U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [321]
the salmoncolored plush seats among the Pompeian col-umns at Noël Peters' to the accompaniment of slithery violinmusic. Paul had his month's pay and commutation of rations in his pocket and felt fine. They talked about what they'd do when they got back to America. Paul
said his dad wanted him to go into a grain broker's office in Minneapolis, but he wanted to try his luck in New York. He thought a young fel er ought to try a lot of things before he settled down at a business so that he could find out what he was fitted for. Eveline said she didn't know what she wanted to do. She didn't want to do anything she'd done before, she knew that, maybe she'd like to live in Paris.
"I didn't like it much in Paris before," Paul said, "but like this, goin' out with you, I like it fine." Eveline teased him, "Oh, I don't think you like me much, you never act as if you did."
"But jeeze, Eveline, you know so much and you've been around so much. It's mighty nice of you to let me come around at al , honestly I'l appreciate it al my life."
"Oh, I wish you wouldn't be like that . . . I hate people to be humble," Eveline broke out angrily. They went on eating in silence. They were eating as-paragus with grated cheese on it. Paul took several gulps of wine and looked at her in a hurt dumb way she hated.
"Oh, I feel like a party tonight," she said a little later.
-329-"I've been so miserable al day, Paul . . . I'l tel you about it sometime . . . you know the kind of feeling when everything you've wanted crumbles in your fingers as you grasp it." "Al right, Eveline," Paul said, banging with his fist on the table, "let's cheer up and have a big time."
When they were drinking coffee the orchestra began
to play polkas and people began to dance among the tables encouraged by cries of Ah Polkaah aaah from the violinist. It was a fine sight to see the middleaged diners whirling around under the beaming eyes of the stout Italian head-waiter who seemed to feel that la gaité was coming back to Paree at last. Paul and Eveline forgot themselves and tried to dance it too. Paul was very awkward, but having his arms around her made her feel better somehow, made her forget the scaring loneliness she felt.
When the polka had subsided a little Paul paid the fat check and they went out arm in arm, pressing close against each other like al the Paris lovers, to strol on the boulevards in the May evening that smelt of wine and hot rol s and wild strawberries. They felt lightheaded. Eveline kept smiling. "Come on, let's have a big time," whispered Paul occasional y as if to keep his courage up. "I was just thinking what my friends ud think if they saw me walking up the Boulevard arm in arm with a drunken dough-boy," Eveline said. "No, honest, I'm not drunk," said Paul. "I can drink a lot more than you think. And I won't be in the army much longer, not if this peace treaty goes through." "Oh, I don't care," said Eveline, "I don't care what happens."
They heard music in another café and saw the shadows of dancers passing across the windows upstairs. "Let's go up there," said Eveline. They went in and upstairs to the dancehal that was a long room ful of mirrors. There Eveline said she wanted to drink some Rhine wine. They studied the card a long while and final y with a funny
-330-sideways look at Paul, she suggested liebefraumilch. Paul got red, "I wish I had a liebe frau," he said. "Why, prob-ably you have . . . one in every port," said Eveline. He shook his head.
Next time they danced he held her very tight. He
didn't seem so awkward as he had before. "I feel pretty lonely myself, these days," said Eveline when they sat down again. "You, lonely . . . with the whole of the Peace Conference running after you, and the A.E.F.
too . . . Why, Don told me you're a dangerous woman." She shrugged her shoulders,
"When did Don find that out? Maybe you could be dangerous too, Paul." Next time they danced she put her cheek against his.