Page 122 - tender-is-the-night

‘Seems rather foolish to be unpleasant, Abe. Anyhow you
don’t mean that. I can’t see why you’ve given up about ev-
erything.’
Abe considered, trying hard not to cough or blow his
nose.
‘I suppose I got bored; and then it was such a long way to
go back in order to get anywhere.’
Often a man can play the helpless child in front of a
woman, but he can almost never bring it off when he feels
most like a helpless child.
‘No excuse for it,’ Nicole said crisply.
Abe was feeling worse every minute—he could think
of nothing but disagreeable and sheerly nervous remarks.
Nicole thought that the correct attitude for her was to sit
staring straight ahead, hands in her lap. For a while there
was no communication between them— each was racing
away from the other, breathing only insofar as there was blue
space ahead, a sky not seen by the other. Unlike lovers they
possessed no past; unlike man and wife, they possessed no
future; yet up to this morning Nicole had liked Abe better
than any one except Dick—and he had been heavy, belly-
frightened, with love for her for years.
‘Tired of women’s worlds,’ he spoke up suddenly.
‘Then why don’t you make a world of your own?’
‘Tired of friends. The thing is to have sycophants.’
Nicole tried to force the minute hand around on the sta-
tion clock, but, ‘You agree?’ he demanded.
‘I am a woman and my business is to hold things togeth-
er.’

122 Tender is the Night