Authors: Martha Gellhorn
They had arranged that Moira was never to telephone; she was to wait. Now she waited. Enrico had warned her that he might have to leave town for a few days; the days were endless, she could not sleep at night. In order not to make Enid suspicious, Moira still left the Langdons' flat at seven and wandered through the streets, ate in embarrassed solitude in obscure restaurants, went to the movies; she saved Mrs Martin in hope, for future use. After four days, panic set in. Enrico would never telephone; her life was ending as suddenly as it had begun. She felt her nerves leaping out of control; she wept easily, rushing to hide in her room, but the children and the servants noticed. She would be talking to the cook and hear her voice rise into a scream of rage, and see the shocked faces of the servants, and hide again. It was unbearable to take the children out in the afternoon, when her mind was filled with a thunderous anxiety and she could do nothing but examine in terror, again and again, Enrico's words, gestures, trying to see what had happened. The lonely evenings at the movies stunned her with weariness, yet she could not sleep, and her eyes were circled and her mouth drooped and she used rouge to cover the pallor of her cheeks. She could find no way to lie still in her cold small bed, and all night, as a torment, she remembered Enrico and the lost closeness of their bodies.
Enid did see that Moira was not looking as well as she had; she inquired about Moira's health and Moira said it was only that the long nights with Mrs Martin were a little wearing but of course nothing to complain about. Enid was nerving herself to have a talk with Moira; what were Moira's plans, she would ask, had Moira considered settling on her own in Rome or did she mean to return to London? it would probably be easier for Moira not to have so many tiring little household responsibilities as well as her work. Finally, Enid thought, if Moira ignored hints - and she had a horrid tendency to do so - Enid would say that they had decided the children must have a governess to improve their Italian and they needed Moira's room, they were frightfully sorry. Covered with money, Enid thought angrily, and Moira hasn't so much as brought one flower into this house; it is too awful to admit it but the girl has become a sponge, that's all, a perfectly shameless sponge.
Enid was giving another clean-up lunch party; today the principal guest was an American lady who had been very kind to the Langdons when they were in Washington. This lady had seemed far more presentable in Washington than in Rome. Enid collected eight people who should be asked from time to time; the American lady, cheerful and chatty, would not notice the quality of the other guests. Mrs Dawson babbled on, undismayed by Hugh's usual politeness.
'My dear, I had the most fun yesterday. Louella Wright heard about an astrologer from Countess Merici; you know who I mean? She said this man is brilliant, he can tell you about investments and friends and absolutely anything. So Louella Wright and I made an appointment and we went to see him yesterday. He is uncanny, really I mean it. His name is Demetrio Kollonic, I believe he's Hungarian; you ought to see him, Hugh, it's fabulous. He told me about some money I've invested and I simply cabled New York at once to do what he said. He told me that poor Senator Meakin is going to be very ill, of course he didn't say the name but the description was perfect and I wrote the Senator, who is a very dear friend, warning him. He advised me about my own health; well, I can't get over him. Louella was dazed, that's all. He knew all about that worthless son of hers at Yale who's always in trouble.'
Moira heard the unabashed American voice, she heard a name, an astrologer, a man who saw the past and foretold the future. Moira hardly listened to the Italian next to her, who decided that the food at the Langdons' was so appalling that they probably had an English cook and that the company was tiresome to an unheard-of degree and that there was after all no law which required him to accept their invitations. After lunch, Moira went to her room and sat on a chair, looking out at the wall on the other side of the courtyard. She would have telephoned Enrico, despite his orders, but she could think of nothing to say; and she was afraid to hear, in words, what she dreaded to believe. Someone must help her, someone must tell her what to do. There had to be relief from this suffering. She decided to find that American's astrologer; it would be useless, but it would be something to do. She could not wait any longer, in motionless despair.
Signor Kollonic lived on what Moira considered the wrong side of the river. Buses and trams clashed up and down the street; there were store windows crowded with hideous price-marked shoes, mostly felt bedroom slippers; cheeses hung outside food stores, also whole huge repellent pigs. Moira was sure the hallway in Signor Kollonic's building would smell. Now that she was almost here she could not imagine what she would say to the astrologer, or ask him. Well, she could treat this visit as a joke; there was nothing wrong with going to a fortune-teller if one went to laugh.
