“Barbara, listen to me. Midbin—” “I havent the faintest interest in Oliver’s stodgy fantasies.”
“He has in yours though, and so have I. Don’t you see, this determination of yours is based on the fantasy of going back through time to—uh—injure your mother—” “Oliver Midbin is a coarse, stupid, insensate lout. He has taught the dumb to speak, but he’s too much of a fool to understand anyone of normal intelligence. He has a set of idiotic theories about diseased emotions and he fits all facts into them even if it means chopping them up to do it or inventing new ones to piece them out. Injure my mother indeed! I have no more interest in her than she ever had in me.”
“Ah, Barbara—” “‘Ah Barbara,’” she mimicked. “Run along to your pompous windbag of a Midbin or your oh-so-willing cow-eyed Spanish doxy—” “Barbara, I’m talking as a friend. Leave Midbin and Catty and personalities out of it and just look at it this way. Don’t you see the difference between promulgating a theory and trying a practical demonstration which will certainly appear to the world as going over the borderline into charlatanism? Like a spiritualist medium or—” “That’s enough! ‘Charlatan’! You unspeakable guttersnipe. What do you know of anything beyond the seduction of cretins? Go back to your trade, you errand boy!”
I seemed to remember that once before an incident had ended precisely this way. “Barbara—” Her hand caught me across my mouth. Then she strode away.
The fellows of Haggershaven were not enthusiastic for her project. Even as she outlined it to them in more sober language than she had to me it still sounded outlandish, like the recurrent idea of a telegraph without wires or a rocket to the moon. Besides, 1950 was a bad year. The war was coming closer; at the least, what was left of the independence of the United States was likely to be extinguished. Our energies had to be directed toward survival rather than new and expensive ventures. Still, Barbara Haggerwells was a famous figure commanding great respect, and she had cost them little so far, beyond paper and pencils. Reluctantly the fellows voted an appropriation.
An old barn, not utilized for years, but still sound, was turned over to Barbara, and Kimi was delighted to plan, design and supervise the necessary changes. Ace and a group of the fellows attacked the job vigorously, sawing and hammering, bolting iron beams together, piping in gas for reflecting lights to enable them to work at night as well.
I believe I took no more interest than was inescapable as a fellow of Haggershaven. I had no doubt that the money and labor were being wasted, and I foresaw a terrible disappointment for Barbara when she realized the impossibility of her project. For myself I did not think she would play any further part of importance in my life.
We had not spoken since the quarrel, nor was there inclination on either side toward coming together again. I could not guess at Barbara’s feelings; mine were those of relief, unmixed with regret. I would not have erased all there had been between us, but I was satisfied to have it in the past. The raging desire vanished, gradually replaced by an affection of sorts; I wanted no more of that tempestuous passion, instead I felt aloofly protective and understanding.
For at last I was absorbed with Catty. The raw hunger of the moment when I first realized I wanted her came back with renewed force, but now other, more diffused feelings were equally part of my emotion. I knew she could make me jealous as Barbara could not; at the same time I could see tranquillity beyond turbulent wanting, a tranquillity never possible with Barbara.
But my belated realization of what Catty meant to me was no reaction to Barbara or connected with the breaking of that tie. The need for Catty was engendered by Catty alone, and for Catty apart from anything I had ever felt for another. It was in some ways an entirely new hunger, as the man’s need transcends the youth’s. I understood now what her question in the woodlot meant and at last I could truthfully answer.