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THE SOCIAL LIFE OF
ECONOMIC INEQUALITIES
IN CONTEMPORARY
LATIN AMERICA
Decades of Change
APPROACHES
TO SOCIAL
INEQUALITY AND
DIFFERENCE
Approaches to Social Inequality and Difference
Series Editors
Edvard Hviding
University of Bergen
Bergen, Norway
Synnøve Bendixsen
University of Bergen
Bergen, Norway
The book series contributes a wealth of new perspectives aiming to
denaturalize ongoing social, economic and cultural trends such as the
processes of ‘crimigration’ and racialization, fast-growing social-economic
inequalities, depoliticization or technologization of policy, and simultaneously
a politicization of difference. By treating naturalization simultaneously as a
phenomenon in the world, and as a rudimentary analytical concept for
further development and theoretical diversification, we identify a shared
point of departure for all volumes in this series, in a search to analyze how
difference is produced, governed and reconfigured in a rapidly changing
world. By theorizing rich, globally comparative ethnographic materials on
how racial/cultural/civilization differences are currently specified and nat-
uralized, the series will throw new light on crucial links between differences,
whether biologized and culturalized, and various forms of ‘social inequality’
that are produced in contemporary global social and political formations.
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2018. This book is an open access
publication.
Open Access This book is licensed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0
International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits use,
sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you
give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative
Commons license and indicate if changes were made.
The images or other third party material in this book are included in the book’s Creative
Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not
included in the book’s Creative Commons license and your intended use is not permitted by
statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission directly
from the copyright holder.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information
in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher
nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material
contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher
remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional
affiliations.
vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The contributions in this volume have been developed further since the
original workshop. Some of the authors have come to the project at later
stages, but have also participated in various rounds of revision. We thank
you all for being so willing to rework and revise your contributions accord-
ing to our suggestions and thus making this a genuinely collaborative
effort.
On a more personal note, the editors would also like to thank our fami-
lies and friends for their support and patience throughout the period we
have been working on this volume.
Margit extends her most heartfelt gratitude to her parents, Sunneva
and Per Ystanes, for their unwavering emotional support and practical
assistance with all kinds of things. I am also deeply thankful to friends for
still being there despite my prolonged absences, whether spent in my
office or doing fieldwork. Finally, I would like to express my deep grati-
tude to Alejandro Huidobro Goya for sharing both life and work with me.
Thank you for inspiring me every day, for making me grow in ways I never
imagined and for keeping everything together while the finalising of this
book absorbed me. Most importantly, thank you for filling my life with
love and laughter.
Iselin is deeply grateful to her parents, Frode and Åse KarinStrønen,
who as always have provided vital emotional and practical support in the
process of finishing this book. I don’t know how I would have done it
without you. Thank you. My heartfelt gratitude is also extended to
Marieke Mulders Steine for moral support during the last-minute frenzies,
and to Siv Mælen for always being there. Thank you also to Nefissa Naguib
and Maria Victoria Canino, both of whom provided important and wise
words of advice in the process of finalising the book. As always, my deepest
gratitude goes to my daughter, Cecilia, who stoically has waited out hours
and hours of mummy being lost behind a computer screen in the final
phase of this process. You must be the most patient five-year-old in the
world. Thank you for reminding me every day that there are more impor-
tant things to life than writing books, the importance of the topic
notwithstanding.
Rio de Janeiro and Bergen, Iselin Åsedotter Strønen and Margit Ystanes
April 19, 2017
Contents
1 Introduction 3
Iselin Åsedotter Strønen and Margit Ystanes
ix
x Contents
Part V Postscript273
12 Postscript 275
Sian Lazar
Index283
Contributing Authors
xiii
xiv CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS
Michele de Lavra Pinto has a PhD in History and Politics from CPDOC/
FundaçãoGetúlio Vargas (FGV/RJ), a Master’s in Social Anthropology
and licentiate degree in Social Science from the Federal University of Rio
Grande do Sul (UFRGS) in Brazil. She has edited the books Youth,
Consumption and Education 1,2,3 and 4 and the book Consumption and
Sociabilities: Spaces, Meanings and Reflections. Her research centres mainly
on the areas of consumption anthropology and economic anthropology.