Signor Kollonic lived on the fourth floor. Moira rang the bell and nothing happened; she rang again and a young man opened the door, looked at her, and made a gesture to enter. She followed him, silently, down a stuffy hall to a small room. She had a quick impression of a day bed covered by a rumpled batik spread, frail fancy hanging bookshelves, a Buddha, a Chinese scroll, a big table piled with dusty papers and opened books, two scratched sagging leather chairs, and a streaked window. There was something unpleasantly intimate about this room and about being here, but the young man's face reassured her. He look like a plump European schoolboy; his hair was too long, fluffy brown, his cheeks were rosy, he had a pink bow mouth and a jolly smile. He was small.
She said, 'I made an appointment, Mr Kollonic, do you remember? I'm Miss Shepleigh.' Moira always spoke English as a first try.
'Oh yes, Chapleg,' Signor Kollonic said. 'So. Sit down, please.'
Moira arranged herself. His voice was rather high. Moira offered Signor Kollonic a cigarette.
'Zank you. Now please, ze hour, day, year of your birz.'
'January 25,1921,' Moira said. 'I'm afraid I don't know the exact hour. I remember Mother once said something about my being born at dawn and that it was the longest night she had ever known.'
'It is better ze exact hour,' Signor Kollonic said, without much interest. He rummaged on the desk and found a small leather-bound book which looked old. He held it up to get light from the window, he turned pages.
'So,' he said in a businesslike way, 'you are Aquarius, born wiz Venus in opposition to Mars. All your life you have great trouble wiz zis. It is difficult to make a decision. Someone else must make ze decision for you. First it is ze fazzer until you are big, zen you hate ze fazzer and you let ze mozzer decide but ze mozzer is not so strong, ze mozzer is also one who does not make her mind so you are in trouble, you look for one who can lead you.'
'Really,' Moira said with a disparaging giggle.
'Ze fazzer also hate you.' Signor Kollonic seemed enlivened by this development. 'Yes? It is ze brozzer he likes, ze brozzer is what he hopes for. Always he give to ze brozzer. He had plenty of money, ze fazzer, but only ze brozzer must get it but ze mozzer protects you when she can. Ze brozzer is dead quickly, some accident, in 1943, zen you zink ze fazzer will now love you and give you what you want. You do not like ze brozzer so much, you are jealous. But ze fazzer really hate you when ze brozzer is dead and he say he will give you no money any more, you are old enough, you can work for yourself.'
Moira stared at the amiable plump young man with horror. No one knew this, unless her father had told her mother. No one knew of the ghastly scene with her father; no one knew that she had wept and shouted at him and threatened going to law to make him continue her allowance. No one knew that he had smiled with icy contempt, saying he was in no way obliged to support her. She was of age, his own income was heavily curtailed by the war, she could always marry, surely she could find some other man to pay for her idleness. No one knew she had accused that glacial man of loving only her brother Anthony, now dead, and that her father had said, 'Of course,' as if there were no question of choice. Moira would have died to hide this truth; it was indecent, uncivilized, like the bits one read in newspapers, to have this sort of mercenary quarrel with one's father. She let her friends understand that Daddy had been ruined by the war, she wouldn't dream of asking him for money now that he was so hard up. Daddy was not as hard up as that, but her mother did not dare ask for money for Moira, and could only steal a little from her household allowance, to give to her daughter.
'You have always zis trouble,' Signor Kollonic went on chattily, 'ze people let you fall down. It is ze same wiz ze work but you do not like ze work, you are
femme d'intérieure
, you wish to live in ze house and spend ze money you are given. Ze work you lose always, no? Someone say to you I am so sorry but we do not need you longer. You do not do ze work very good,' Signor Kollonic said, frowning at his book. 'You must marry, not ze work. Do not try for ze work.'
Moira said nothing.
'You have very fine healz,' Signor Kollonic went on, 'only some little trouble wiz ze sinus, nozzing important. Zat man in 1943, he go away, is it not so? You zink you love him very much, you suffer very much, he go away and later he send you some little present, zat is all. You were too heavy on him, he begins to be frighten, he wish for a love affair; he is not wanting to marry. Ze ozzer man is ze same but you do not wish to marry him so you do not suffer so much.'
