(no subject)
babylon tarnished
1538 words. written for my American Literature class.
source material: "Babylon Revisited," by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I
“Hello, Charlie,” Lincoln said from the doorway. “Has it been six months already?”
“Yes, it has, as a matter of fact.” Charlie shrugged, gave Lincoln a halfhearted smile. When Lincoln didn’t return it he carefully made his expression blank again. “You had a maid, last I was here, didn’t you?”
“We did, yes.” Lincoln didn’t move from the doorway, still looking at Charlie as if he was being sized up. “We had to let her go.”
“Oh,” Charlie said. “I’m sorry.”
A silence descended on the two men, one on each side of the doorway.
“Can I --“
“-- oh, by all means, of course, come in, please,” said Lincoln, and finally moved aside. “Terribly sorry.”
Charlie walked into the house, frowning a little. “It’s awfully quiet in here, Linc.”
“Yes, well. Marion hasn’t been feeling well for the past week or so, so she’s having a lie-down.”
“She’s still under the weather?”
Lincoln nodded. “It comes and goes,” he told Charlie, expression rueful. “She’d been doing better since you’d left, actually, but a week or so ago she had a relapse.”
Charlie bobbed his head in sympathy, thinking that the timing seemed incredibly convenient; but he was not here to make enemies, so he chose not to comment on this.
“-- and the children should be home from school shortly,” Lincoln said, “so if you wouldn’t mind waiting?”
“Oh, that would be splendid, thank you.” Charlie paused, knowing he had to tread carefully here. “Do you think that Marion will feel well enough while I’m here to discuss the matter of Honoria and her custody?”
Lincoln made a face for a moment, seemed to be genuinely thinking about it. “She’s been lying down most of today, as it happens; she ought to be. I’ll see if I can’t go talk to her once the children are here, all right?”
Charlie smiled broadly. “Thank you, Linc.”
II
Three-quarters of an hour later, Charlie was sitting opposite Honoria in the salon, ostensibly listening to her tell him six months’ worth of escapades with her cousins and schoolmates. He was, truly, but he was also taking the chance to study her face, and to realize how much she was going to look like her mother when she grew up.
She already did look like Helen, if he was going to be honest about it, like a cherubic nearly-ten version of Helen with Charlie’s eyes and chin. Thankfully, she seemed to be continuing on the path he’d seen when last he was here; she had both of her parents in her character, there was no doubt about it, but at the same time she was very much her own person, who was at the present moment chattering to him about the fact that she was excelling everyone but one particularly annoying boy in her class.
Maybe she would have a chance, he thought.
After a few minutes more, she went very quiet, and Charlie frowned. “Are you all right, my darling?”
“Oh yes, daddy, I’m fine,” she said, but seemed very distracted. “It is just that -- daddy, are you here to take me with you?”
“I hope I am,” Charlie said, and offered her a smile; she returned it, but only weakly. “If there’s something wrong, I promise you can tell me and I won’t be angry.”
Honoria nodded, and studied the floor intently for a moment before speaking up again. “It’s just that, daddy, I’m in a play at school.”
“That’s lovely, sweetheart!”
“Well but you see we have three more months of rehearsal until we perform. I have one of the largest parts,” she said, and smiled despite herself, “and I would not want to leave right now, when we’re halfway to the performance, and make them find someone else. And I do like being in this play, I really do.”
Charlie nodded, keeping all the disappointment he felt out of his face; he could tell that Honoria was feeling bad enough as it was, and it wouldn’t do to make her feel any worse. “I’m so proud of you, my darling. You don’t have to leave just yet, of course you don’t. Daddy would never do that to you.”
She beamed, and in that moment looked exactly like her mother. “Thank you, daddy.”
III
“How have you been doing?” Marion had apparently mustered up the strength to get out of bed, and Charlie could not see that her illness had affected her severity of manner in the least. “Do you still take your one drink a day?”
“No, no,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “One of my colleagues in Prague suggested to me that taking that one drink a day was as bad or worse as -- as I had been,” he finished lamely. “I could see his point, I suppose, so I stopped altogether.”
She nodded.
“How’ve you been doing in Prague, Charlie?” Lincoln, silent until now, spoke up. “Are you doing as well as you thought you would?”
“Yes, actually, I have been,” Charlie said, and nodded, trying to judge the emphasis he should use. “I’ve been doing marvelously. And there are a good number of Czech governesses that have been recommended to me by various acquaintances, although I will of course defer to your and Marion’s opinion, should you have any ideas of one who would be willing to travel all the way to Prague from Paris.”
“Have you spoken to your daughter yet today?” The question was innocent, certainly, but Charlie thought he could see something on Marion’s face that he didn’t particularly like.
“I have. She told me she’d been cast in a play her school is putting on sometime soon, is that right?”
“It is.” Marion nodded, her expression still mild, still unreadable. “We’re very proud of her.”
Charlie smiled.
“It was actually at Marion’s encouraging that she tried out,” Lincoln put in. “She was dead set against auditioning, but Marion told her to have some faith in herself. And it paid off; how about that.”