Sian Lazar is a Senior Lecturer in Social Anthropology at the University
of Cambridge, UK. Her research focuses on citizenship, social movements
and collective politics more broadly in Latin America, especially Argentina
and Bolivia. She is the author of El Alto, Rebel City. Self and Citizenship
in Andean Bolivia (2008), and The Social Life of Politics. Ethics, Kinship
and Union Activism in Argentina (2017), among other publications.
Pedro Mendes Loureiro holds a BA in Economics from the Federal
University of Minas Gerais (UFMG, Brazil) and an MSc in Economics from
the University of Campinas (Unicamp, Brazil). He is an Economics PhD
candidate at SOAS, University of London, researching the left-of-centre
governments in Latin America (the “Pink Tide”). This research project
seeks to unpack the advances and limitations of their economic and social
policies, focusing on the politicisation of shifts in class inequality and capital
accumulation. His other research interests include heterodox theoretical
frameworks (Marxist, post-Keynesian, institutionalist), state theory, inter-
disciplinary and pluralist approaches, mixed methods, financialisation and
Latin American economic history.
Cecilie Vindal Ødegaard is an associate professor at the University of
Bergen, Department of Social Anthropology. Her research focuses on
informal economies under neoliberal regimes, gender, inequalities, cos-
mologies and Andean conceptualisations of nature. Based on research in
Peru since the 1990s, articles of Ødegaard have appeared in journals such
as Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, Ethnos Journal of
Anthropology, Journal of Development Studies, Journal of Borderlands
Studies and Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine, among others. She
is the author of Mobility, Markets and Indigenous Socialities: Contemporary
Migration in the Peruvian Andes and has contributed with research-based
chapters in the volumes Contested Powers: The Politics of Energy and
Development in Latin America (University of Chicago Press 2015) and
CONTRIBUTING AUTHORS
xv
xvii
xviii List of Photos
xix
PART I
Introduction
Latin America has for long been the most unequal continent in the world.
At the turn of the millennium, voters rebelled against this situation by
ushering left-wing and centre-left political candidates into power in
country after country. The so-called Pink Tide emerged, and hopes of
more equal, economically self-supported societies sprung up all over the
continent. After decades of neoliberal policies, increasing inequality and
escalating protest, questions of redistribution and social and economic
rights were now finally central to the political agenda. In that process,
socio-cultural hierarchies and their interconnections with economic
inequalities were also forcefully contested and challenged.
Ever since the colonial encounter between pre-Hispanic peoples and
European conquistadors, Latin American social orders have been built on
a foundation of inequality. This foundation is the outcome of a complex
interplay between economic and political relations, social imaginaries and
notions of “otherness”, kinship and morality—usually conceptualised as
class, ethnicity, “race” and gender. Thus, both historically and today,
I.Å. Strønen
University of Bergen and the Chr. Michelsen Institute (CMI), Bergen, Norway
M. Ystanes (*)
University of Bergen, Bergen, Norway
As the Pink Tide is now ebbing, the critique of its shortcomings often
centres on the choice of economic policies of the governments in ques-
tion. Our contribution to this debate is to firmly state that economic pro-
cesses cannot be understood through assessing economic policy choices or
models alone, because social imaginaries and economic ideas are embed-
ded in one another. Together they contribute to shaping and moulding
human communities and economic conditions (Brown 2010). Indeed,
while often perceived as neutral and objective, our ideas, models and sci-
entific concepts grow out of culturally and historically specific contexts
(see, e.g. Buck-Morss 2009; Daston and Galison 1992; Martin 1990;
Ortner 2016; Stepan 1991). The work they do in the world is discursive
in the Foucaultian (1981) sense—they do not only represent attempts to
describe and analyse reality, they also reflect ideological currents and con-
tribute to shaping the world. Within the economic discipline, this prob-
lematic rose to the surface after the financial crisis in 2007, when the
orthodoxy that undergirded the crisis was critiqued by students and aca-
demics alike (see, e.g. Inman 2013). Indeed, critical economists suggest
the discipline has privileged tools that are incompatible with the analysis of
the real world (Reinert et al. 2017:10).
