Page:Levenson - Butterfly Man.djvu/127

Rh new contacts. After all, life was really beginning. Wild oats sown—mysteries explored—calmness attained—fourteen months of unforgettable peace. He hung up his trousers, removing some money from the pockets. He counted three bills and some coins. He was worth three dollars and seventy-four cents. He laughed. He recalled San Diego, his march into the back country, hitch-hiking, laboring in the fields, earning meals by working as a bus boy in a Coffee Pot, hitch-hiking again, riding the rails, nights in flop joints, police stations and even a hobo colony near St. Louis.

Those were hard, gay times. No uncertainty—no hesitancy. Nothing to lose. He realized now that he had been fleeing from an old hateful weak self and therefore was not to be cheered as a courageous hero.

Happily, he believed this weakness was gone. His body once more was a temple unto himself. He belonged to himself. He was free.

Fate, he concluded, had had something to do with it. Fate had pre-arranged that Norah Nasmuth should come to Tia Juana as he was about to leave, that she should need a partner, that she should see him dance that parting gesture of contempt for all that Tia Juana symbolized. Fate had provided Norah with a sister whose simple word would open all theatrical doors.

He had visited Nellie Nasmuth in the Chicago playhouse where she was rehearsing. He had arrived late one autumn day. He had worn no overcoat. She had listened to his story. She had seemed to understand at once, for she had lent him money.

During those early days in Chicago, he knew at last how low Anita had carried him. He knew how close to eternal