he: A Novel(53)

He and Babe are two of the most famous men in the world.





107


The Aquitania nears the port of Southampton.

It is July 23rd, 1932. They have been at sea for one week, during which time they have rarely been left in peace. He and Babe pose for photographs with those who ask, and sign autographs, but after a few days they grow weary of the attention because there is no escape from it. They retreat to their cabins, and pass the hours in whatever pursuits they can find to occupy themselves.

Myrtle appears content, or as content as a sober drunk can be. He, by contrast, feels a sense of disquiet. He ascribes this to the problem of his marriage, although he is also troubled by this return to England. He has become famous, but only by leaving his homeland. He has turned his back on it, and he fears that it may turn its back on him in turn.

But as the Aquitania prepares to dock, he and Babe see only people at the water’s edge, and people in the windows of warehouses and offices, and people on the rooftops. And from the throng a sound arises, faint at first but growing clearer as the tugboat brings in the Aquitania, as the Hythe ferry crosses in the distance, as the grey skies press their claim on the world.

It is a ringing like the wind in the wires, or distant birdsong.

It is the thirty notes of their signature tune, repeated over and over.

It is the sound of thousands upon thousands whistling in unison.

Whistling their welcome.





108


So there is to be no vacation, or not much of one.

It takes them an hour to navigate passage from the boat to the train.

At Waterloo Station, the police and staff are unable to keep the crowds back, and so surrender to the collective force of many wills. In Leicester Square, a cordon has to be formed to funnel them from their car to the theater. Later, upon leaving, the hordes rush them and tear a door from the vehicle as they make their escape.

He meets A.J. and A.J.’s new wife, but he cannot be alone in his old haunts.

He cannot be alone anywhere but in his hotel room.

At Edinburgh, a thousand people.

At Leeds, two thousand people.

At Glasgow, eight thousand people.

At Birmingham, ten thousand people.

Babe plays one round of golf, at Gleneagles. It is, Babe says, a very good round of golf, but a long way to come for it.

Babe buys a tartan umbrella.

Babe buys tartan socks and tartan suspenders.

Babe considers a kilt, but decides that the courage to wear it may be lacking.

Mercifully, the publicity tour ends. He and Babe attempt an escape to the Continent, but if anything the attention is worse there, so they return to England and make the best of their circumstances.

Babe plays more golf.

He spends time with A.J.

Everywhere he goes, people stare and call him by name.

I don’t know what was so wrong with your old name, says A.J. It was a perfectly good name. It never did me wrong.

He has no explanation for A.J., or none that might satisfy. His old identity has been discarded, and his new identity is to be found only on the screen. In the expanse between these two poles lies the reality of the self.

By September, he and Babe are back in Los Angeles.

By October they are back on the lot.

Henry Ginsberg greets them. Henry Ginsberg invites them into his office.

For taking a vacation, Henry Ginsberg deducts $19,200 from his salary, and Henry Ginsberg deducts $15,200 from Babe’s salary.

They wipe the dust of Henry Ginsberg’s office from their feet as they leave.

I should, says Babe, have played more golf.





109


His dance with Lois continues, but each moves to a different music.

He returns from Europe expecting Ben Shipman already to be working on the details of the settlement, and has begun to consider where he might live as a single man, but Lois has evinced no progress toward divorce, has not even made the promised call to her lawyer. Instead of gratitude, he feels disappointment, and a kind of thwarted ambition. He wants to be free of this marriage, and the proximity of Lois adds another tone to the complexity of his mourning for his son. He understands the pain that Lois is enduring, but he cannot bring himself to offer comfort. He cannot acknowledge their shared grief, even if it might bring succor to each. If he does, the display of emotion may be misconstrued.

And he is still seeing Alyce Ardell.

He does not wish to leave Lois for Alyce Ardell; this is not the reason for the sundering of his marriage. He doubts that Alyce Ardell would have him, even if he offered. Alyce Ardell is a free spirit, and because she does not ask anything of him beyond his occasional presence in her life and her bed, he is able to forget himself when he is with her. But he does not speak of Lois when he is with Alyce Ardell, and Alyce Ardell does not ask.

In this much, at least, he shows respect for his wife.

Leaving England has been difficult.

For the brief period after their British promotional duties are completed, while Babe tramps golf courses with Myrtle and he revisits the streets of his youth, he is at ease. He has no false nostalgia for his homeland. He has almost forgotten how claustrophobic are its cities, how tightly packed their citizens; how grey the skies, how white the faces. Even in London, the fashions seem dated, the women less colorful in their dresses. It is like exchanging butterflies for moths.

But he is more of that place than California. He is more of that place than any other. All of the constructs fall away, and what remains is a boy formed of smog and stage.