Here, our ambition is to explore the encounter with the “real world” of
some of the economic policies shaping and moulding Latin American soci-
eties at this historical moment. We do this through ethnographic explora-
tions of social life as it unfolds in contexts marked by these policies, and
through discussions of the contexts and principles framing contemporary
inequalities. The volume is multidisciplinary, bringing together scholars
from different fields. What unites us all is the critical lens through which
we approach economic policies and the historically and socially consti-
tuted ideas that undergird them.
Fragile Changes
As mentioned above, the most central argument presented in this volume
is that in spite of the advances made during the Pink Tide, deep-seated
aspects of Latin American lifeworlds upholding hierarchal social orders
remain largely intact. This, in turn, makes for an unstable foundation for
advancing equality, in both its material and socio-cultural dimensions. As
the chapters from Brazil and Venezuela show, popular movements, taking
advantage of the political space opened up by socially progressive govern-
ments, challenged historical discrimination based on class, ethnicity, “race”
8 I.Å. STRØNEN AND M. YSTANES
The Age of the Enlightenment was an age in which the slave drivers of
Nantes bought titles of nobility to better parade with philosophers, an age
in which a freedom fighter such as Thomas Jefferson owned slaves without
bursting under the weight of his intellectual and moral contradictions.
(Trouillot 1995:78)
In similar ways, “white” Creole elites carved out the structural features
of the nascent Latin American nation states in such a way that it continued
to reproduce and legitimise their dominance, and colonial subjects were
never really fully extended complete citizenship in the new sociopolitical
order (Grosfoguel 2000:368). Quijano has termed this situation
“Coloniality of Power” (2000), and its implication is that “the first deco-
lonialization was incomplete” (Grosfoguel 2000:368). Hence, as the
chapters in this volume show, the ideas undergirding these hierarchies
continue to mark Latin American societies today. This is an important
reminder that poverty or economic disparity is never just about money,
but is constituted in the encounter between economic processes, moral
concerns and political ambitions. Before we start addressing these issues in
their contemporary configuration, we will make an interlude of recent
Latin American economic history.
IV
Oh, but those days when he had been working and scheming to
get up in the world and was thinking that money was the great thing
—the only thing! Those impossible wooden towns in the Northwest
and elsewhere in which he had lived and worked, and those worse
hotels and boarding-houses—always hunting, hunting for money or
the key to it. The greasy, stinking craft in which he had made his way
up weedy and muddy rivers in Honduras and elsewhere—looking for
what? Snakes, mosquitoes, alligators, tarantulas, horned toads and
lizards. In Honduras he had slept under chiqua trees on mats of
chiqua leaves, with only a fire to keep away snakes and other things.
And of a morning he had chased away noisy monkeys and
parroquets from nearby branches with rotten fruit so as to sleep a
little longer. Alone, he had tramped through fever swamps, pursued
by Pequi Indians, who wanted only the contents of his wretched
pack. And he had stared at huge coyal palms, a hundred feet high,
with the great feathery leaves fifteen feet long and their golden
flowers three feet high. Ah, well, that was over now. He had shot the
quetzal with its yellow tail feathers three feet long and had traded
them for food. Once he had all but died of fever in a halfbreed’s hut
back of Cayo. And the halfbreed had then stolen his gun and razor
and other goods and left him to make his way onward as best he
might. That was life for you, just like that. People were like that.
And it was during that time that he had come to realize that by no
honest way at his age was he likely to come to anything financially.