The shame was choking her; Jack Stedman had gone away, just like that. For a week or two before, she had felt him rather vague and distrait but she had no idea he meant to chuck her. A month later she got a printed silk scarf from Paris with a card, wishing her all the best. A fellow officer had evidently brought it over and mailed it in London. She had believed they would marry; she longed to live outside England; everything Jack had told her about America charmed her; she was so sure, all her plans were made. She took up with Kot to cure herself of that misery, to rebuild her lost confidence; it was a gay little affair and nothing more, but she was shocked when Kot drifted off, she would have wanted to end it herself. She decided Poles were delightful but feckless, they treated all women like this.
'You have very important love story starting last monz,' Signor Kollonic remarked and unaccountably he laughed. 'Stars very good for you last monz. Venus ascendant wiz ze moon in Aries. You live now wiz a woman, a family, she is a friend or a relative, you know her all your life. Stupid woman.' Signor Kollonic flicked pages irritably. 'Stupid family. She is very tired wiz you, she wishes you would go away now, she will tell you soon.'
Moira gasped and tears stung her eyes, as if her face had been slapped.
'I am sure you are wrong,' she said, 'Enid is my oldest friend.'
'She is tired,' Signor Kollonic said calmly, 'you stay too long. It is like ze fazzer. People wish you to make your mind, fix for yourself, but you do not. You cannot very good, it is not made so in ze stars. You must marry a man born wiz Mercury in Gemini, zis is ze man which will look after you.'
'There is a man ...' Moira began.
'Yes, yes, I see,' Signor Kollonic interrupted. 'I must know his birz time, zen I tell you of him.'
'I don't know it.'
'You must find out. I can tell you nozzing you want to know of him now. Now you are very worried, you do not see zis man. You are frighten, you zink he is not loving you still. I cannot say wizout his birz date. It is very big love affair for you, ze first one.'
'What shall I do?'
'You?' Signor Kollonic seemed to remember Moira was there, he looked at her from a cool distance. 'Nozzing. You must find some man to marry.'
He spoke as if marriage were not the desired, laudable goal, the meaning and purpose of life, but the last refuge for failures. I don't want to hear any more, Moira thought, and rose unsteadily.
'What do I owe you?' she asked, hoping her voice showed this miserable creature how she despised him.
'Five zousand lire,' Signor Kollonic said cheerfully.
Robbery, Moira thought, five thousand lire to tell one nothing.
She paid with an air of giving money to a beggar, marched out, marched down the steps and into the crowded noonday street. She held her head high and trusted no one would imagine she lived in this dingy neighbourhood. Charlatan, she thought, making guesses; she buried at once the ugly suspicion that Enid wanted to get rid of her, Enid adored her, they were cousins and lifelong friends, she was indispensable to Enid in the house, with the children. She would not even consider what the awful little man had said about her father; and what a lie to suggest she hadn't loved Anthony, she had worshipped Anthony, he was her only brother; one accepted his death because there it was, it would be too selfish and weak to make a fuss when so many other young men had been killed.
I am going to telephone Enrico, Moira decided; it has been absurd to fret like this. I shall telephone him after lunch; perhaps, in fact, he was born under Mercury. Enid would think it strange if she married an Italian, most of her friends would, but that was because they were provincial and did not know Italians. Enrico was a very well-known, successful lawyer, and far from being ashamed she was extremely proud of him, and he would be the most adorable husband and this whole thing about foreigners and Italians was the worst form of English narrow-mindedness.
Moira decided to telephone Enrico at his office; he would surely lunch at a restaurant with business acquaintances. Enrico said, 'Who?' in a puzzled voice, because he had not thought of Moira for days and never spoken to her on the phone.
'Oh, my dear child,' he said then, 'I have just come back. I meant to write you a note this afternoon. I have been awfully busy and still am, it seems impossible to find free time this week. You will forgive me, won't you? Shall we meet Tuesday at our trattoria?'
'Of course, Enrico,' Moira said, but she sounded distant and alarmed.