All the King's Men - Robert Penn Warren [167]
Back then there was a train that passed the crossing just out of Burden’s landing at eleven-forty-five at night. The train always blew for the crossing. It blew that night, and I knew it was eleven-forty-five. And time to go. So I sat up, touched the starter, turned the car around, and headed home. We hadn’t said a word and we didn’t say a word, until we pulled up in front of the Stanton house. Then Anne slipped out of the car, quick as a wink, poised there a moment on the shell drive, said, “Good night, Jack,” in a low voice and with a last flicker of the smile she had smiled at me across the thousand miles of leather cushion two hours back, and ran up the steps of her house, light as a bird. All of this before I had a chance to begin to collect myself.
I gaped at the blackness of the doorway back in the shadow of the gallery–she hadn’t turned on a light when she entered–and listen hard as though I were waiting for a signal. But there wasn’t a sound except that nameless stir of the night which comes even when there isn’t a breath of wind and you are too far from the beach to get the whisper and riffle that is always there, even when the sea is quietest.
Then, after a few minutes, I switched on the motor again, and exploded off the Stanton property with a grind of tires that must have scattered the shells of the drive like spray. On the road down the Row I just pushed the accelerator to the floor board and let all those drowsy bastards up in those white houses have the works. I was letting that cutout snatch them bolt upright in bed like a cannon. I roared on out about ten miles till I hit the pine woods where there wasn’t anybody to snatch up except hoot owls and some stray malarial squatter who would be lying off yonder as God’s gift to the anopheles in his shack on the edge of the tidelands. So I turned the roadster around and eased on back with the throttle cut down to nothing, just drifting along in the roadster, lying back on the leather, like a boat drifting on a slow current.
At home, as soon as I lay back on my bed, I suddenly remembered–I didn’t remember, I saw–Anne’s face lying back, with the eyes closed and the moonlight pouring over it, and I remembered that day of the picnic long back–the day when we had swum out in the bay, under the storm clouds, when she had floated on the water, her face turned up to the purple-green darkening sky, her eyes closed, and the white gull passing over, very high. I hadn’t thought of that since it happened, I guess, or if had thought of it, it hadn’t meant a thing, but all at once, lying there, I had the feeling of being on the teetering verge of a most tremendous discovery. I saw that the moment tonight was just an extension of the moment long back, on the picnic, that this moment tonight had been in that moment all the time, and I hadn’t known it, I had dropped it aside or thrown it away, but it had been like a seed you throw away to find, when you come back that way again, that the plant is tall and covered with bloom, or it had been like a little dirt-colored stick you throw into the fire with the other trash, but the thing is dynamite and there is an awful bang.
There was an awful bang. I popped up in bed like those drowsy bastards when I gave them the cutout. But this was more so. I sat up in bed and was absolutely filled with rapture. It wasn’t like anything that had ever happened to me. It stopped my breath and I could feel my veins swelling to burst as when you take your deepest dive and think you’ll never come up. I felt that I was right on the verge of knowing the real and absolute truth about everything. Just one instant and I would know it. Then I got my breath. “Jesus,” I said out loud, “Jesus!” I stretched my arms out as wide as I could, as though I could grab the whole empty air
Then I thought of the image of the face on the water, under the purple-green darkening sky, with the white gull flying over. It was almost a shock to remember that, to have the image come back, for the thing which had, apparently, provoked the rapture had itself been lost and forgotten in the rapture which had exploded out into the whole universe. Anyway, now I saw the image again, and all at once the rapture was gone, and I experienced a great tenderness, a tenderness shot through and veined with sadness, as thou the tenderness were the very flesh of my body and the sadness the veins and nerves of it. That sounds absurd, but that was the way it was. And for a fact.