Roaming about the drowsy, sun-baked realm, he had encountered
Messner, an American and a fugitive, he guessed, and it was
Messner who had outlined to him the very scheme by which he had
been able, later, to amass his first quick fortune in New York. It was
Messner who had told him of Torbey and how he had come up to
London from Central Africa to offer shares in a bogus rubber
enterprise based on immense forests which he was supposed to
have found in the wilds of Africa yet which did not exist. And it was
the immense though inaccessible rubber forests in Honduras that
had inspired him to try the same thing in New York. Why not? A new
sucker was born every minute, and he had all to gain and nothing to
lose. Messner said that Torbey had advertised for a widow with some
money to push his enterprise, whereupon he had proceeded to tell
the London speculative public of his treasure and to sell two pound
shares for as low as ten shillings in order to show tremendous rises
in value—to issue two million pounds’ worth of absolutely worthless
stock.
By these methods and by having the stock listed on the London
curb he was able to induce certain curb or “dog” brokers to go short
of this stock without having any of it in their possession. Finally they
began to sell so freely and to pay so little attention to the amount that
was being sold that it was easy for Torbey to employ agents to buy
from all of them freely on margin. And then, as the law of the curb
and the state permitted, he had demanded (through them, of course)
the actual delivery of the shares, the full curb value of the stock
being offered. Of course the brokers had none, although they had
sold thousands; nor had any one else except Torbey, who had seen
to it that all outstanding stock had been recalled to his safe. That
meant that they must come to Torbey to buy or face a jail sentence,
and accordingly they had flocked to his office, only to be properly
mulcted for the total face value of the shares when they came.
Well, he had done that same thing in New York. Following the
example of the good Torbey, he had picked up a few unimportant
options in Honduras, far from any railroad, and had come to New
York to launch Calamita. Just as Torbey had done, he had looked for
a rich widow, a piano manufacturer’s wife in this case, and had
persuaded her that there were millions in it. From her he had gone
on to Wall Street and the curb and had done almost exactly as
Torbey had done.... Only that fellow De Malquit had killed himself,
and that was not so pleasant. He hadn’t anticipated that anything like
that would happen! That unfortunate wife of his. And those two
children made orphans. That was the darkest spot. He hadn’t known,
of course, that De Malquit himself was helping orphans—or—And
from there he had gone on to the forests of Washington and Oregon,
where he had bought immense tracts on which even yet he was
realizing, more and more. And from there it had been an easy step to
oil in southern California and Mexico—Ah, Greasadick, another sad
case!—And from there to mines and government concessions in
Peru and Ecuador, and the still greater ones in Argentina and Chile.
Money came fast to those who had it. At last, having accumulated a
fortune of at least nine millions, he had been able to interest Nadia,
and through her the clever and well-to-do fashionable set who had
backed his projects with their free capital. And by now his fortune
had swollen to almost forty millions.
But what of it? Could he say he was really content? What was he
getting out of it? Life was so deceptive; it used and then tossed one
aside. At first it had seemed wonderful to be able to go, do, act, buy
and sell as he chose, without considering anything save whether the
thing he was doing was agreeable and profitable. He had thought
that pleasure would never pall, but it had. There was this thing about
age, that it stole over one so unrelentingly, fattening one up or
thinning one down, hardening the arteries and weakening the
muscles and blood, until it was all but useless to go on. And what
was the import of his success, anyhow, especially to one who had no
children and no friends worthy of the name? There was no such
thing as true friendship in nature. It was each man for himself,
everywhere, and the devil take the hindmost. It was life that used
and tossed one aside, however great or powerful one might be.
There was no staying life or the drift of time.
