was a silence, a little awkward, during which Pete got up and shut his door. They could hear him moving around at a great rate, getting dressed. Bill put on a record and wound the phonograph. His eyes met Dil’s, and they both looked away, They were both wishing that it hadn’t happened. Then the fox-trot began whining, Bill snapped his fingers, and Dill took Mae in his arms, grinning, and started to dance.