Read Online I Come as a Theif by Louis Auchincloss - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louis Auchincloss
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of the thing they're part of."
Tony shook his head. "You're angry with me."
She stepped up and threw her arms about him. "Darling, I'm not. Believe me, I'm not. I'm trying so hard to be good and sensible. And to be happy. That's the point."
"You're right. That
is
the point."
"And I've been thinking. I don't want you to give that extra time to me and the children I used to ask for. That was being as bad as
your
mother. I was only thinking of myself. I want you to get on with your career. Full time. And I want to help you. All the way."
Her eyes were pleading, sincerely pleading. Whatever her motive, she had certainly convinced herself. Had he reached the point where he expected her to convince
him?
"I will, Lee."
Later that night, after she had gone to sleep, he lay awake, trying to take in the fact of what he had decided to do. For how could he now tell that trusting girl that her new hopes for him, on which she was building a new life for her loving heart, were to end in his political failure and bankruptcy? As the hours went by and he lay stiller than he could ever remember lying on a sleepless night, he tried to fight the persistently encroaching idea that what was going to happen on the morrow was a birth, the birth, forty-three years delayed, of Anthony Lowder. For up until now, it more and more struck him, he had existed like something floating in space, subject entirely to the attraction or repulsion of other objects that happened to come within his sphere. Now something was happening within himself. A little muffled motor, deep in the recesses of his psyche, had started to revolve, to throb, to whir. Anthony Lowder was going to start his own motion in a black void, and it could hardly matter where that motion took him. Success or failure were less important than the fact that he was making his own decisionâindependently and unsentimentally. The only thing that created a small doubt was the idea, implanted by Max, that he might be going to commit the crime for the sake of committing itâto round out and perfect his own little squalid existentialist story.
After three in the morning he fell asleep and dreamed that he had done what Max had proposed. It was a curious dream in that what he had done varied in no particular from what he and Max had discussed that afternoon. It seemed not so much a dream as a rehearsal. When he awoke, he was drenched in the sweat of relief that it was only a dream.
"Perhaps it's a warning," he told his haggard reflection as he shaved. "Perhaps I had better give up the whole thing."
And then he smiled because it occurred to him that he was afraid. Would there never be an end to sentimentality? When would he learn it was not a question of courage or manliness or morality but simply of choice?
Before Lee or either of the children was awake he went into the living room and dialed Max's number.
8
Tony at fourteen had had a religious experience. At least for almost four years he believed it to have been one. It was never repeated, but its effect on him was nonetheless powerful. It followed what he always afterward considered his initiation in crime.
His young brother's passion in life was a dolls' house. Philip at twelve was a large fat boy with black greasy hair and a shrill, aggressive disposition. He refused to make the smallest compromise with a world that largely bored him. He liked the movies; he liked to exchange dirty stories with a small number of unattractive friends; he liked to play with and embellish the elaborate dolls' house that he maintained in his bedroom in the Riverside Drive apartment.
This dolls' house was a cause of constant mortification to his parents, particularly to his mother who knew too well with what glee the Dalys must have discussed the masculine deficiency which it represented. She banished it to Philip's room and refused to buy him dolls or furniture for it. But Philip, who derived a dusky delight in flinging in hostile faces the unorthodoxy
Tony shook his head. "You're angry with me."
She stepped up and threw her arms about him. "Darling, I'm not. Believe me, I'm not. I'm trying so hard to be good and sensible. And to be happy. That's the point."
"You're right. That
is
the point."
"And I've been thinking. I don't want you to give that extra time to me and the children I used to ask for. That was being as bad as
your
mother. I was only thinking of myself. I want you to get on with your career. Full time. And I want to help you. All the way."
Her eyes were pleading, sincerely pleading. Whatever her motive, she had certainly convinced herself. Had he reached the point where he expected her to convince
him?
"I will, Lee."
Later that night, after she had gone to sleep, he lay awake, trying to take in the fact of what he had decided to do. For how could he now tell that trusting girl that her new hopes for him, on which she was building a new life for her loving heart, were to end in his political failure and bankruptcy? As the hours went by and he lay stiller than he could ever remember lying on a sleepless night, he tried to fight the persistently encroaching idea that what was going to happen on the morrow was a birth, the birth, forty-three years delayed, of Anthony Lowder. For up until now, it more and more struck him, he had existed like something floating in space, subject entirely to the attraction or repulsion of other objects that happened to come within his sphere. Now something was happening within himself. A little muffled motor, deep in the recesses of his psyche, had started to revolve, to throb, to whir. Anthony Lowder was going to start his own motion in a black void, and it could hardly matter where that motion took him. Success or failure were less important than the fact that he was making his own decisionâindependently and unsentimentally. The only thing that created a small doubt was the idea, implanted by Max, that he might be going to commit the crime for the sake of committing itâto round out and perfect his own little squalid existentialist story.
After three in the morning he fell asleep and dreamed that he had done what Max had proposed. It was a curious dream in that what he had done varied in no particular from what he and Max had discussed that afternoon. It seemed not so much a dream as a rehearsal. When he awoke, he was drenched in the sweat of relief that it was only a dream.
"Perhaps it's a warning," he told his haggard reflection as he shaved. "Perhaps I had better give up the whole thing."
And then he smiled because it occurred to him that he was afraid. Would there never be an end to sentimentality? When would he learn it was not a question of courage or manliness or morality but simply of choice?
Before Lee or either of the children was awake he went into the living room and dialed Max's number.
8
Tony at fourteen had had a religious experience. At least for almost four years he believed it to have been one. It was never repeated, but its effect on him was nonetheless powerful. It followed what he always afterward considered his initiation in crime.
His young brother's passion in life was a dolls' house. Philip at twelve was a large fat boy with black greasy hair and a shrill, aggressive disposition. He refused to make the smallest compromise with a world that largely bored him. He liked the movies; he liked to exchange dirty stories with a small number of unattractive friends; he liked to play with and embellish the elaborate dolls' house that he maintained in his bedroom in the Riverside Drive apartment.
This dolls' house was a cause of constant mortification to his parents, particularly to his mother who knew too well with what glee the Dalys must have discussed the masculine deficiency which it represented. She banished it to Philip's room and refused to buy him dolls or furniture for it. But Philip, who derived a dusky delight in flinging in hostile faces the unorthodoxy
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