BABBITT was fond of his friends, he loved the importance of being host and shouting, “Certainly, you're going to have smore chicken—the idea!” and he appreciated the genius of T. Cholmondeley Frink, but the vigor1 of the cocktails2 was gone, and the more he ate the less joyful3 he felt. Then the amity4 of the dinner was destroyed by the nagging5 of the Swansons.
In Floral Heights and the other prosperous sections of Zenith, especially in the “young married set,” there were many women who had nothing to do. Though they had few servants, yet with gas stoves, electric ranges and dish-washers and vacuum cleaners, and tiled kitchen walls, their houses were so convenient that they had little housework, and much of their food came from bakeries and delicatessens. They had but two, one, or no children; and despite the myth that the Great War had made work respectable, their husbands objected to their “wasting time and getting a lot of crank ideas” in unpaid6 social work, and still more to their causing a rumor7, by earning money, that they were not adequately supported. They worked perhaps two hours a day, and the rest of the time they ate chocolates, went to the motion-pictures, went window-shopping, went in gossiping twos and threes to card-parties, read magazines, thought timorously8 of the lovers who never appeared, and accumulated a splendid restlessness which they got rid of by nagging their husbands. The husbands nagged9 back.
Throughout the dinner Eddie Swanson had been complaining, publicly, about his wife's new frock. It was, he submitted, too short, too low, too immodestly thin, and much too expensive. He appealed to Babbitt:
“Honest, George, what do you think of that rag Louetta went and bought? Don't you think it's the limit?”
“Oh, it is, Mr. Swanson. It's a sweet frock,” Mrs. Babbitt protested.
“There now, do you see, smarty! You're such an authority on clothes!” Louetta raged, while the guests ruminated12 and peeped at her shoulders.
“That's all right now,” said Swanson. “I'm authority enough so I know it was a waste of money, and it makes me tired to see you not wearing out a whole closetful of clothes you got already. I've expressed my idea about this before, and you know good and well you didn't pay the least bit of attention. I have to camp on your trail to get you to do anything—”
There was much more of it, and they all assisted, all but Babbitt. Everything about him was dim except his stomach, and that was a bright scarlet13 disturbance14. “Had too much grub; oughtn't to eat this stuff,” he groaned—while he went on eating, while he gulped15 down a chill and glutinous16 slice of the ice-cream brick, and cocoanut cake as oozy17 as shaving-cream. He felt as though he had been stuffed with clay; his body was bursting, his throat was bursting, his brain was hot mud; and only with agony did he continue to smile and shout as became a host on Floral Heights.
He would, except for his guests, have fled outdoors and walked off the intoxication18 of food, but in the haze19 which filled the room they sat forever, talking, talking, while he agonized20, “Darn fool to be eating all this—not 'nother mouthful,” and discovered that he was again tasting the sickly welter of melted ice cream on his plate. There was no magic in his friends; he was not uplifted when Howard Littlefield produced from his treasure-house of scholarship the information that the chemical symbol for raw rubber is C10H16, which turns into isoprene, or 2C5H8. Suddenly, without precedent21, Babbitt was not merely bored but admitting that he was bored. It was ecstasy22 to escape from the table, from the torture of a straight chair, and loll on the davenport in the living-room.
The others, from their fitful unconvincing talk, their expressions of being slowly and painfully smothered23, seemed to be suffering from the toil24 of social life and the horror of good food as much as himself. All of them accepted with relief the suggestion of bridge.
Babbitt recovered from the feeling of being boiled. He won at bridge. He was again able to endure Vergil Gunch's inexorable heartiness25. But he pictured loafing with Paul Riesling beside a lake in Maine. It was as overpowering and imaginative as homesickness. He had never seen Maine, yet he beheld26 the shrouded27 mountains, the tranquil28 lake of evening. “That boy Paul's worth all these ballyhooing highbrows put together,” he muttered; and, “I'd like to get away from—everything.”
Even Louetta Swanson did not rouse him.