Marion nodded, smiling, and Charlie thought he could see it edging off into a smirk in the corners.
“How about that indeed,” Charlie said. “And were you aware of how long this commitment was for when you told her she ought to try ought, Marion?”
“Of course I was,” Marion said, contempt dripping off her words. “She’s excited. I don’t think any of us have the right to stand in the way of that.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Charlie said. It was definitely a smirk, he decided, and he knew exactly why it was there. For a moment, sitting in his uncomfortable chair in an equally uncomfortable house, he saw his whole life stretching before his eyes. In three months, Honoria would be finished with one play, but she would be involved in some academic event that wouldn’t be finished for another four months. When that finished, she would have been cast in another play. When that finished, she’d suddenly have started playing an instrument, and of course the best instructors all reside in Paris, and none of them would ever dream of relocating to Prague, so she’d need to stay with Lincoln and Marion.
She’d need to stay with Lincoln and Marion forever, and she’d always miss her father, but Marion would always be at her shoulder, encouraging her to do this or to do that, and of course it would always, always be in Honoria’s best interests. Everything Marion did, after all, was in Honoria’s best interests.
“I think it would probably be best if you came back for Honoria’s play and we discussed her relocation then,” Marion told Charlie. “I’ve been ill for the past week, and I haven’t been able to give the issue due thought. I do apologize.”
“Of course,” Charlie said, smile fixed on his face like a lifeline, like if he let it go he would snap. He thought he might just snap anyway. “I’ll be leaving shortly, then; just let me go tell my daughter goodbye.”
IV
He didn’t know it was possible, but Charlie found a bar he had never been in before that night. Honoria had hugged and kissed him, told him how much she was looking forward to him seeing her in the play, and then rushed off because she had studying to do. He’d nodded, and left, and given up.
“Whiskey, please,” he told the bartender, who nodded and obliged.
“Thank you,” he said, downing it in one go. “I appreciate it.”
He thought about Marion and Honoria and Lincoln’s quiet inability for the rest of the night, ideas getting more and more whiskey-filtered, and always came to the same conclusion.
The next morning, he sent a wire to his business in Prague.
The morning after that, they wired him back, informing him that they were glad he was taking the initiative, and that they had one person there already but could definitely do with another, especially one as skilled as Charlie. He should feel free to implement his plan whenever he felt he was ready.
The morning after that, Charlie took a train to Moscow, looking out the window at the countryside and never seeing it, and never looked back.
1538 words. written for my American Literature class.
source material: "Babylon Revisited," by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
I
“Hello, Charlie,” Lincoln said from the doorway. “Has it been six months already?”
“Yes, it has, as a matter of fact.” Charlie shrugged, gave Lincoln a halfhearted smile. When Lincoln didn’t return it he carefully made his expression blank again. “You had a maid, last I was here, didn’t you?”
“We did, yes.” Lincoln didn’t move from the doorway, still looking at Charlie as if he was being sized up. “We had to let her go.”
“Oh,” Charlie said. “I’m sorry.”
A silence descended on the two men, one on each side of the doorway.
“Can I --“
“-- oh, by all means, of course, come in, please,” said Lincoln, and finally moved aside. “Terribly sorry.”
Charlie walked into the house, frowning a little. “It’s awfully quiet in here, Linc.”
“Yes, well. Marion hasn’t been feeling well for the past week or so, so she’s having a lie-down.”
“She’s still under the weather?”
Lincoln nodded. “It comes and goes,” he told Charlie, expression rueful. “She’d been doing better since you’d left, actually, but a week or so ago she had a relapse.”
Charlie bobbed his head in sympathy, thinking that the timing seemed incredibly convenient; but he was not here to make enemies, so he chose not to comment on this.
“-- and the children should be home from school shortly,” Lincoln said, “so if you wouldn’t mind waiting?”
“Oh, that would be splendid, thank you.” Charlie paused, knowing he had to tread carefully here. “Do you think that Marion will feel well enough while I’m here to discuss the matter of Honoria and her custody?”
Lincoln made a face for a moment, seemed to be genuinely thinking about it. “She’s been lying down most of today, as it happens; she ought to be. I’ll see if I can’t go talk to her once the children are here, all right?”
Charlie smiled broadly. “Thank you, Linc.”
II
Three-quarters of an hour later, Charlie was sitting opposite Honoria in the salon, ostensibly listening to her tell him six months’ worth of escapades with her cousins and schoolmates. He was, truly, but he was also taking the chance to study her face, and to realize how much she was going to look like her mother when she grew up.
She already did look like Helen, if he was going to be honest about it, like a cherubic nearly-ten version of Helen with Charlie’s eyes and chin. Thankfully, she seemed to be continuing on the path he’d seen when last he was here; she had both of her parents in her character, there was no doubt about it, but at the same time she was very much her own person, who was at the present moment chattering to him about the fact that she was excelling everyone but one particularly annoying boy in her class.
