Part 3
"I know--I know that.... I don't know. What the hell. I may go back in the Army
anyway. I tell you about that?"
The gray-haired man turned his head again toward the girl, perhaps to show her how
forbearing, even stoic, his countenance was. But the girl missed seeing it. She had just
overturned the ashtray with her knee and was rapidly, with her fingers, brushing the
spilled ashes into a little pick-up pile; her eyes looked up at him a second too late. "No,
you didn't, Arthur," he said into the phone.
"Yeah. I may. I don't know yet. I'm not crazy about the idea, naturally, and I won't go
if I can possibly avoid it. But I may have to. I don't know. At least, it's oblivion. If they
gimme back my little helmet and my big, fat desk and my nice, big mosquito net it
might not--"
"I'd like to beat some sense into that head of yours, boy, that's what I'd like to do," the
gray-haired man said. "For a helluvan--For a supposedly intelligent guy, you talk like
an absolute child. And I say that in all sincerity. You let a bunch of minor little things
snowball to an extent that they get so bloody paramount in your mind that you're
absolutely unfit for any--"
"I shoulda left her. You know that? I should've gone through with it last summer,
when I really had the ball rolling--you know that? You know why I didn't? You want to
know why I didn't?"
"Arthur. For Chrissake. This is getting us exactly nowhere."
"Wait a second. Lemme tellya why! You want to know why I didn't? I can tellya exactly
why. Because I felt sorry for her. That's the whole simple truth. I felt sorry for her."
"Well, I don't know. I mean that's out of my jurisdiction," the gray-haired man said. "It
seems to me, though, that the one thing you seem to forget is that Joanie's a grown
woman. I don't know, but it seems to me--"
"Grown woman! You crazy? She's a grown child, for Chrissake! Listen, I'll be shaving--
listen to this--I'll be shaving, and all of a sudden she'll call me from way the hell the
other end of the apartment. I'll go see what's the matter--right in the middle of shaving,
lather all over my goddam face. You know what she'll want? She'll want to ask me if I
think she has a good mind. I swear to God. She's pathetic, I tellya. I watch her when
she's asleep, and I know what I'm talkin' about. Believe me."
"Well, that's something you know better than--I mean that's out of my jurisdiction,"
the gray-haired man said. "The point is, God damn it, you don't do anything at all
constructive to--"
"We're mismated, that's all. That's the whole simple story. We're just mismated as
hell. You know what she needs? She needs some big silent bastard to just walk over
once in a while and knock her out cold--then go back and finish reading his paper.
That's what she needs. I'm too goddam weak for her. I knew it when we got married--I
swear to God I did. I mean you're a smart bastard, you've never been married, but every
now and then, before anybody gets married, they get these flashes of what it's going to
be like after they're married. I ignored 'em. I ignored all my goddam flashes. I'm weak.
That's the whole thing in a nutshell."
"You're not weak. You just don't use your head," the gray-haired man said, accepting
a freshly lighted cigarette from the girl.
"Certainly I'm weak! Certainly I'm weak! God damn it, I know whether I'm weak or
not! If I weren't weak, you don't think I'd've let everything get all--Aah, what's the usea
talking? Certainly I'm weak ... God, I'm keeping you awake all night. Why don't you
hang the hell up on me? I mean it. Hang up on me."
"I'm not going to hang up on you, Arthur. I'd like to help you, if it's humanly possible,"
the gray-haired man said. "Actually, you're your own worst--"
"She doesn't respect me. She doesn't even love me, for God's sake. Basically--in the
last analysis--I don't love her any more, either. I don't know. I do and I don't. It varies. It
fluctuates. Christ! Every time I get all set to put my foot down, we have dinner out, for
some reason, and I meet her somewhere and she comes in with these goddam white
gloves on or something. I don't know. Or I start thinking about the first time we drove
up to New Haven for the Princeton game. We had a flat right after we got off the
Parkway, and it was cold as hell, and she held the flashlight while I fixed the goddam
"I know--I know that.... I don't know. What the hell. I may go back in the Army
anyway. I tell you about that?"
