The Erratic Flame

by Ysabel De Teresa

When he had left and the nun had gone to her supper, she broke down completely. Poor Alexis, poor Claire, she thought bitterly, into what a miserable tangle they had blundered. And what a wretched fool she herself had been. Such a beautiful bond had existed between them, and in her greedy effort to draw it still closer, she had snapped it asunder. For her aunt, the real instigator of it all, she had scarcely a thought of blame. Even if she had known the entire truth, she probably would not have reproached her. Her instinct told her that it was her own blissful acquiescence by which she had been betrayed. She accepted her responsibility very simply and without thought of contradiction.

It was with this idea uppermost in her mind that she had gone to St. Patrick’s, instead of her own little chapel, in the hope of finding a priest to whom she would not have to reveal her identity. It had been easy enough to find him and to recount her simple tragedy as briefly as possible. But the verdict had not been the one for which she had hoped, although the adviser had proved more gentle and more wise than the average haphazard priest upon whom she and her problem might have fallen. And she had kept nothing back, from the casual nature of the marriage itself, to the unforeseen but natural and physical consequences buried deep within her body. Even when she came to the pitiful attempt at suicide she had drawn forth scarcely a reproach from the other side of the confessional. The old man had listened to similar stories so often. His heart had been bruised by a thousand vicarious sorrows. It was not until she hinted at her desire for escape that he raised a protest. She had whispered brokenly of Alexis’ love for another woman and had ventured to ask if it wouldn’t be possible for the church to grant a divorce, or even to annul the marriage. The old man had told her very sternly that that would be a sin almost as mortal as suicide, in the face of the life which she was carrying. Did she want to add another fatherless waif to the unnamed legions already encumbering the world? Her duty was to the new life, to make its inception as happy as possible, and through it to bring her mistaken young husband back into the pathway of duty. At those last words, Claire recalled that she had almost smiled. Alexis and the pathway of duty had seemed so ludicruously unakin, somehow! No, the only thing to do, the priest had continued somewhat droningly, was to take up her life again as she had left it. If her husband did not wish to live with her, that was not her fault. Probably when the child was born, he would have a change of heart, etc., etc.

Only partly convinced, but too weary to resist the age-old arguments, she had left the confessional with a half-formulated resolve of drifting for a while and seeing whether time might not alter the situation.

But out on the church steps the brilliant sunshine seemed to pierce into her brain. She had been seized with familiar giddiness. A merciful veil of blackness suddenly obscured her vision, and she knew no more until yesterday afternoon when she had awakened to find herself in a hospital ward.

It had been a rather horrifying sensation to lose an entire day and night out of existence. To suddenly discover oneself in the public ward of a great hospital! A horror mitigated by the kindness of the sisters and the concern of the visiting young doctor, who had taken it for granted that Claire had realized the exact nature of her condition.

Since then, before seeing Alexis, she had had time to think. She had lain awake all night over her problem. In spite of the frightful wrench to spirit and pride, she had come to the same inevitable conclusion as the day before. Because of the child that was coming she would sacrifice her own desires and return to Alexis’ mother. However, she allowed herself one reservation, of which she knew the old priest would not approve, but to which pride obstinately clung. Neither Alexis nor his mother should be told of her “hopes” as the sister so chastely put it, until it was no longer possible to conceal it from anyone. As soon as she heard that Alexis was coming to the hospital, she had made both the doctor and the nurse promise solemnly not to divulge her secret. A request acceded to with small reluctance, as similar whims constantly arose within their province.

How devoutly she hoped they were keeping their word!

For probably at this very moment Alexis was interviewing the doctor on her behalf and making arrangements for the return to the apartment. That return which she dreaded from the bottom of her soul. That apartment where her aunt, Mme. Petrovskey held sway and was waiting to encompass her with the cold and bland silence which was hers habitually, and which, characteristically, she had not broken since Claire’s disappearance.

She had not dared to ask Alexis if he would be there, too. She hardly knew whether she desired it. An appalling weariness warned her that she would be unable to cope with the emotions his presence involved. Yet without him life was void, the future a terrifying blank.

Too spent for tears, she turned her leaden body and burying her face against the pillow, sank into a lethargy as deep and almost as peaceful as the elusive death which had failed her.