Maybe she would have a chance, he thought.
After a few minutes more, she went very quiet, and Charlie frowned. “Are you all right, my darling?”
“Oh yes, daddy, I’m fine,” she said, but seemed very distracted. “It is just that -- daddy, are you here to take me with you?”
“I hope I am,” Charlie said, and offered her a smile; she returned it, but only weakly. “If there’s something wrong, I promise you can tell me and I won’t be angry.”
Honoria nodded, and studied the floor intently for a moment before speaking up again. “It’s just that, daddy, I’m in a play at school.”
“That’s lovely, sweetheart!”
“Well but you see we have three more months of rehearsal until we perform. I have one of the largest parts,” she said, and smiled despite herself, “and I would not want to leave right now, when we’re halfway to the performance, and make them find someone else. And I do like being in this play, I really do.”
Charlie nodded, keeping all the disappointment he felt out of his face; he could tell that Honoria was feeling bad enough as it was, and it wouldn’t do to make her feel any worse. “I’m so proud of you, my darling. You don’t have to leave just yet, of course you don’t. Daddy would never do that to you.”
She beamed, and in that moment looked exactly like her mother. “Thank you, daddy.”
III
“How have you been doing?” Marion had apparently mustered up the strength to get out of bed, and Charlie could not see that her illness had affected her severity of manner in the least. “Do you still take your one drink a day?”
“No, no,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “One of my colleagues in Prague suggested to me that taking that one drink a day was as bad or worse as -- as I had been,” he finished lamely. “I could see his point, I suppose, so I stopped altogether.”
She nodded.
“How’ve you been doing in Prague, Charlie?” Lincoln, silent until now, spoke up. “Are you doing as well as you thought you would?”
“Yes, actually, I have been,” Charlie said, and nodded, trying to judge the emphasis he should use. “I’ve been doing marvelously. And there are a good number of Czech governesses that have been recommended to me by various acquaintances, although I will of course defer to your and Marion’s opinion, should you have any ideas of one who would be willing to travel all the way to Prague from Paris.”
“Have you spoken to your daughter yet today?” The question was innocent, certainly, but Charlie thought he could see something on Marion’s face that he didn’t particularly like.
“I have. She told me she’d been cast in a play her school is putting on sometime soon, is that right?”
“It is.” Marion nodded, her expression still mild, still unreadable. “We’re very proud of her.”
Charlie smiled.
“It was actually at Marion’s encouraging that she tried out,” Lincoln put in. “She was dead set against auditioning, but Marion told her to have some faith in herself. And it paid off; how about that.”
Marion nodded, smiling, and Charlie thought he could see it edging off into a smirk in the corners.
“How about that indeed,” Charlie said. “And were you aware of how long this commitment was for when you told her she ought to try ought, Marion?”
“Of course I was,” Marion said, contempt dripping off her words. “She’s excited. I don’t think any of us have the right to stand in the way of that.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Charlie said. It was definitely a smirk, he decided, and he knew exactly why it was there. For a moment, sitting in his uncomfortable chair in an equally uncomfortable house, he saw his whole life stretching before his eyes. In three months, Honoria would be finished with one play, but she would be involved in some academic event that wouldn’t be finished for another four months. When that finished, she would have been cast in another play. When that finished, she’d suddenly have started playing an instrument, and of course the best instructors all reside in Paris, and none of them would ever dream of relocating to Prague, so she’d need to stay with Lincoln and Marion.
She’d need to stay with Lincoln and Marion forever, and she’d always miss her father, but Marion would always be at her shoulder, encouraging her to do this or to do that, and of course it would always, always be in Honoria’s best interests. Everything Marion did, after all, was in Honoria’s best interests.
“I think it would probably be best if you came back for Honoria’s play and we discussed her relocation then,” Marion told Charlie. “I’ve been ill for the past week, and I haven’t been able to give the issue due thought. I do apologize.”
“Of course,” Charlie said, smile fixed on his face like a lifeline, like if he let it go he would snap. He thought he might just snap anyway. “I’ll be leaving shortly, then; just let me go tell my daughter goodbye.”
IV
He didn’t know it was possible, but Charlie found a bar he had never been in before that night. Honoria had hugged and kissed him, told him how much she was looking forward to him seeing her in the play, and then rushed off because she had studying to do. He’d nodded, and left, and given up.
“Whiskey, please,” he told the bartender, who nodded and obliged.
“Thank you,” he said, downing it in one go. “I appreciate it.”
He thought about Marion and Honoria and Lincoln’s quiet inability for the rest of the night, ideas getting more and more whiskey-filtered, and always came to the same conclusion.
The next morning, he sent a wire to his business in Prague.
The morning after that, they wired him back, informing him that they were glad he was taking the initiative, and that they had one person there already but could definitely do with another, especially one as skilled as Charlie. He should feel free to implement his plan whenever he felt he was ready.
The morning after that, Charlie took a train to Moscow, looking out the window at the countryside and never seeing it, and never looked back.