“I mean that there is a completeness in woman that man will never have,” he said, with quiet conviction. “A secret that man will never fully understand. A secret that women are not aware of—consciously. A pact of woman in the woman that is not revealed until the life-flow moves from their bodies. A pact so complete, so magnificent, that man takes on his true perspective—an interloper.”
Deane turned and hugged him to her. Her hair fell over his shoulder—burned him.
“You’re crazy,” she said. But there was warmth in her voice, and love, and some belief.
“I’m not crazy,” said Martin, kissing her. He held her proudly, and looked at her and kissed her again. He was arrogant of his weakness and proud of her strength. He was that way, whether he was wrong, or right. And there was the man, and there was the woman.
It was quite dark and raining when Martin left Deane’s. The wind, cold and full of smoke, sifted into his nostrils. Halfway down the block he pressed against the wall, partly out of the storm, and lit a cigarette. The glare of the match showed his calm features. Shielding his cigarette from the downpour with his hand, he walked slowly toward the Bowery.
As he turned into Third Avenue he became, once more, aware of a madman’s world. Little dwarfs with sour, twisted faces uplifted in the rain implored with mocking smiles a cigarette; and when he gave it he could feel the jeers carried after him by the wind. Soon he went into Bowery Lane and a blind man stumbled into him.
“You’re not real,” said Martin. “Don’t ever believe that you’re real.”
“What?” cried the man, tapping the street with his stick. “You scoundrel,” he went on, “let me go! I’ll call the damned police, curse them!” And he walked on swiftly, tapping his cane through the mist.
Martin continued along the Bowery until he saw a saloon. He crossed the street and went inside wondering if he had time for a drink. Looking at his watch he saw that he was far too early for his appointment with Drew.
“Step up, Mac,” called out a fat, red-faced gentleman at the bar. “Name it, and I’ll buy it.”