Mrs. Swanson was pretty and pliant29. Babbitt was not an analyst30 of women, except as to their tastes in Furnished Houses to Rent. He divided them into Real Ladies, Working Women, Old Cranks, and Fly Chickens. He mooned over their charms but he was of opinion that all of them (save the women of his own family) were “different” and “mysterious.” Yet he had known by instinct that Louetta Swanson could be approached. Her eyes and lips were moist. Her face tapered31 from a broad forehead to a pointed32 chin, her mouth was thin but strong and avid33, and between her brows were two outcurving and passionate34 wrinkles. She was thirty, perhaps, or younger. Gossip had never touched her, but every man naturally and instantly rose to flirtatiousness when he spoke35 to her, and every woman watched her with stilled blankness.
Between games, sitting on the davenport, Babbitt spoke to her with the requisite36 gallantry, that sonorous37 Floral Heights gallantry which is not flirtation38 but a terrified flight from it: “You're looking like a new soda-fountain to night, Louetta.”
“Am I?”
“Ole Eddie kind of on the rampage.”
“Yes. I get so sick of it.”
“Well, when you get tired of hubby, you can run off with Uncle George.”
“If I ran away—Oh, well—”
“Anybody ever tell you your hands are awful pretty?”
She looked down at them, she pulled the lace of her sleeves over them, but otherwise she did not heed39 him. She was lost in unexpressed imaginings.
Babbitt was too languid this evening to pursue his duty of being a captivating (though strictly40 moral) male. He ambled41 back to the bridge-tables. He was not much thrilled when Mrs. Frink, a small twittering woman, proposed that they “try and do some spiritualism and table-tipping—you know Chum can make the spirits come—honest, he just scares me!”
The ladies of the party had not emerged all evening, but now, as the sex given to things of the spirit while the men warred against base things material, they took command and cried, “Oh, let's!” In the dimness the men were rather solemn and foolish, but the goodwives quivered and adored as they sat about the table. They laughed, “Now, you be good or I'll tell!” when the men took their hands in the circle.
Babbitt tingled42 with a slight return of interest in life as Louetta Swanson's hand closed on his with quiet firmness.
All of them hunched43 over, intent. They startled as some one drew a strained breath. In the dusty light from the hall they looked unreal, they felt disembodied. Mrs. Gunch squeaked44, and they jumped with unnatural45 jocularity, but at Frink's hiss46 they sank into subdued47 awe48. Suddenly, incredibly, they heard a knocking. They stared at Frink's half-revealed hands and found them lying still. They wriggled49, and pretended not to be impressed.
Frink spoke with gravity: “Is some one there?” A thud. “Is one knock to be the sign for 'yes'?” A thud. “And two for 'no'?” A thud.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, shall we ask the guide to put us into communication with the spirit of some great one passed over?” Frink mumbled50.
Mrs Orville Jones begged, “Oh, let's talk to Dante! We studied him at the Reading Circle. You know who he was, Orvy.”
“Certainly I know who he was! The Wop poet. Where do you think I was raised?” from her insulted husband.
“Sure—the fellow that took the Cook's Tour to Hell. I've never waded51 through his po'try, but we learned about him in the U.,” said Babbitt.
“Page Mr. Dannnnnty!” intoned Eddie Swanson.
“You ought to get him easy, Mr. Frink, you and he being fellow-poets,” said Louetta Swanson.
“Fellow-poets, rats! Where d' you get that stuff?” protested Vergil Gunch. “I suppose Dante showed a lot of speed for an old-timer—not that I've actually read him, of course—but to come right down to hard facts, he wouldn't stand one-two-three if he had to buckle52 down to practical literature and turn out a poem for the newspaper-syndicate every day, like Chum does!”
“That's so,” from Eddie Swanson. “Those old birds could take their time. Judas Priest, I could write poetry myself if I had a whole year for it, and just wrote about that old-fashioned junk like Dante wrote about.”
Frink demanded, “Hush, now! I'll call him. . . O, Laughing Eyes, emerge forth53 into the, uh, the ultimates and bring hither the spirit of Dante, that we mortals may list to his words of wisdom.”
“You forgot to give um the address: 1658 Brimstone Avenue, Fiery54 Heights, Hell,” Gunch chuckled55, but the others felt that this was irreligious. And besides—“probably it was just Chum making the knocks, but still, if there did happen to be something to all this, be exciting to talk to an old fellow belonging to—way back in early times—”
He was, it seemed, quite ready to answer their questions. He was “glad to be with them, this evening.”
