Wednesday, Dec. 1
No letter since Saturday. What's more, no answer to my proposal! Are you going to turn me down. Oh, well, I daresay a house, a diamond bracelet, a bay mare named Apple and a waist-line of 23 inches is not much of a dowry. The Coal Company is obviously a much better proposition.
I saw some lines of Dante which expresses some of my feelings about you, Darling
"In thee is pity, in thee is tenderness, in thee magnificence, in thee the sum of all that is creation most can bless."
Yes, my beloved, I really do believe these things about you. I have the most perfect faith in you and all that you will some day be and do. It is my wish to help you do and be those things which only you can achieve. Just how I can help, I do not know, but it will work itself out somehow.
When talking to Tania on the 'phone yesterday she told me she heard the roar of Forts going over her country place, which is about 20 miles from London. A few minutes later, while still talking to her, they flew over my house! They came those 20 miles between one sentence and another! I thought of you and prayed that you were not in them.
Later; 5:00 o'clock.
Just got home from queueing for the meat ration and found your delightful wire. So you accept me, Sir. I insist on a formal acceptance couched in the stately terms used by gentlemen of England. Shall we have a Church wedding with me in white satin and a veil? Alas, I fear that would not do for your SCARLET WOMEN.
Thursday, Dec. 2, '43
My Own Darling Boy:
Your Monday, Nov. 29 letter must have been held up 3 days by the Censor. I was unprepared for its blow, when it fell. YOU in a detention camp!!! Not seeing you for weeks or months. Until I know what sentence you received, I shall be frantic. You must let me know at once. If you're not allowed to write, perhaps your buddy will, if you've had the sense to give him my address. If you get a severe punishment, and are unable to communicate with me for some time, I will, of course, continue to write. Don't worry about that. If the punishment is merely a fine, well, that's nothing! I'll lend you what you need and you can pay me back. If it's only having leave stopped, well, that's not too bad. We can communicate regularly, and you can telephone, and send occasional telegrams. If it's a very long wait, I'll come to see you, I'm told you would be able to leave camp in the evenings for a few hours.
In your last few letters there was a feeling of, "might-have been", inevitable parting, and fears of losing me. Gerry, I don't accept this at all. During your next visit I was going to take you by the hand and lead you all over my house. Room by room, into the kitchen and the garden, and kiss you under the lime trees. "Gerry, this YOUR HOME, and I am YOUR MOTHER - and all the other things you want me to be. Wherever I have a house, or flat, or just one room - here - or in America - anywhere - that will be YOUR HOME, too. You're too young, and too crazy to take care of me, so I'll take care of you .I would rather have said this than written it. I could have expressed it so much more emphatically with what you call, "the strong authority" of my speech. So that you would have known what I said was true. Dearest, don't forget that my love for you is a creative force for you to build on, and a kind and tender love for you to rest in, and be soothed.
I will write again tomorrow.
1:00 O'clock, Friday Night, Dec. 3.
I'm writing this just a few minutes after you telephoned. When you ring me late at night, remember I am not alone in the house and there are 2 extensions. Our P.G. has a phone beside his bed and I am pretty sure he listens to those conversations! I have to sound calm and collected. It was a relief to get your letter this morning, fortunately the punishment did not fit the crime, and you will be with me on Dec. 7th. I wrote last night in case things had gone badly, just some things I thought would comfort you. If anything happens so that you do not come on Tuesday, I will collapse.
Saturday Night, Dec. 4.
Gerry, ours is a strange, strange love. You harp that you are, "just out of knee pants" - but actually you are not at all immature. You live twice as hard as most men, your capacity to love deeply and feel and suffer intensely is profound. Oriental races mature very early, this is well-known, my friends among Jews are complete and finished while still in their twenties, possessing subtlety and brilliance. Your heritage does you justice. You have that gift of being able to express yourself in speech and writing, rarer than you think.
Gerry, if you knew how happy it made me when I discovered that you could say lovely things to me, and write them, too! Being separated as much as we are, if we are not articulate on paper, we will lose touch, then each other. You also have a very special gift to give me. The physical life in you is so powerful that you radiate it. Call it animal magnetism, vitality, the life-force, you have so much of it, when I am with you I am alive. I am well and gay and happy! You are wrong when you say, "She's not my sort". I am your sort. The difference of environment, early training, code of manners, is unimportant if people "match" in the essential ways.
Dear love, don't do anything to spoil your chances of coming to me this Tuesday. Be bland, tactful, dull. Don't get too cold or wet and get 'flu! Don't get drunk. Every ounce of my 102 pounds longs for you!
Saturday Evening, Dec. 4, '43
Never forget for one moment that your Shicksa loves you. When you don't hear from her it's because her letters are piling up, somewhere. When you don't see her, it's only a pleasure deferred; you are never out of the slipstream of her consciousness. She hopes you won't get drunk if there is a disappointment in meeting on Tuesday. When men are drunk they do things they wouldn't do in their sane moments, and it would hurt Shicksa if you got into serious trouble. Some men get fighting drunk, and fights sometimes end seriously. Some men don't know who they go to bed with when they are paralytic. Suppose you caught ...... Think how miserable Shicksa would be if that happens, you might not even know it had happened.
Please don't worry your Shicksa, and make her ill. She loves you. She adores you. Your life, your health and well being are far more important to her than her own. And now Shicksa is thinking of what a wonderful moment it will be when you walk through her door on Tuesday. She doesn't know how she is going to bear so much happiness all at once.
Thursday night, late. Dec. 9, '43
Oh, my darling! That was a heavenly letter you left behind. You never disappoint me. The things you said were the perfect things to say after our two-and-a half days together. I went to sleep at once with your dear letter clutched in my hand, and woke up with a start. What time was it? I thought, drowsily, rather frightened that I might be late for preparing dinner, then something floated into my mind - your round, gleaming beautiful head, your gay smile and lovely mouth. Curling up in the warm blankets, I thought about US for some time. Suddenly I had that strange experience which we had together that night, the curious film before my eyes, which wavered and obscured my sight, and distorted objects. Again that strong feeling of a "something" in the room, some presence, not unfriendly, just there. Perhaps it is Pop, trying to tell us that he is glad his lonely boy has found someone to love, someone who belongs to him. Or perhaps the room retained some of the emotions that vibrated out from us. It was in this room, with its delicate beauty, pink and pastel soft colors, it's warmth and friendly firelit glow that you first fell in love with me. Sitting opposite me in the big chair, you finally "saw" me.
Again, it was here that we talked hour after hour, pouring out things, which we never told to any other person. It was in this room that we knew each other, our first, rather tentative love-experience. I found myself melting into your being on waves of exquisite pleasure, and you found yourself entering into your women as one who comes into the close warmth of his own home after a long cold, and bleak journey. Never, my darling, have I known anything like the blending of my life into yours, a rapture I can only feel and cannot describe. You felt it and knew it in your whole being, and you gave yourself to me, holding nothing back. Surely these emotions sent out powerful vibrations that the room absorbed - and at some moment when we were both very "receptive" from extreme fatigue and lack of food, it gave them back to us in mysterious waves.
It is now four o'clock in the morning. Already I have begun to miss you terribly, but I have your adorable letter to read when it gets bad. It "speaks" to me, telling me of your great love. I must go to sleep, so that the time will pass all the more quickly until next Thursday and Friday. Let me know as soon as you can, whether you will manage to get your leave. Would you like me to ask some people to dinner Thursday night to meet you? I'll select someone you'll like. Telephone me when you can and never forget that I love you.