will end.'
`But…'
`What is it, honey?'
'Will our life like the last few days end too?'
A roar of laughter came from the assembled guests downstairs. `Sounds like they're having a good time,' I said.
`Will this end?' she asked again softly.
`Of course it will, honey,' I said, trying to dare look at her. `It would end whether I returned to experimenting or not,
you know that. The good things we've felt these last few days have come because they follow such hell. One doesn't
have to be a scientist to know that bliss doesn't last.'
She came forward heavily into my arms, sobbing.
`I want it to last. I want it to last,' she said.
I stroked her, kissed her, mumbled sweet nothings, felt numbly that I was handling the situation horribly, felt terrible.
A part of me imagined drawing Lit into even more radical dice deals than I could manage alone; perhaps I'd even
change her. Another part of me felt utterly abandoned by everyone.
She down-shifted from sobs to sniffles, then left me to trot to the bathroom. When she returned to her same spot on
the bed with her face and hair tidied up, I was surprised to see that she was looking at me coldly.
`Have you kept a written record of these experiments?' she asked.
`Of some. And I've written brief essays of analysis of various hypotheses I've been testing.'
`Have you experimented with me?'
`Of course I have, honey. Since it's me I experiment with, and me lives with you, you've been affected by many of the
experiments.'
`I mean have you directly experimented. .. tried to get me to do things?'
`I . .. no, no, I haven't' `Have you experimented with sex? With other women?'
Bingo! I hesitated.
My male friends, attention. There are some questions which demand any answer except hesitation. `Do you love me?' for example, is not a question; it is intended as a stimulus in the stimulus-response sequence `Do-you-love-me?-Oh #161;my precious yes.'
`Did you sleep with her?' demands a yes-or-no answer immediately: hedging implies guilt. `Have you experimented with other women?' demanded an immediate answer of `Yes, of course, honey, and it's made me closer to you than ever.'
This would bring tears, slaps, revilings, withdrawal and eventually, curiosity and reconciliation. Hesitation on 'the other
hand . . .
Hesitation brought Lil leaping to her feet.
`You Goddamn bastard,' she said.
`Don't touch me: `You don't even know what the experiments were.'
`I know your mind. I know . . . oh my God . . . I know … Arlene! You and Arlene!' She was rigid and trembling.
`Honey, honey, honey, you're blowing up about nothing. My experiments didn't include infidelity `I'll bet they didn't.
I'm no fool. I'm no fool,' she shouted and, sobbing, crumpled on to the couch.
`Oh. I'm such a fool,' she moaned, `such a fool.'
I went over and tried to comfort her. She ignored me. After another minute's crying she got up and went into the
bathroom. When I followed about two minutes later the door was hooked closed.
Now remember, my friends, I was still supposed to be playing the lover. For seven days I had been the lover, at one
with the role; now I was only artificially trying to go through the proper motions and emotions. The love was dead, but
the lover was commanded to live on.
I knocked and called and finally received a `Go away'; unoriginal but, I fear, sincere. My impulse was to do just that,
but my mind warned me that real lovers never leave their beloved in such cases except to blow out their brains or to
get drunk. Considering the alternatives I threw my shoulder against the door twice and broke in.
Lil was sitting on the edge of the tub with a pair of scissors in her hand; she looked up at me dully when I stumbled in.
A quick scrutiny indicated she had not slashed anything.
`What are you doing?' I asked.
`I thought I'd mend your pants, if you don't mind.'
Beside her, prosaically enough, was, in fact, some thread and the pants I'd ripped down the backside on the slopes that
afternoon.