Montgomery County sentinel. [volume] (Rockville, Md.) 1855-1974, 1932-04-29
REALITY
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BY FANNIE HURST

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NX Perry In Paris, during the lat
s. wv ter teens Of the Twentieth
century, was just as much
part Of the world upheaval as machine
guns, trench misery, air raid and
barbed wire. e r z
Upon this boy from the placid world
Of suburb Of Cincinnati, Ohio, there
burst, with the variegated fire Of q
skyrocket, the spectacle Of plundsr
and death, Paris and beauty, license
and pain. vice, ccwardice and q pahs
Drama Of bravery that through the
rockets red glare, made mankind
seem sublime.
Perry, at twenty, from the even
tenor Of his fathers tool factory in the
pretty suburb outside Of Cincinnati,
found himself something Of World
war hero, two bravery citations to his
credit; a citizen Of the world, houn-
dering around the battleAelds of
France and Flanders for two years;
and finally, a disabled soldier on eI-
tended leave while wounds Of an all
but mortal nature, slowly but surely
closed their ugly mouths. err
Then what happened was just nor
NAL part of the abnormal condition.
He met, through vagary Of circum-
stances, the usual little French Col
cite, whose hair was like wet mop
of curls, whose drolleries were as ex-
citing as they were alluring, whose
constancy was pathetic and whose
alteration healed him more swiftly
than medication.
He forgot, in the phantasmagoria
Of the moment, "the girl back home"
ensconced himself with Colette in the
traditional matched attic on the left
bank Of the Seine, and for months the
idyllic, irresponsible life Of man and
his maid, flowed in uninterrupted bliss.
Colettel He tried slmetimes to
capture the words to describe her. A
dragon-fy skittling over bright wa
tiers. Popcorn dancing In lts pan. A
chrysanthemum in a gale. All to no
effect. She would not be caught in
the prison Of words. She was thistle
down, dancing ahead Of the wind. She
eluded on every side. She was delect-
able nonsense, and then strangely,
paradoxically, she was the frugal lit
tie French girl, conserving your inter
ests, your funds, your health, your
well-being.
Life in that attic, with geraniums
on the window stills, cookery roeking
from the little improvised stove, laugh
ter blowing about the corners, happi-
ness squatting every turn, was a
dream caught In an interlude between
two realities: the reality Of war; the
reality of the suburb Of Cincinnati.
Life and Paris and flower stands
and holidays on the Seine and walks
In Fontainebleau and nibbles in pats.
series and kisses on the back Of Col
cites darting adorable neck were Just
one bouquet of irresponsible hours
crammed with irresponsible joys. You
awoke with a sense Of holiday, you
breakfasted with Colette on your
knees with a sense Of holiday, you
galloped through the all too short
days with that same sense Of holiday
and blessedly, wornout with fatigue
Of pleasant hours, you slept that you
might awaken to another holiday.
And so the days became the weeks
and the months and finally the year,
and then, as Is the case with all per-
feet holidays, there came one day the
awakening to the still cold dawn Of
reality. .1
II came in the form Of two trumpet
calls. Armistlce And a cable from
the girl back home. Helen, worn with
the waiting; eager, homeslck, re-
joiced, was arriving with her mother
for Paris wedding and honeymoon
trip to America.
Well, 1t fell into the midst Of that
small paradise as bombs like that
were falling into one after another Of
the transient payadises that honey
combed Paris and had been erected
ont Of the toll and moil Of war COL
cite, who knew everything. and In a
way had been prepared for the blow
before II fell, took 1t when It came
in the same dauntless spirit that char
acterlzed the countless Of her kind.
Norman, feeling smirched, guilty to-
ward both Colette and Helen, wretch
ed, apprehenslve, and filed with a
sense Of the kind of obligation and
responsibility that has its nloorlngs In
sections like the suburbs outside the
Cincinnatis Of America, bowed his
head and his heart and succumbed to
the predlcament of caring for two
women and having to choose one.
It was characteristic Of Helen, when
she arrived, that she should have toll
erance and sympathy and understand
ing for the yelled confessions that
came In drlblets from the lips Of her
fiance. ... I...H
OF course Norman had been indls-
Greet. The wonder Of II is that he
had survived to tell the tale at all.
A man could not be held accountable
for his reactions under the hell Of
conditions Of war. No more about II.
AS II II had not happened. Forgive.
Forget. .
And so, as the saying goes, they
we're married and lived happily.
There was a bungalow adjoining the
parental home in the beautiful suburb
outside OF Cincinnati. A lovely set
ting. with rock garden and a tudor
living room and gun-metal, stream
line, family sedan in the two-car ga
rage.
Helen, beautiful, dutlful and right,
was proper complement to such q
DR.. z. ERNEYHOUGH,