--Harry said Jesus said---- But perhaps I can understand. From Harry’s standpoint it was the ugly word and the ugly thing. That’s it! That’s what Jesus meant. You, Boy ... you broke me and when you had broken me you came back and what you had done to me made me a horror to yourself. Poor Harry, I forgive you. For I understand. Like a child, you could not bear to see your own bad act. You meant to thrust out that ... not the beauty that was borne of it despite you. Who can thrust out beauty? Jesus didn’t preach. Jesus described the state of children like yourself. I guess his people were children like yourself. Some folk have grown up since then. And you, who quote Jesus, haven’t. That’s funny, too. And all’s forgivable. Even you, down there, respectable and holy ... bringing up Edith to be a child like yourself. --But I love her. What can I do? Lord, I’m beginning to think! so that my love for my child does not burn me, twist me into despair? You down there ... my Darling, ... not knowing your mother, judging her with the child judgments of your father ... God! but I must be strong. Despair is childish too. My love, it is a torrent within me. Love, anger, need ... turn it away from your hurts. Turn it away from yourself ... which it can only break against and wreck. Turn it where it can flow. Edith, shall I succeed in daring to think of you _here_?... --Why is it poison to me when I judge?... You, Jim Statt, you are a callous monster. You’ve a soul as black as hell. If I judge you I am poisoned.... You, Susan, you’re twisted. You hold a man in your arms to feel him die there ... all that is really he. That’s your love: hate. That’s your passion: death. If I judge you, I am poisoned.... And you, sweet Tessie, you’re hardest of all. With your sensitive soft soul and your unbalanced eyes: with your wanton small hands that turned you from an artist into this. If I despise you, Tessie, I am poisoned. --Clara, thee I love. My dark white mate! My boy! If I make plans for thee, dearest, if I dream to help thee, I am poisoned. --What is happening to me? I am no good. I am no better. Is it better not to hate? not to despise, not to plan? Better or worse, I have no choice. If I judge I am poisoned.... --Our world unfolds beyond itself, It is a yearning, it is a leaping toward God. --I see Him! When the trees break out, When the trees heave up, --I see Him! When men dance like little trees full of Springtime, There you are, God. Here.... I am unafraid. You cannot kill me, for I am part of your Spring. * * * * * In the warm smoke shadow of the room the chandelier thrust its gas tongues weakly. Beneath it on the table stood bottles of whiskey and gin and syphon water. Night. The backyards swathed silence: the shut of a window, the call of a cat were in the Night like little breaks in a close textured weave.