Frink spelled out the messages by running through the alphabet till the spirit interpreter knocked at the right letter.
Littlefield asked, in a learned tone, “Do you like it in the Paradiso, Messire?”
“We are very happy on the higher plane, Signor. We are glad that you are studying this great truth of spiritualism,” Dante replied.
The circle moved with an awed57 creaking of stays and shirt-fronts. “Suppose—suppose there were something to this?”
Babbitt had a different worry. “Suppose Chum Frink was really one of these spiritualists! Chum had, for a literary fellow, always seemed to be a Regular Guy; he belonged to the Chatham Road Presbyterian Church and went to the Boosters' lunches and liked cigars and motors and racy stories. But suppose that secretly—After all, you never could tell about these darn highbrows; and to be an out-and-out spiritualist would be almost like being a socialist58!”
No one could long be serious in the presence of Vergil Gunch. “Ask Dant' how Jack59 Shakespeare and old Verg'—the guy they named after me—are gettin' along, and don't they wish they could get into the movie game!” he blared, and instantly all was mirth. Mrs. Jones shrieked60, and Eddie Swanson desired to know whether Dante didn't catch cold with nothing on but his wreath.
But Babbitt—the curst discontent was torturing him again, and heavily, in the impersonal62 darkness, he pondered, “I don't—We're all so flip63 and think we're so smart. There'd be—A fellow like Dante—I wish I'd read some of his pieces. I don't suppose I ever will, now.”
He had, without explanation, the impression of a slaggy64 cliff and on it, in silhouette65 against menacing clouds, a lone66 and austere67 figure. He was dismayed by a sudden contempt for his surest friends. He grasped Louetta Swanson's hand, and found the comfort of human warmth. Habit came, a veteran warrior68; and he shook himself. “What the deuce is the matter with me, this evening?”
He patted Louetta's hand, to indicate that he hadn't meant anything improper69 by squeezing it, and demanded of Frink, “Say, see if you can get old Dant' to spiel us some of his poetry. Talk up to him. Tell him, 'Buena giorna, senor, com sa va, wie geht's? Keskersaykersa a little pome, senor?'”
II
The lights were switched on; the women sat on the fronts of their chairs in that determined70 suspense71 whereby a wife indicates that as soon as the present speaker has finished, she is going to remark brightly to her husband, “Well, dear, I think per-HAPS it's about time for us to be saying good-night.” For once Babbitt did not break out in blustering72 efforts to keep the party going. He had—there was something he wished to think out—But the psychical73 research had started them off again. (“Why didn't they go home! Why didn't they go home!”) Though he was impressed by the profundity74 of the statement, he was only half-enthusiastic when Howard Littlefield lectured, “The United States is the only nation in which the government is a Moral Ideal and not just a social arrangement.” (“True—true—weren't they EVER going home?”) He was usually delighted to have an “inside view” of the momentous75 world of motors but to-night he scarcely listened to Eddie Swanson's revelation: “If you want to go above the Javelin76 class, the Zeeco is a mighty77 good buy. Couple weeks ago, and mind you, this was a fair, square test, they took a Zeeco stock touring-car and they slid up the Tonawanda hill on high, and fellow told me—” (“Zeeco good boat but—Were they planning to stay all night?”)
They really were going, with a flutter of “We did have the best time!”
Most aggressively friendly of all was Babbitt, yet as he burbled he was reflecting, “I got through it, but for a while there I didn't hardly think I'd last out.” He prepared to taste that most delicate pleasure of the host: making fun of his guests in the relaxation78 of midnight. As the door closed he yawned voluptuously79, chest out, shoulders wriggling80, and turned cynically81 to his wife.
She was beaming. “Oh, it was nice, wasn't it! I know they enjoyed every minute of it. Don't you think so?”
He couldn't do it. He couldn't mock. It would have been like sneering82 at a happy child. He lied ponderously83: “You bet! Best party this year, by a long shot.”
“Wasn't the dinner good! And honestly I thought the fried chicken was delicious!”
“You bet! Fried to the Queen's taste. Best fried chicken I've tasted for a coon's age.”
