New Visitor’s…Please read the two paragraphs at the end of this column before beginning your explorations in theater, poetry, children’s literature, movies, television, books, and the Arts. It will say New Visitor’s Greeting and be in boldface.
Happy Valentine’s Day…I wanted to keep my Valentine’s Day column as simple as possible like the columnist who just ran Yes, Virginia in his column every Christmas. If you like short stories, the best book of short stories (and I am talking about all time) is Kurt Vonnegut’s Welcome To The Monkey House. His twenty-five stories will have you experiencing every human emotion that a printed page will produce from a person. His work Long Walk To Forever has to be shared every Valentine’s Day. It is the best love story in a short format ever written. O’Henry’s The Gift of The Magi is the second best love story ever written in a short story format. Long Walk To Forever is repeated for you below. Please read The Gift of The Magi after placing the title in a Google search. Both stories are great beginnings, middles, or ends to Valentine’s Day.
Long Walk To Forever
By Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
They had grown up next door to each other, on the fringe of a city, near fields and woods and orchards, within sight of a lovely bell tower that belonged to a school for the blind. Now they were twenty, had not seen each other for nearly a year. There had always been a playful, comfortable warmth between them, but never any talk of love. His name was Newt. Her name was Catharine. In the early afternoon, Newt knocked on Catharine’s front door. Catharine came to the door. She was carrying a fat, glossy magazine she had been reading. The magazine was devoted entirely to brides. “Newt!” she said. She was surprised to see him. “Could you come for a walk?” he said. He was a shy person, even with Catharine. He covered his shyness by speaking absently as though what really concerned him were far away–as though he were a secret agent pausing briefly on a mission between beautiful, distant, and sinister points. This manner of speaking had always been Newt’s style, even in matters that concerned him desperately.
“A walk?” said Catharine.
“One foot in front of the other,” said Newt, “through leaves, over bridges—”
“I had no idea you were in town,” she said.
“Just this minute got in,” he said.
“Still in the Army, I see,” she said.
“Seven months more to go,” he said. He was a private first class in the Artillery. His uniform was rumpled. His shoes were dusty. He needed a shave. He held out his hand for the magazine.
“Let’s see the pretty book,” he said.
She gave it to him. “I’m getting married, Newt,” she said. “I know,” he said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“I’m awfully busy, Newt,” she said. “The wedding is only a week away.”
“If we go for a walk,” he said, “it will make you rosy. It will make you a rosy bride.” He turned the pages of the magazine. “A rosy bride like her–like her–like her,” he said, showing her rosy brides.
Catharine turned rosy, thinking about rosy brides.
“That will be my present to Henry Stewart Chasens,” said Newt. “By taking you for a walk, I’ll be giving him a rosy bride.”
“You know his name?” she said.
“Mother wrote,” he said. “From Pittsburgh?”
“Yes,” she said. “You’d like him.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“Can–can you come to the wedding, Newt?” she said.
“That I doubt,” he said.
“Your furlough isn’t for long enough?” she said.
“Furlough?” said Newt. He was studying a two page ad for flat silver. “I’m not on furlough,”he said.
“Oh?” she said.
“I’m what they call A.W.O.L.,” said Newt.
“Oh, Newt! You’re not!” she said.
“Sure I am,” he said, still looking at the magazine.
“Why, Newt?” she said.
“I had to find out what your silver pattern is,” he said. He read names of silver patterns from the magazine. Albemarle? Heather?” he said. “Legend? Rambler Rose?” He looked up, smiled. “I plan to give you and your husband a spoon,” he said.
“Newt, Newt–tell me really,” she said.
“I want to go for a walk,” he said.
She wrung her hands in sisterly anguish. “Oh, Newt–you’re fooling me about being
A.W.O.L.,” she said.
Newt imitated a police siren softly, and raised his eyebrows.
“Fort Bragg,” he said.
“North Carolina?” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “Near Fayetteville–where Scarlet O’Hara went to school.”
“How did you get here, Newt?” she said.
He raised his thumb, jerked it in a hitchhike gesture. “Two days,” he said.
“Does your mother know?” she said.
“I didn’t come to see my mother,” he told her.
“Who did you come to see?” she said.
“You,” he said.
“Why me?” she said.
“Because I love you,” he said. “Now can we take a walk?” he said. “One foot in front of the other–through leaves, over bridges–”
They were taking the walk now, were in a woods with a brown-leaf floor.
Catharine was angry and rattled, close to tears. “Newt,” she said, “this is absolutely crazy.”
“How so?” said Newt.
“What a crazy time to tell me you love me,” she said. “You never talked that way before.” She stopped walking.
“Let’s keep walking,” he said.
“No,” she said. “So far, no farther. I shouldn’t have come out with you at all,” she said.
“You did,” he said.
“To get you out of the house,” she said. “If somebody walked in and heard you talking to me that way, a week before the wedding–”
“What would they think?” he said.
“They’d think you were crazy,” she said.
“Why?” he said
Catharine took a deep breath, made a speech. “Let me say that I’m deeply honored by this crazy thing you’ve done,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re really A.W.O.L., but maybe you are. I can’t believe you really love me, but maybe you do. But–”
“I do,” said Newt.
“Well, I’m deeply honored,” said Catharine, “and I’m very fond of you as a friend, Newt, extremely fond–but it’s just too late.” She took a step away from him. “You’ve never even kissed me,” she said, and she protected herself with her hands. “I don’t mean you should do it now. I just mean that this is all so unexpected. I haven’t got the remotest idea of how to respond.”
“Just walk some more,” he said. “Have a nice time.”
They started walking again.
