Three Continents. Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

an election, made more money, went to the Senate and became secretary of the interior under Teddy Roosevelt. My father, your great-grandfather—more or less the same career except he fought not in the Civil but the Spanish-American war, and in the navy not the army, bought not farmland but urban property and, for himself and his family, the place on the Island. That brings us up to me, and you know all about that.”

      He was silent for a while, maybe to let Michael and me recollect what we knew about him. We knew him partly as our grandfather and partly as a public figure, and in both aspects he was a sort of monument to us. We also had some sense of his earlier years, from photographs we had seen—as a very handsome Harvard undergraduate; as a bridegroom outside Trinity Church with his tall fair bride and surrounded by his own and Grandmother’s family, who looked just like them, bred from the same stock; as a young congressman in Washington; in Paris on his first international assignment; windblown on the Island, in white ducks and yachting cap, having lost an election; with Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt at Hyde Park; being entertained by Nehru in New Delhi as a member of the Peace Commission.

      Then Grandfather challenged Michael: “Just tell me why you want to give the house.”

      I can’t think of two people more different from each other than Grandfather and Michael: physically for one thing, Grandfather with his great hulking figure, and Michael slight and slender; and also in their ideas. And yet they did have something in common-—if only the way they both spoke very slowly, so that you knew whatever they said came out of their own deep, careful thinking. Manton was more like Grandfather in appearance, but somehow he had less of Grandfather’s air or ambience than Michael. All three of them had the same seafarer’s eyes—except that Michael’s seemed not to be looking outward over limitless oceans but inward, to whatever oceans lay there.

      Grandfather and I waited respectfully for Michael to get his thoughts together; and when he had done so, this is what he finally came out with: “I guess I’m impressed with the whole thing; the whole idea: making a new world based on everything that is best in previous worlds. It sounds suspect when you say it straight out like that, but you have to think of everything that’s behind it. All the civilizations, all the ideals. And the Rawul and everyone with him, they really believe the way no one else I’ve ever met does; and as you both know, I’ve spent my time looking around for something I can believe in, and commit myself to it. That’s not so easy nowadays, not so straightforward and plain cut as when you tell us about the earlier Wishwells. Or maybe it wasn’t that straightforward for them either—how do we know they didn’t have the same kind of seeking and inquiring to do before they committed themselves? I’m sure they were serious people who didn’t just jump in anywhere; but once they did, they were ready to give everything-—a foot at Appomattox, or whatever. So in face of all that, the house doesn’t seem such a very big deal, does it.” He reflected awhile and we knew he had more to say, and we waited. “Let me put it another way,” he said. “When Grandmother used to take me to church sometimes, she gave me a silver dollar for when they came around with the collection. She’d watch me like a hawk to make sure I threw it in, and even then I hung on to it till she had to pinch my arm a bit. I didn’t see any sense in throwing that dollar; I knew there were a lot better things I could do with it. But I can’t think of anything better I can do with this house than throw it in for the Rawul, and no one has to pinch my arm to make me because I’m ready and willing and glad to do it.”

      Grandfather waited to hear if there was any more coming, and when there wasn’t, he said “And that’s all?”

      “That’s all,” Michael said, without stopping to think this time.

      “You’re sure that’s all?”

      Michael was sure. Grandfather nodded and appeared satisfied; he believed him. But I’m not sure that I did, as totally and absolutely as I usually believed Michael. Of course I knew him to be completely altruistic and idealistic—but in the present case, weren’t there also his feelings for Crishi? I’m not saying they were responsible for his decision, but hadn’t they contributed at least something to it? If I had asked him outright, he would have denied it; though not the feelings themselves—he was quite frank and open about those. For me, the fact that he had them, was weakened by them, was not so much a flaw—Michael had no flaws for me—but a mystery in him; as were Grandfather’s feelings for Sonya, which were so different from the rest of him. Perhaps Grandfather was thinking about that very same thing, for he remained sitting on the side of Michael’s bed with the same sort of soft smile around his hard mouth that he had when he spoke to or of Sonya; and he said in the ruminative way people have when they are speaking to themselves as much as to anyone else: “We all like to think we’re in charge of our decisions, but who knows what else there is, what moods and weathers we have that make us do what we do and be what we are: yes, even two Wishwell men like you and me, Michael,” He smiled down at us in the same sweet, loving way he had with Sonya, enfolding us. I don’t think he could really see us because the room was in shadow, certainly down on the floor where we were, though we could still see his face lit by the twilight coming through Michael’s uncurtained windows.

      Grandfather also spoke to Lindsay about the house, and this was unfortunate because it upset both of them. It says a lot for Grandfather’s sense of duty that he opened the topic with her at all, went out of his way to do so, for usually they avoided speaking to each other beyond the most common and banal generalities, and not even those, if possible. Only to see Lindsay irritated Grandfather, and he couldn’t stand to hear her deliver her opinions in her little-girl voice. But he always controlled himself and said nothing either to her or about her, except maybe privately in a sardonic aside to Sonya; but Lindsay of course voiced her opinion of him for anyone to hear. After their interview about the house, I saw Grandfather walk away in grim silence, while she, gasping for breath, uttered indignant half-sentences such as “Can you imagine” and “This is really” and “I must say.” She didn’t like him for himself, and she detested him for being Manton’s father; and nothing could have confirmed her resolution to give away Propinquity more than his suggestion that she should have second thoughts about it. She was so upset that Jean could do nothing for her and had to appeal to Sonya; Lindsay’s feelings for—or rather against—Manton’s family did not include Sonya, whom she liked. She felt that Sonya understood her, and Sonya said she did—“I understand you, darling, completely,” she said, even when Lindsay was what she herself called “just out of my mind,” after her interview with Grandfather.

      The way Sonya excused or explained Grandfather to Lindsay was to say “But darling what do you expect—he’s a Taurus.” Sonya herself was a Capricorn, which made her highly idealistic and open to new ideas. She was certainly open to the Rawul and his movement—she ran around the house stirred up and excited, talking to everyone, including the followers, whom the rest of us ignored. She felt that it was the beginning of a new era in our personal history as well as that of mankind; and she and Else Schwamm spent many hours down in the kitchen poring over their tarot cards, of which both were skilled exponents. Sometimes they were joined by the Rani, and when the three of them were huddled together over the kitchen table, it was as if some mysterious rite were taking place in the bowels of the house that would spread an influence over all our lives.

      Around this time there were some unpleasant incidents involving the Rawul’s followers and some young people of the neighborhood. Although the grounds and the lake were private property, the local boys had always taken it for granted that they could come to fish there in the summer and skate in the winter and for occasional picnics and parties. If they left too many beer cans littered about, Jean would get after them and make a fuss, ending in nothing more than they would have to come help sweep the leaves or cut the grass. But after the Rawul’s followers took charge of the maintenance of the house and grounds, they were stricter about trespassing and put up POSTED signs all over the place. The local boys did not feel these applied to them and kept right on coming in, and this led to arguments between them and the followers. The followers were sort of schooled in patience and self-control; but the boys were some of them quite rough, and certainly weren’t going to be pushed around, they said, by a bunch of weirdos. They kept right on coming as before, fishing and drinking beer. But one evening two of the followers came out to draw their attention to the POSTED signs; and