“Didn't Matilda fry it beautifully! And don't you think the soup was simply delicious?”
“It certainly was! It was corking84! Best soup I've tasted since Heck was a pup!” But his voice was seeping85 away. They stood in the hall, under the electric light in its square box-like shade of red glass bound with nickel. She stared at him.
“Why, George, you don't sound—you sound as if you hadn't really enjoyed it.”
“Sure I did! Course I did!”
“George! What is it?”
“Oh, I'm kind of tired, I guess. Been pounding pretty hard at the office. Need to get away and rest up a little.”
“Well, we're going to Maine in just a few weeks now, dear.” “Yuh—” Then he was pouring it out nakedly, robbed of reticence86. “Myra: I think it'd be a good thing for me to get up there early.”
“But you have this man you have to meet in New York about business.”
“What man? Oh, sure. Him. Oh, that's all off. But I want to hit Maine early—get in a little fishing, catch me a big trout87, by golly!” A nervous, artificial laugh.
“Well, why don't we do it? Verona and Matilda can run the house between them, and you and I can go any time, if you think we can afford it.”
“But that's—I've been feeling so jumpy lately, I thought maybe it might be a good thing if I kind of got off by myself and sweat it out of me.”
“George! Don't you WANT me to go along?” She was too wretchedly in earnest to be tragic88, or gloriously insulted, or anything save dumpy and defenseless and flushed to the red steaminess of a boiled beet89.
“Of course I do! I just meant—” Remembering that Paul Riesling had predicted this, he was as desperate as she. “I mean, sometimes it's a good thing for an old grouch90 like me to go off and get it out of his system.” He tried to sound paternal91. “Then when you and the kids arrive—I figured maybe I might skip up to Maine just a few days ahead of you—I'd be ready for a real bat, see how I mean?” He coaxed92 her with large booming sounds, with affable smiles, like a popular preacher blessing93 an Easter congregation, like a humorous lecturer completing his stint94 of eloquence95, like all perpetrators of masculine wiles96.
She stared at him, the joy of festival drained from her face. “Do I bother you when we go on vacations? Don't I add anything to your fun?”
He broke. Suddenly, dreadfully, he was hysterical97, he was a yelping98 baby. “Yes, yes, yes! Hell, yes! But can't you understand I'm shot to pieces? I'm all in! I got to take care of myself! I tell you, I got to—I'm sick of everything and everybody! I got to—”
It was she who was mature and protective now. “Why, of course! You shall run off by yourself! Why don't you get Paul to go along, and you boys just fish and have a good time?” She patted his shoulder—reaching up to it—while he shook with palsied helplessness, and in that moment was not merely by habit fond of her but clung to her strength.
She cried cheerily, “Now up-stairs you go, and pop into bed. We'll fix it all up. I'll see to the doors. Now skip!”
For many minutes, for many hours, for a bleak99 eternity100, he lay awake, shivering, reduced to primitive101 terror, comprehending that he had won freedom, and wondering what he could do with anything so unknown and so embarrassing as freedom.
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1
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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2
cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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3
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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unpaid
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| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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10
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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ruminated
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| v.沉思( ruminate的过去式和过去分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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glutinous
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| adj.粘的，胶状的 | |
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oozy
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| adj.软泥的 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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analyst
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| n.分析家，化验员；心理分析学家 | |
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tapered
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| adj. 锥形的，尖削的，楔形的，渐缩的，斜的 动词taper的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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41
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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42
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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44
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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46
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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47
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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48
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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49
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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50
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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53
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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socialist
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| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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slaggy
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| adj.熔渣的 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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psychical
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| adj.有关特异功能现象的；有关特异功能官能的；灵魂的；心灵的 | |
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profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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javelin
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| n.标枪，投枪 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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voluptuously
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| adv.风骚地，体态丰满地 | |
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wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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ponderously
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corking
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| adj.很好的adv.非常地v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的现在分词 ) | |
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85
seeping
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的现在分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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beet
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| n.甜菜；甜菜根 | |
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grouch
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| n.牢骚，不满；v.抱怨 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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stint
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| v.节省，限制，停止；n.舍不得化，节约，限制；连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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99
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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