“How did you expect me to react?” she said.
“How would I know what to expect?” he said. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Did you think I would throw myself into your arms?” she said.
“Maybe,” he said.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she said.
“I’m not disappointed,” he said. “I wasn’t counting on it. This is very nice, just walking.”
Catharine stopped again. “You know what happens next?” she said.
“Nope,” he said.
“We shake hands,” she said. “We shake hands and part friends,” she said. “That’s what happens next.”
Newt nodded. “All right,” he said. “Remember me from time to time. Remember how much I loved you.”
Involuntarily, Catharine burst into tears. She turned her back to Newt, looked into the infinite colonnade of the woods.
“What does that mean?” said Newt.
“Rage!” said Catharine. She clenched her hands.
“You have no right–”
“I had to find out,” he said.
“If I’d loved you,” she said, “I would have let you know before now.”
“You would?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. She faced him, looked up at him, her face quite red.
“You would have known,” she said.
“How?” he said.
“You would have seen it,” she said. “Women aren’t very clever at hiding it.”
Newt looked closely at Catharine’s face now. To her consternation, she realized that what she had said was true, that a woman couldn’t hide love.
Newt was seeing love now.
And he did what he had to do. He kissed her.
“You’re hell to get along with!” she said when Newt let her go.
“I am?” said Newt.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“You didn’t like it?” he said.
“What did you expect,” she said–“wild, abandoned passion?”
“I keep telling you,” he said,” I never know what’s going to happen next.”
“We say good-by,” she said.
He frowned slightly. “All right,” he said.
She made another speech. “I’m not sorry we kissed,” she said.
“That was sweet. We should have kissed, we’ve been so close. I’ll always remember you, Newt, and good luck.”
“You too,” he said.
“Thirty days,” he said.
“What?” she said.
“Thirty days in the stockade,” he said–“that’s what one kiss will cost me.”
“I–I’m sorry,” she said, “but I didn’t ask you to go A.W.O.L.”
“I know,” he said.
“You certainly don’t deserve any hero’s reward for doing something as foolish as that,” she said.
“Must be nice to be a hero,” said Newt. “Is Henry Stewart Chasens a hero?”
“He might be, if he got the chance,” said Catharine. She noted uneasily that they had begun to walk again. The farewell had been forgotten.
“You really love him?” he said.
“Certainly I love him!” she said hotly. “I wouldn’t marry him if I didn’t love him!”
“What’s good about him?” said Newt.
“Honestly!” she cried, stopping again. “Do you have any idea how offensive you’re being? Many, many, many things are good about Henry! Yes,” she said, “and many, many, many things are probably bad, too. But that isn’t any of your business. I love Henry, and I don’t have to argue his merits with you!”
“Sorry,” said Newt.
“Honestly!” said Catharine.
Newt kissed her again. He kissed her again because she wanted him to.
They were now in a large orchard.
“How did we get so far from home, Newt?” said Catharine.
“One foot in front of the other–through leaves, over bridges,” said Newt.
“They add up–the steps,” she said.
Bells rang in the tower of the school for the blind nearby.
“School for the blind,” said Newt.
“School for the blind,” said Catharine. She shook her head in drowsy wonder. “I’ve got to go back now,” she said.
“Say good-by,” said Newt.
“Every time I do,” said Catharine, “I seem to get kissed.”
Newt sat down on the close-cropped grass under an apple tree. “Sit down,” he said.
“No,” she said.
“I won’t touch you,” he said.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
She sat down under another tree, twenty feet away from him. She closed her eyes.
“Dream of Henry Stewart Chasens,” he said.
“What?” she said.
“Dream of your wonderful husband-to-be,” he said.
“All right, I will,” she said. She closed her eyes tighter, caught glimpses of her husband-to-be.
The bees were humming in the trees, and Catharine almost fell asleep. When she opened her eyes she saw that Newt really was asleep.
He began to snore softly.
Catharine let him sleep for an hour, and while he slept she adored him with all her heart.
The shadows of the apple trees grew to the east. The bells in the tower of the school for the blind rang again.
“*chick-a-dee-dee-dee*,” went a chickadee.
Somewhere far away an automobile started nagged and failed, nagged and failed, fell still. Catharine came out from under her tree, knelt by Newt.
“Newt?” she said.
“H’m?” he said. He opened his eyes.
“Late,” she said.
“Hello, Catharine,” he said.
“Hello, Newt,” she said.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know,” she said.
“Too late,” he said.
“Too late,” she said.
He stood, stretched groaningly. “A very nice walk,” he said.
“I thought so,” she said.
“Part company here?” he said.
“Where will you go?” she said.
“Hitch into town, turn myself in,” he said.
“Good luck,” she said.
“You too,” he said. “Marry me, Catharine?”
“No,” she said.
He smiled, stared at her hard for a moment, then walked away quickly.
Catharine watched him grow smaller in the long perspective of shadows and trees, knew that if he stopped and turned now, if he called to her, she would run to him. She would have no choice.
Newt did stop. He did turn. He did call. “Catharine,” he called.
She ran to him, put her arms around him, could not speak.
New Visitor’s Greeting…Welcome to Let’s Talk, a freewheeling column on movies, theater, television, books, educational practices, current events, and the Internet. If you are a first time visitor to the column, I recommend that you start with the About topic in the Index Bar at the top of the page. Follow About with the Let’s Talk column in archives. It was the first column of the New Year. Proceed to Let’s Talk II and then work your way up to today’s column. These columns will introduce a plethora (a better word choice than myriad) of new ideas and old delights you may have missed. It will give you a foundation for some of the issues we are introducing and following up in newer columns.
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