Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [91]
During the talk he found himself dozing, and when he blinked and straightened up he was unable to concentrate on the information. He remembered only a few phrases. He remembered “the eyes of the demented have an exalted look,” and he believed he heard the lecturer say that El Greco used to paint the insane people of Toledo, which was curious. Otherwise it was a wasted hour. Then Ruth wanted to see the pictures, so he followed her around without saying much. The pleasure of the afternoon was in being with her.
She stopped in front of the portrait of Cardinal Don Fernando Niño de Guevara, Archbishop of Seville and grand inquisitor during the reign of Philip the Second. The tense, elderly churchman in his cherry-red robe and red hat sat like a burning pyramid in the wooden chair. A document lay on the checkered floor near his feet. Behind the dark-rimmed glasses a shrewd pair of eyes bent suspiciously to the left. His elongated right hand lay relaxed on one arm of the chair, but his left hand convulsively clutched the other arm.
She asked what he thought of the portrait. He replied that he did not know much about painting, but it seemed to be well done and was probably a good likeness of the man.
Staring at the face of the cardinal, she said, “I bought a print of it. He reminds me so of you.”
96 Equality
While wandering around on the second floor of the museum they met Steve Cook. He was a tall, impeccably dressed Negro with aquiline features and pale blue eyes. Mr. Bridge shook hands and then stood by with his arms folded while Ruth and her friend chatted about Spanish painters and various other matters. Finally Steve Cook announced that he ought to be getting back to the office. He turned to Mr. Bridge and smiled, and remarked that it had been a pleasure to meet Ruth’s father and that he hoped they would meet again.
“Thank you,” Mr. Bridge said. After the Negro walked away he asked if this was the man who had escorted her to the ballet, and she said it was.
“You are begging for trouble,” he said.
She threw the hair out of her eyes and said, “Oh, dear Christ!”
“Where did you meet this person?”
“In the subway.”
“I see. What does he do for a living?”
Ruth was not sure. He was the advertising manager for Houyhnhnm, but this was merely because he was kind enough to help out. He was not getting any salary for it. She thought he had a part-time job as a public relations man, maybe with one of the airlines. He used to work for an advertising agency. Maybe he was still there. He was writing a play. He had appeared as a guest on a radio program, but she did not know why he had been invited.
“Actually,” she said, and tossed her hair again, “Steve is a Renaissance man. He’s so out of his element in our era. He told me he would much rather have lived in Florence at the time of Leonardo or else in centuries to come when the potential of the human mind will be fully appreciated. He’s unbelievably talented, you know. I mean, really! And his I.Q. is just incredible!”
Mr. Bridge did not ask any more questions. He judged from her attitude toward the Negro that she had never been intimate with him. Because of their mutual interest in art exhibits and plays and so forth they had attended one or two of these things together. That was all. Yet they had gone together, they had been seen together, probably they had eaten together. Perhaps this intermingling of the races was inevitable. In centuries to come it might be all right. But not now.
A few days after returning to Kansas City he noticed a story in the Wall Street Journal about the factors responsible for success in business. It was headlined “All Men Are Not Created Equal.” He clipped out this headline and saved it.
97 Jews
The conversation about Harvey Glatz continued to trouble him, and soon after his return