The gray-haired man turned his head again toward the girl, perhaps to show her how
forbearing, even stoic, his countenance was. But the girl missed seeing it. She had just
overturned the ashtray with her knee and was rapidly, with her fingers, brushing the
spilled ashes into a little pick-up pile; her eyes looked up at him a second too late. "No,
you didn't, Arthur," he said into the phone.
"Yeah. I may. I don't know yet. I'm not crazy about the idea, naturally, and I won't go
if I can possibly avoid it. But I may have to. I don't know. At least, it's oblivion. If they
gimme back my little helmet and my big, fat desk and my nice, big mosquito net it
might not--"
"I'd like to beat some sense into that head of yours, boy, that's what I'd like to do," the
gray-haired man said. "For a helluvan--For a supposedly intelligent guy, you talk like
an absolute child. And I say that in all sincerity. You let a bunch of minor little things
snowball to an extent that they get so bloody paramount in your mind that you're
absolutely unfit for any--"
"I shoulda left her. You know that? I should've gone through with it last summer,
when I really had the ball rolling--you know that? You know why I didn't? You want to
know why I didn't?"
"Arthur. For Chrissake. This is getting us exactly nowhere."
"Wait a second. Lemme tellya why! You want to know why I didn't? I can tellya exactly
why. Because I felt sorry for her. That's the whole simple truth. I felt sorry for her."
"Well, I don't know. I mean that's out of my jurisdiction," the gray-haired man said. "It
seems to me, though, that the one thing you seem to forget is that Joanie's a grown
woman. I don't know, but it seems to me--"
"Grown woman! You crazy? She's a grown child, for Chrissake! Listen, I'll be shaving--
listen to this--I'll be shaving, and all of a sudden she'll call me from way the hell the
other end of the apartment. I'll go see what's the matter--right in the middle of shaving,
lather all over my goddam face. You know what she'll want? She'll want to ask me if I
think she has a good mind. I swear to God. She's pathetic, I tellya. I watch her when
she's asleep, and I know what I'm talkin' about. Believe me."
"Well, that's something you know better than--I mean that's out of my jurisdiction,"
the gray-haired man said. "The point is, God damn it, you don't do anything at all
constructive to--"
"We're mismated, that's all. That's the whole simple story. We're just mismated as
hell. You know what she needs? She needs some big silent bastard to just walk over
once in a while and knock her out cold--then go back and finish reading his paper.
That's what she needs. I'm too goddam weak for her. I knew it when we got married--I
swear to God I did. I mean you're a smart bastard, you've never been married, but every
now and then, before anybody gets married, they get these flashes of what it's going to
be like after they're married. I ignored 'em. I ignored all my goddam flashes. I'm weak.
That's the whole thing in a nutshell."
"You're not weak. You just don't use your head," the gray-haired man said, accepting
a freshly lighted cigarette from the girl.
"Certainly I'm weak! Certainly I'm weak! God damn it, I know whether I'm weak or
not! If I weren't weak, you don't think I'd've let everything get all--Aah, what's the usea
talking? Certainly I'm weak ... God, I'm keeping you awake all night. Why don't you
hang the hell up on me? I mean it. Hang up on me."
"I'm not going to hang up on you, Arthur. I'd like to help you, if it's humanly possible,"
the gray-haired man said. "Actually, you're your own worst--"
"She doesn't respect me. She doesn't even love me, for God's sake. Basically--in the
last analysis--I don't love her any more, either. I don't know. I do and I don't. It varies. It
fluctuates. Christ! Every time I get all set to put my foot down, we have dinner out, for
some reason, and I meet her somewhere and she comes in with these goddam white
gloves on or something. I don't know. Or I start thinking about the first time we drove
up to New Haven for the Princeton game. We had a flat right after we got off the
Parkway, and it was cold as hell, and she held the flashlight while I fixed the goddam
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