the slightest gesture, indeed not knowing what she should do. And Claude kissed her gently, and caressed her.
How amusing she was, this motionless girl with her eyelids trembling, with her inexperienced mouth, with her child's body! How touching and amusing and exciting! Claude ventured still further in discovering the body of the child. Then, so as not to frighten the little one, her hand waited while she whispered to her, "Ursula, my darling child, my little girl, how pretty you are!" The hand moved again.
Ursula didn't feel any special pleasure, only an immense astonishment. She had loved Claude's mouth, but now she felt somewhat scandalized. But little by little, as Claude continued her slow caressing, Ursula lost her astonishment. She kept saying to herself, I adore her, I adore her. And nothing else counted. All at once, her insignificant and monotonous life had become full, rich, and marvelous. Claude held her in her arms, Claude had invented these strange caresses, Claude could do no wrong. Ursula wanted only one thing, to keep this refuge forever, this warmth, this security.
Outdoors, the antiaircraft guns continued their booming, and the planes growled in the sky. Outside, it was a December night, cold and foggy, while here there were two arms that held her tight, there was a voice that cradled her, and soft hair touched her face.
Chapter 8
Sometime during the night, Claude shook Ursula, telling her to return to her own bed. Ursula was so tired that she moved as though in sleep to the other cot.
At seven o'clock the corporal came on her tour of inspection. Claude was singing in the bathroom. She had a beautiful voice, rather low. She sang:
"Tel qu'il est, II me pait. II me fait De I'effet Et je I'aime!"
The corporal glanced at Ursula, who was polishing the buttons of her jacket, and Ursula blushed. It seemed to her as though "that" must be visible on her face, as though the whole world would notice the change that had taken place in her, for she had made love, and now she was a woman. She was Claude's woman. And Claude seemed to her extraordinary and marvelous.
Now there came back to her mind certain phrases that she had heard in the barracks. Disagreeable remarks about Ann and Petit, about Claude too. Expressions she had read in books. She had never paid much attention to them, she had never quite understood them, but now everything was clear. She understood. No, Claude had invented nothing last night. Just as there were homosexual men, so there were homosexual women. Ursula had known it about men for a long time, because one year when they were rich her mother had employed a chauffeur, and he had been like that, and everybody had made jokes about the man. But she had not known about women. Now she understood. And yet a mystery remained. If Claude were "that" way, how was it that she had so many male lovers? And how could she still love her husband, as she said she did?
It was so difficult to learn about life all alone. Yet she didn't come to me then with her story. Much of what I now relate to you was revealed to me later.
What hurt Ursula most of all, that morning, as she later expressed it to me in her pain and perplexity, was Claude's indifference. For when Ursula turned to her Claude seemed cold and distant, as though what had happened during the night were insignificant, common. Ursula didn't dare to touch upon the thousand questions that trembled in her. Claude, humming, went off to breakfast.
I noticed how miserable Ursula looked that morning, and wondered what had happened. But we all had to rush off to our jobs, and it was not until evening that I had an opportunity to talk with her, and by then she had told a good deal to Mickey.
For Ursula had been off duty in the afternoon, and she had gone out. She didn't know a soul in London, and walked haphazardly through the foggy streets, wanting only to find a corner somewhere, to hide away and cry. Huge red busses passed, and the policemen at the
How amusing she was, this motionless girl with her eyelids trembling, with her inexperienced mouth, with her child's body! How touching and amusing and exciting! Claude ventured still further in discovering the body of the child. Then, so as not to frighten the little one, her hand waited while she whispered to her, "Ursula, my darling child, my little girl, how pretty you are!" The hand moved again.
Ursula didn't feel any special pleasure, only an immense astonishment. She had loved Claude's mouth, but now she felt somewhat scandalized. But little by little, as Claude continued her slow caressing, Ursula lost her astonishment. She kept saying to herself, I adore her, I adore her. And nothing else counted. All at once, her insignificant and monotonous life had become full, rich, and marvelous. Claude held her in her arms, Claude had invented these strange caresses, Claude could do no wrong. Ursula wanted only one thing, to keep this refuge forever, this warmth, this security.
Outdoors, the antiaircraft guns continued their booming, and the planes growled in the sky. Outside, it was a December night, cold and foggy, while here there were two arms that held her tight, there was a voice that cradled her, and soft hair touched her face.
Chapter 8
Sometime during the night, Claude shook Ursula, telling her to return to her own bed. Ursula was so tired that she moved as though in sleep to the other cot.
At seven o'clock the corporal came on her tour of inspection. Claude was singing in the bathroom. She had a beautiful voice, rather low. She sang:
"Tel qu'il est, II me pait. II me fait De I'effet Et je I'aime!"
The corporal glanced at Ursula, who was polishing the buttons of her jacket, and Ursula blushed. It seemed to her as though "that" must be visible on her face, as though the whole world would notice the change that had taken place in her, for she had made love, and now she was a woman. She was Claude's woman. And Claude seemed to her extraordinary and marvelous.
Now there came back to her mind certain phrases that she had heard in the barracks. Disagreeable remarks about Ann and Petit, about Claude too. Expressions she had read in books. She had never paid much attention to them, she had never quite understood them, but now everything was clear. She understood. No, Claude had invented nothing last night. Just as there were homosexual men, so there were homosexual women. Ursula had known it about men for a long time, because one year when they were rich her mother had employed a chauffeur, and he had been like that, and everybody had made jokes about the man. But she had not known about women. Now she understood. And yet a mystery remained. If Claude were "that" way, how was it that she had so many male lovers? And how could she still love her husband, as she said she did?
It was so difficult to learn about life all alone. Yet she didn't come to me then with her story. Much of what I now relate to you was revealed to me later.
What hurt Ursula most of all, that morning, as she later expressed it to me in her pain and perplexity, was Claude's indifference. For when Ursula turned to her Claude seemed cold and distant, as though what had happened during the night were insignificant, common. Ursula didn't dare to touch upon the thousand questions that trembled in her. Claude, humming, went off to breakfast.
I noticed how miserable Ursula looked that morning, and wondered what had happened. But we all had to rush off to our jobs, and it was not until evening that I had an opportunity to talk with her, and by then she had told a good deal to Mickey.
For Ursula had been off duty in the afternoon, and she had gone out. She didn't know a soul in London, and walked haphazardly through the foggy streets, wanting only to find a corner somewhere, to hide away and cry. Huge red busses passed, and the policemen at the
Similar Books
Colored Lights: Forty Years of Words and Music, Show Biz, Collaboration, and All That Jazz
Greg Lawrence, John Kander, Fred Ebb
