An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

silent and not always obvious “blues,” still these same

effected no real modification or improvement. For Clyde

was now hopelessly enamored of Sondra and by no means

to be changed, or moved even, by anything in connection

with Roberta. Sondra was too wonderful!

At the same time because she was there all of the working

hours of each day in the same room with him, he could not

fail instinctively to feel some of the thoughts that employed

her mind—such dark, sad, despairing thoughts. And these

seized upon him at times as definitely and poignantly as

though they were voices of accusation or complaint—so

much so that he could not help but suggest by way of

amelioration that he would like to see her and that he was

coming around that night if she were going to be home.

And so distrait was she, and still so infatuated with him, that

she could not resist admitting that she wanted him to come.

And once there, the psychic personality of the past as well

as of the room itself was not without its persuasion and

hence emotional compulsion.

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545

But most foolishly anticipating, as he now did, a future more

substantial than the general local circumstances warranted,

he was more concerned than ever lest his present

relationship to Roberta should in any way prove inimical to

all this. Supposing that Sondra at some time, in some way,

should find out concerning Roberta? How fatal that would

be! Or that Roberta should become aware of his devotion

to Sondra and so develop an active resentment which

should carry her to the length of denouncing or exposing

him. For subsequent to the New Year’s Eve engagement,

he was all too frequently appearing at the factory of a

morning with explanatory statements that because of some

invitation from the Griffiths, Harriets, or others, he would not

be able to keep an engagement with her that night, for

instance, that he had made a day or two before. And later,

on three different occasions, because Sondra had called for

him in her car, he had departed without a word, trusting to

what might come to him the next day in the way of an

excuse to smooth the matter over.

Yet anomalous, if not exactly unprecedented as it may

seem, this condition of mingled sympathy and opposition

gave rise at last to the feeling in him that come what might

he must find some method of severing this tie, even though

it lacerated Roberta to the point of death (Why should he

care? He had never told her that he would marry her.) or

endangered his own position here in case she were not

satisfied to release him as voicelessly as he wished. At

other times it caused him to feel that indeed he was a sly

and shameless and cruel person who had taken undue

advantage of a girl who, left to herself, would never have

troubled with him. And this latter mood, in spite of slights

and lies and thinly excused neglects and absences at times

in the face of the most definite agreements—so strange is

the libido of the race—brought about the reenactment of the

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546

infernal or celestial command laid upon Adam and his

breed: “Thy desire shall be to thy mate.”

But there was this to be said in connection with the

relationship between these two, that no time, owing to the

inexperience of Clyde, as well as Roberta, had there been

any adequate understanding or use of more than the

simplest, and for the most part unsatisfactory, contraceptive

devices. About the middle of February, and, interestingly

enough, at about the time when Clyde, because of the

continuing favor of Sondra, had about reached the point

where he was determined once and for all to end, not only

this physical, but all other connection with Roberta, she on

her part was beginning to see clearly that, in spite of his

temporizing and her own incurable infatuation for him,

pursuit of him by her was futile and that it would be more to

the satisfaction of her pride, if not to the ease of her heart, if

she were to leave here and in some other place seek some

financial help that would permit her to live and still help her

parents and forget him if she could. Unfortunately for this,

she was compelled, to her dismay and terror, to enter the

factory one morning, just about this time, her face a symbol

of even graver and more terrifying doubts and fears than

any that had hitherto assailed her. For now, in addition to

her own troubled conclusions in regard to Clyde, there had

sprung up over night the dark and constraining fear that

even this might not now be possible, for the present at

least. For because of her own and Clyde’s temporizing over

his and her sentimentality and her unconquerable affection

for him, she now, at a time when it was most inimical for

both, found herself pregnant.

Ever since she had yielded to his blandishments, she had

counted the days and always had been able to congratulate

herself that all was well. But forty-eight hours since the

always exactly calculated time had now passed, and there

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547

had been no sign. And for four days preceding this Clyde

had not even been near her. And his attitude at the factory

was more remote and indifferent than ever.

And now, this!

And she had no one but him to whom she might turn. And

he was in this estranged and indifferent mood.

Because of her fright, induced by the fear that with or

without Clyde’s aid she might not easily be extricated from

her threatened predicament, she could see her home, her

mother, her relatives, all who knew her, and their thoughts

in case anything like this should befall her. For of the

opinion of society in general and what other people might

say, Roberta stood in extreme terror. The stigma of

unsanctioned concupiscence! The shame of illegitimacy for

a child! It was bad enough, as she had always thought,

listening to girls and women talk of life and marriage and

adultery and the miseries that had befallen girls who had

yielded to men and subsequently been deserted, for a

woman when she was safely married and sustained by the

love and strength of a man—such love, for instance, as her

brother-in-law Gabel brought to her sister Agnes, and her

father to her mother in the first years, no doubt—and Clyde

to her when he had so feverishly declared that he loved her.

But now—now!

She could not permit any thoughts in regard to his recent or

present attitude to delay her. Regardless of either, he must

help her. She did not know what else to do under such

circumstances—which way to turn. And no doubt Clyde did.

At any rate he had said once that he would stand by her in

case anything happened. And although, because at first,

even on the third day on reaching the factory, she imagined

that she might be exaggerating the danger and that it was

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548

perhaps some physical flaw or lapse that might still

overcome itself, still by late afternoon no evidence of any

change coming to her, she began to be a prey to the most

nameless terrors. What little courage she had mustered up

to this time began to waver and break. She was all alone,

unless he came to her now. And she was in need of advice

and good counsel—loving counsel. Oh, Clyde! Clyde! If he

would only not be so indifferent to her! He must not be!

Something must be done, and right away—quick—else—

Great Heavens, what a terrible thing this could easily come

to be!

At once she stopped her work between four and five in the

afternoon and hurried to the dressing-room. And there she

penned a note—hurried, hysterical—a scrawl.

“CLYDE—I must see you to-night, sure, sure. You

mustn’t fail me. I have something to tell you. Please

come as soon after work as possible, or meet me

anywhere. I’m not angry or mad about anything. But I

must see you to-night, sure. Please say right away

where.

“ROBERTA.”

And he, sensing a new and strange and quite terrified note

in all this the moment he read it, at once looked over his

shoulder at her and, seeing her face so white and drawn,

signaled that he would meet her. For judging by her face

the thing she had to tell must be of the utmost importance

to her, else why this tensity and excitement on her part. And

although he had another engagement later, as he now

troublesomely recalled, at the Starks for dinner, still it was

necessary to do this first. Yet, what was it anyhow? Was

anybody dead or hurt or what—her mother or father or

brother or sister?

An American Tragedy