An American Tragedy Theodore Dreiser (whitelam books .TXT) 📖

“Why, no; what makes you ask?”

“Oh, I thought you might have run into someone. There don’t seem to be very many people up here today, though, does there?”

“No, I don’t see anyone on the lake. I saw two men in that billiard room at the back there, and there was a girl in the ladies’ room, that was all. Isn’t this water cold?” She had put her hand over the side and was trailing it in the blue-black ripples made by his oars.

“Is it? I haven’t felt it yet.”

He paused in his rowing and put out his hand, then resumed. He would not row directly to that island to the south. It was⁠—too far⁠—too early. She might think it odd. Better a little delay. A little time in which to think⁠—a little while in which to reconnoiter. Roberta would be wanting to eat her lunch (her lunch!) and there was a charming looking point of land there to the west about a mile further on. They could go there and eat first⁠—or she could⁠—for he would not be eating today. And then⁠—and then⁠—

She was looking at the very same point of land that he was⁠—a curved horn of land that bent to the south and yet reached quite far out into the water and combed with tall pines. And now she added:

“Have you any spot in mind, dear, where we could stop and eat? I’m getting a little hungry, aren’t you?” (If she would only not call him dear, here and now!)

The little inn and the boathouse to the north were growing momentarily smaller⁠—looking now, like that other boathouse and pavilion on Crum Lake the day he had first rowed there, and when he had been wishing that he might come to such a lake as this in the Adirondacks, dreaming of such a lake⁠—and wishing to meet such a girl as Roberta⁠—then⁠—And overhead was one of those identical woolly clouds that had sailed above him at Crum Lake on that fateful day.

The horror of this effort!

They might look for water-lilies here today to kill time a little, before⁠—to kill time⁠ ⁠… to kill, (God)⁠—he must quit thinking of that, if he were going to do it at all. He needn’t be thinking of it now, at any rate.

At the point of land favored by Roberta, into a minute protected bay with a small, curved, honey-colored beach, and safe from all prying eyes north or east. And then he and she stepping out normally enough. And Roberta, after Clyde had extracted the lunch most cautiously from his bag, spreading it on a newspaper on the shore, while he walked here and there, making strained and yet admiring comments on the beauty of the scene⁠—the pines and the curve of this small bay, yet thinking⁠—thinking, thinking of the island farther on and the bay below that again somewhere, where somehow, and in the face of a weakening courage for it, he must still execute this grim and terrible business before him⁠—not allow this carefully planned opportunity to go for nothing⁠—if⁠—if⁠—he were to not really run away and leave all that he most desired to keep.

And yet the horror of this business and the danger, now that it was so close at hand⁠—the danger of making a mistake of some kind⁠—if nothing more, of not upsetting the boat right⁠—of not being able to⁠—to⁠—oh, God! And subsequently, maybe, to be proved to be what he would be⁠—then⁠—a murderer. Arrested! Tried. (He could not, he would not, go through with it. No, no, no!)

And yet Roberta, sitting here with him now on the sand, feeling quite at peace with all the world as he could see. And she was beginning to hum a little, and then to make advisory and practical references to the nature of their coming adventure together⁠—their material and financial state from now on⁠—how and where they would go from here⁠—Syracuse, most likely⁠—since Clyde seemed to have no objection to that⁠—and what, once there, they would do. For Roberta had heard from her brother-in-law, Fred Gabel, of a new collar and shirt factory that was just starting up in Syracuse. Might it not be possible for Clyde, for the time being at least, to get himself a position with that firm at once? And then later, when her own worst trouble was over, might not she connect herself with the same company, or some other? And temporarily, since they had so little money, could they not take a small room together, somewhere in some family home, or if he did not like that, since they were by no means so close temperamentally as they once had been, then two small adjoining rooms, maybe. She could still feel his unrelenting opposition under all this present show of courtesy and consideration.

And he thinking, Oh, well, what difference such talk now? And whether he agreed or whether he did not. What difference since he was not going⁠—or she either⁠—that way. Great God! But here he was talking as though tomorrow she would be here still. And she would not be.

If only his knees would not tremble so; his hands and face and body continue so damp.

And after that, farther on down the west shore of this small lake in this little boat, to that island, with Clyde looking nervously and wearily here and there to see that there was no one⁠—no one⁠—not anywhere in sight on land or water⁠—no one. It was so still and deserted here, thank God. Here⁠—or anywhere near here might do, really⁠—if only he had the courage so to do now, which he had not⁠—yet. Roberta trailing her hand in the water, asking him if he thought they might find some water-lilies or wild flowers somewhere on shore. Water-lilies! Wild flowers! And he convincing himself as he went that there were no roads, cabins, tents, paths, anything in the form of a habitation among these tall, close, ranking pines⁠—no trace of any little boat on the widespread