Arthur Crew Inman • 14 september 1926

• Arthur Crew Inman (1895-1963) was een Amerikaanse dichter wiens dagboek een van de omvangrijkste is die er bekend zijn.

September 4
[...]
Some pages back I spoke of Miss Raleigh, daughter of the composer, as one of the applicants answering my advertisement. Last night I had her come. Like her. She talks to me as though I were well. She is only nineteen, and I like the companionship of youth. I weary of people fear-haunted by past experiences. The arrant self-confidence of youth I find stimulating. No past to regret, no present to depress — only the unattempted future. Simply because people are young, however, does not necessarily make them fulfill my requirements. They must be young in spirit as well. Such a person is Miss Raleigh. Her active and inquisitive brain is never quiet. "My mother tells me," she says, "that when I go out by myself and sit still, I'm wasting my time. But I'm not. I learn more then than at any other time."
Miss Raleigh goes to art school. Whether she is "too clever ever to be wise" I cannot as yet say. Undoubtedly she is clever. And she regards certain things uniquely.

September 5 Miss Raleigh came again last night. Her name is Therese. She dislikes it or claims she does. "Oh," she explains naïvely, "it means 'Carrying-Ears-of-Corn.'"

September 14 Carrying-Ears-of-Corn has been at the MacDowell Colony for a week. She came to read to me last night. I thought that I enjoyed touching and being touched, but her enjoyment is greater than mine. All very well, if it were not that she becomes so contented she ceases to talk.

September 15 This Carrying-Ears-of-Corn delights me. Her mind hops about like a restless flea. I can never tell what the next idea will be. She has had bobbed hair but is allowing it to grow. It hangs down now to the back of her neck. I can imagine its aspect is unkempt. Be that as it may, she wanders all about the city minus a hat. How far I can go remains the alluring enigma. Frankly I have no idea at what exact point modern girlhood calls halt. Never am I so entertained as when exploring. Rather it would be Amazon jungles. But since not, then women.

September 19 The outside of Carrying-Ears-of-Corn may be easy to win but not the inside. Beneath all her bravado she remains sequestered. She possesses standards, too, although she has hidden them so carefully they are difficult to uncover. Definite ideas of right and wrong are hers, albeit she possesses a certain shame for them and is shy of allowing anyone to unearth their existence. She is honest beyond cavil.
I have been laying siege to her heart in an effort to get her to love me. "I like you," she answers my plea. "but how can I love you so quickly? You wouldn't want me to say I did when I didn't, would you? I'm fond of you, but it would be cheating to say I love you."
Evelyn likes the child. She had her to supper. Later on, Carrying-Ears-of-Corn said to me, "I think your wife's beautiful. Really I do. Her hair and her eyes just match. Her cheeks have such a pretty color. And she carries herself superbly. I wished I looked like her instead of being plain and homely. And I would give anything in the world if I could handle myself as she does." Presently, while her head nestled under my arm, "What does your wife think of your being towards me — well — the way you are?" I explained once more the agreement Evelyn and I had made when we married. She shook her head. "Isn't she jealous?"
"No, why should she be? I love her more than I could ever love you. Besides, the more people I like, the more pleasant I am. It's to Evelyn's advantage in the end. It's not as though I were deserting her for you. I'm just adding you, so to speak, to my affections." She shook her head again. "I don't understand," she said. "You mean you don't believe?" "Perhaps that's it. I really don't know. You move so fast. I don't know what I think by now." "Suppose," I suggested, "that I call Evelyn and ask her to explain?" "Oh, no, don't do that. It would hurt her feelings." "I don't think so. We understand each other pretty well on all this." So I phoned Evelyn. She came up. "Explain to Carrying-Ears-of-Corn," I suggested, "that you don't mind my loving her." She complied. She was very sweet about it, though not very forceful. She was tired, I knew. I wondered if it were as she stated, that she was without jealousy, or whether she was really a bit hurt. I knew that there was no reason in this case for jealousy, but just the same I wondered. If I were she, I should be jealous.