While Mortals Sleep_ Unpublished Short Fiction - Kurt Vonnegut [55]
“Marie,” I said, catching her in the hall, “is it Robert or is it me?”
“Shhhhh!” she said. “Keep your voice down. There’s a cocktail party downstairs, and sound carries right down the stairway.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be taken away from all this?” I whispered.
“Why?” she said. “I like the smell of furniture polish, I make more money than my girlfriend at the airplane factory, and I meet a very high class of people.”
“I’m asking you to marry me, Marie,” I said. “I’d never be ashamed of you.”
She took a step backward. “Now, what made you say a mean thing like that? Who’s ashamed of me, I want to know?”
“Robert,” I said. “He loves you, but his shame is bigger than his love.”
“He’s glad enough to dance with me,” she said. “We have a lovely time.”
“In private,” I said. “Do you think, for all your charms, he’d dance one step with you at the Yacht Club? In a pig’s eye.”
“He would,” she said slowly, “if I wanted him to, if I really wanted him to.”
“He’d rather die,” I said. “You’ve heard of closet drinkers? Well, you’ve got yourself a closet lover.”
I left her with this annoying thought, and was gratified to see a challenging look in her eye when she came to dance late that night. She did nothing unusual, however, until Robert cut in. Ordinarily, she transferred from me to Robert without opening her eye or missing a step. This time she stopped, her eyes open wide.
“What is this?” said Robert, dipping lowly and twisting his toes, while she stood as rigid as an iron post. “Something wrong?”
“No,” said Marie in a brittle tone. “Why would you think there was something wrong?”
Reassured, Robert started to dip and twist some more, but again failed to budge Marie.
“There is something wrong,” he said.
“Do you think I’m at all attractive, Robert?” said Marie coolly.
“Attractive?” said Robert. “Attractive? Lord yes! I should say. I’ll tell the world.”
“As attractive as any girl my age in Pisquontuit?”
“More!” said Robert heartily, starting to dance again, and again getting nowhere. “Much more, much, much more,” he said, his movements subsiding.
“And do I have good manners?”
“The best!” said Robert, puzzled. “Absolutely the best, Marie.”
“Then why don’t you take me to the next Yacht Club dance?” she said.
Robert became as rigid as Marie. “To the Yacht Club?” he said. “To the Pisquontuit Yacht Club?”
“That’s the one,” said Marie.
“What she’s asking, Robert,” I said helpfully, “is, are you a man or a mouse? Are you going to take her to the Yacht Club dance, or does she go out of your life forever and into the airplane factory?”
“They need a good girl at the airplane factory,” said Marie.
“I never saw a better one,” I said.
“They’re not ashamed of their girls over at the airplane factory,” said Marie. “They have picnics and Christmas parties and wedding showers and all kinds of things, and the foremen and the vice presidents and the works manager and the comptroller and all come to the parties and dance with the girls and have a fine time. My girlfriend gets taken out regularly everywhere by the comptroller.”
“What’s the comptroller?” said Robert, fighting for time.
“I don’t know,” said Marie, “except he works for a living, and he isn’t any closet lover.”
Robert was stung speechless.
“Man or mouse?” I said, bringing the issue back into focus.
Robert chewed his lip, and at last murmured something we couldn’t understand.
“What was that?” said Marie.
“Mouse,” said Robert with a sigh. “I said mouse.”
“Mouse,” said Marie softly.
“Don’t say it that way,” said Robert desolately.
“What other way is there to say mouse?” said Marie. “Good night.”
I followed her out into the hall. “Well,” I said, “it’s been rough on him, but—”
“Marie—” said Robert, appearing in the doorway, wan. “You wouldn’t like it. You’d hate it. You’d have a terrible time. Everybody has a terrible time. That’s why I said mouse.”
“As long as there’s music,” said Marie,