Humboldt's Gift (1976 Pulitzer Prize) - Saul Bellow [118]
I had made quite a lot of progress in this exercise when Denise came out of the chambers and passed through the swinging gate to join me.
This woman, the mother of my children, though she made so much trouble for me, often reminded me of something Samuel Johnson had said about pretty ladies: they might be foolish, they might be wicked, but beauty was of itself very estimable. Denise was in this way estimable. She had big violet eyes and a slender nose. Her skin was slightly downy—you could see this down when the light was right. Her hair was piled on top of her head and gave it too much weight. If she hadn’t been beautiful you wouldn’t have noticed the disproportion. The very fact that she wasn’t aware of the top-heavy effect of her coiffure seemed at times a proof that she was a bit nutty. At court, having dragged me here with her suit, she always wanted td be chummy. And as she was unusually pleasant today I figured she had had a successful session with Urbanovich. The fact that she was going to beat me like a dog released her affections. For she was fond of me. She said, “Ah, you’re waiting?” and her voice was high and tremulous, breaking slightly, but also militant. The weak, at war, never know how hard they are hitting you. She wasn’t of course so weak. The strength of the social order was on her side. But she always felt weak, she was a burdened woman. Getting out of bed to make breakfast was almost more than she could face. Taking a cab to the hairdresser was also very hard. The beautiful head was a burden to the beautiful neck. So she sat down beside me, sighing. She hadn’t been to the beauty salon lately. When her hair was thinned out by the hairdresser she didn’t look quite so huge-eyed and goofy. There were holes in her stockings, for she always wore rags to court. “I’m absolutely exhausted,” she said. “I never get any sleep before these court days.”
I muttered, “Dreadfully sorry.”
“You don’t seem so well yourself.”
“The girls tell me sometimes, ‘Daddy, you look like a million dollars—green and wrinkled.’ How are they, Denise?”
“As well as they can be. They miss you.”
“That’s normal, I suppose.”
“Nothing is normal for them. They miss you painfully.”
“You are to sorrow what Vermont is to syrup.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Only ‘okay,’ or ‘not okay,’ “ I said.
“Syrup! As soon as something enters your head you blurt it out. That’s your big weakness, your worst temptation.”
This was my day to see the other fellow’s point of view. How does anyone strengthen himself? Denise had it right, you know— by overcoming the persistent temptation. There’ve been times when just because I kept my mouth shut and didn’t say what I thought, I felt my strength increasing. Still, I don’t seem to know what I think till I see what I say.
“The girls are making Christmas plans. You’re supposed to take them to the pageant at the Goodman Theater.”
“No, nothing doing. That’s your idea.”
“Are you too big a figure to take them to a show like any ordinary father? You told them you would.”
“Me? Never. You did that yourself, and now you imagine that I told them.”
“You’re going to be in town, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t in fact. I was leaving on Friday. I hadn’t gotten around to informing Denise of this, and I said nothing now.
“Or are you planning a trip with Renata Fat-Tits?”
On this level, I was no match for Denise. Again, Renata! She wouldn’t even allow the children to play with little Roger Koffritz. She once said, “Later they’ll become immune to that kind of whore influence. But they came home once shaking their little behinds and I knew you had broken your promise to keep them away from Renata.” Denise’s information network was unusually effective. She knew all about Harold Flonzaley, for instance. “How is your