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Back The Fall of Valor Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Introduction by Michael Bronski
  2. BEGINNING
  3. II
  4. III
  5. IV
  6. V
  7. VI
  8. VII
  9. VIII
  10. IX
  11. X
  12. XI
  13. XII
  14. XIII
  15. MIDDLE
  16. II
  17. III
  18. IV
  19. V
  20. VI
  21. VII
  22. VIII
  23. IX
  24. X
  25. XI
  26. XII
  27. XIII
  28. XIV
  29. XV
  30. XVI
  31. XVII
  32. XVIII
  33. XIX
  34. XX
  35. END
  36. II
  37. III
  38. IV
  39. V
  40. VI
  41. VII
  42. VIII
  43. IX
  44. X
  45. XI
  46. XII
  47. XIII
  48. XIV
  49. XV
  50. XVI
  51. About the Author

He was willing to have it out, whatever it was, but for her sake he would rather have put it off. He felt sorry for her; she expressed herself so inadequately at these times, always found she had nothing to say after all, and came off so badly in the end. With all his heart he wanted at that moment to take her in his arms.

“Just a moment, Ethel, before you begin.”

“I want to do the talking!”

“I want you to. But I also want you to remember . . .” He hesitated.

“What?”

“Well, never mind.”

“You’re just trying to throw me off!”

“I’m not. I merely want you to be careful. You’re not only spoiling my fun, but you’ll spoil your own as well.”

“Fun!” she said. “Do you think this is any fun for me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, of course. Now, what’s on your mind?”

She glared at him in silence. Then she began again. “This week at home I’ve thought a lot about us. A lot! And—well . . .”

“Well?”

She blurted it out in one breath: “I’m tired of this life I’m leading!”

“Go on.”

“What have I got ahead?”

“What has anybody got,” he said, “except what they make for themselves?”

“Oh, shit!”

He got up. He was so angry he couldn’t speak. He walked to the window to look out in order to calm himself, but the shade was down for the blackout. In the sudden stillness of the room he could hear, from the parlor directly below, the plink-­plunking of the harp. He was outraged that she should have chosen one of the two or three words which, for some forgotten reason, he was squeamish about and in fact couldn’t bring himself to say. Still more, he was shocked; not because of the word, now, but because a woman of Ethel’s fastidiousness should, in anger, automatically revert to vulgarity. It was something he had noticed often before, but each time it took him completely by surprise. After a moment he returned to the bed, sat down again, and said quietly:

“What I fail to see is why you pick a time like this—”

“No, that’s something you wouldn’t be able to see!”

“Why couldn’t you wait till later—till we got back to New York? Why should you want to spoil our whole vacation? Would you mind telling me that, please?”

“No I wouldn’t mind! I’ll tell you exactly! That’s exactly what I want to tell you!”

“You needn’t shout.”

“It’s a— It isn’t easy to explain—”

“I suppose,” he said recklessly, “it’s a moral question.”

Her look was filled with hate. “I see you know very well what I’m trying to say.”

“Then say it.”