Two Solitudes by Hugh Maclennan Page B

beauty, more than the outrage he felt because his father had married a woman young enough to be his own daughter. It was her particular kind of beauty. The contrast between Kathleen’s white Irish skin and the intense ebony blackness of her hair was startling. Her lips were generous and her breasts were full, but her hips below this opulence were slender. As she straightened his eyes dropped. It was the way she moved and sometimes the way she looked at him that gave her so much power over his senses.
    He looked beyond her to the shadows in one corner of the room. She was his father’s wife. She was the mother of his half-brother. Paul was eight, he was pure, he knew nothing of his own origin; but he was this woman’s son. She must have been a girl hardly older than he was now when his father had first gone to her.
    Turning from the table Kathleen said quietly, “You’re afraid they’ll get you, aren’t you, Marius? It’s conscription.”
    For a moment his eyes met hers and yielded. Then he flushed. “I’m not afraid of anything. Understand? They won’t get me, either.”
    â€œWell, I’m glad you came back. Your father will fix everything up for you. Just wait and see.”
    â€œYou think I’d beg him for anything?”
    â€œBut it wouldn’t be begging–not from your own father! I’ll speak to him, if you like.”
    â€œNo, you won’t. He thinks the war’s wonderful. Why not? He’s safe. He’s too old to be killed. Anyway, he sold out to the English long ago.”
    â€œOh, don’t talk that way. Your father’s a very clever man.”
    â€œHow would you know if he was clever or not?”
    â€œA boy like you can’t know as much about things like the war as his father does. You ought to be proud of him. And him a member of parliament in Ottawa, too.”
    â€œProud! My God! I have to apologize to everyone I know every time I see his name in the papers! I have to say, ‘Sure, I know my father sells us down the river to the English, but I’m not like him. I’m not fooled by him.’ Me–having to say that to my friends about my own father!”
    Kathleen made a gesture of impatience and her face showed the mounting of a slow anger. Marius suspected that she saw through him completely and knew his secret thoughts as well as he did himself. There was a dreadful instinct in her for seeing into every male she met.
    â€œYour father’s always got on well with the English,” she said. “Why not, I’d like to know? They respect him. So does everyone else.”
    â€œListen to what the students say and you’ll find out how much he’s respected.”
    â€œStudents! The English are all right. They let us alone.”
    â€œUs?” Again the harsh laugh. “Since when did you become one of us? You can’t even speak French.”
    Kathleen shrugged her shoulders and turned away. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you. Why can’t you be nice and natural? You and the English! What did they ever do to you? Next thing, you’ll be saying old Captain Yardley is selling somebody out.”
    Marius was lashing himself into anger. He got up and began walking back and forth in the room. “Never mind about him. He’s a harmless old fool. But his friends aren’t. Look at that McQueen! The biggest profiteer in the country fixes things so his friends buy French land cheap. And my own father helps him!” He threw his arms wide in a theatrical gesture. “And why not? He buys things cheap too.”
    â€œYou’re crazy. Your father’s not a business man.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have to be. He bought you, didn’t he?”
    They faced each other, tense and angry. For a second he thought she was going to slap him and he made a sudden movement and caught her lifted hand. She swung in against him and he felt her body soft