Of course there had been the pleasure of building two great
houses for Nadia and living in them when he was not living in other
parts of the world. But all that had come too late; he had been too
old to enjoy them when they did come. She had been a great catch
no doubt, but much too attractive to be really interested in him at his
age. His wealth had been the point with her—any one could see that;
he knew it at the time and would not now try to deceive himself as to
that. At the time he had married her she had had social position
whereas he had none. And after she married him all her social
influence, to be sure, had been used to advance his cause. Still, that
scheme of hers to get him to leave his great fortune to those two
worthless sons of hers. Never! They were not worthy of it. Those
dancing, loafing wasters! He would see to it that his fortune was put
to some better use than that. He would leave it to orphans rather
than to them, for after all orphans in his employ had proved more
valuable to him than even they had, hadn’t they?—That curious
fellow, De Malquit!—So long ago. Besides wasn’t it Nadia’s two sons
who had influenced their mother to interest herself in D’Eyraud, the
architect who had built their two houses and had started Nadia off on
that gallery idea. And not a picture in it that would interest a sensible
person. And wasn’t it because of her that he had never troubled to
answer the letters of his sister Elvira asking him to educate her two
boys for her. He had fancied at the time that taking her two children
into his life would in some way affect his social relations with Nadia
and her set. And now Elvira was dead and he did not know where
the children were. He could charge that to her if he wanted to,
couldn’t he?
Well, life was like that. When he had built his two great houses he
had thought they would prove an immense satisfaction to him, as
they had for a time; but he would not be here much longer now to
enjoy them. He wasn’t nearly as active as he had been, and the sight
of the large companies of people that came to pose and say silly
things to each other was very wearying. They were always civil to
him, of course, but little more. They wanted the influence of his
name. And as long as he permitted it, his homes would be haunted
by those who wished to sell him things—stocks, bonds, enterprises,
tapestries, estates, horses. And those two boys of hers, along with
Nadia herself where her so-called art objects were concerned, so
busy encouraging them! Well, he was done with all that now. He
would not be bothered. Even youth and beauty of a venal character
had appeared on the scene and had attempted to set traps for him.
But his day was over. All these fripperies and pleasures were for
people younger than he. It required youth and energy to see beauty
and romance in such things, and he hadn’t a trace of either left. His
day was over and he might as well die, really, for all the good he
was, apart from his money, to any one.
W HAT had given him his first hint that all might not be as well at
home as he imagined was the incident of the automobile. Up to
that time he had not had a troubled thought about her, not one. But
after—Well, it was a year and a half now and although suspicion still
lingered it was becoming weaker. But it had not been obliterated
even though he could not help being fond of Beryl, especially since
they had Tickles to look after between them. But anyhow, in spite of
all his dark thoughts and subtle efforts to put two and two together,
he had not been able to make anything of it. Perhaps he was being
unjust to her to go on brooding about it.... But how was it possible
that so many suspicious-looking things could happen in a given time,
and one never be able to get the straight of them?
The main thing that had hampered him was his work. He was
connected with the Tri-State Paper Company, at the City Order desk,
and as a faithful employé he was not supposed to leave during
working hours without permission, and it was not always easy to get
permission. It was easy to count the times he had been off—once to
go to the dentist, and two or three times to go home when Beryl was
ill. Yet it just happened that on that particular afternoon his superior,
Mr. Baggott, had suggested that he, in the place of Naigly who
always attended to such matters but was away at the time, should
run out to the Detts-Scanlon store and ask Mr. Pierce just what was
wrong with that last order that had been shipped. There was a mix-
up somewhere, and it had been impossible to get the thing straight
over the telephone.
Well, just as he was returning to the office, seated in one of those
comfortable cross seats of the Davenant Avenue line and looking at
the jumble of traffic out near Blakely Avenue, and just as the car was
nearing the entrance to Briscoe Park he saw a tan-and-chocolate-
colored automobile driven by a biggish man in a light tan overcoat
and cap swing into view, cross in front of the car, and enter the park.
It was all over in a flash. But just as the car swung near him who
should he see sitting beside the man but Beryl, or certainly a woman
who was enough like her to be her twin sister. He would have sworn
it was Beryl. And what was more, and worse, she was smiling up at
this man as though they were on the best of terms and had known
each other a long time! Of course he had only had a glimpse, and
might have been mistaken. Beryl had told him that morning that she
was going to spend the afternoon with her mother. She often did
that, sometimes leaving Tickles there while she did her mother’s
marketing. Or, she and her mother, or she and her sister Alice, if she
chanced to be there, would take the baby for a walk in the park. Of
course he might have been mistaken.
But that hat with the bunch of bright green grapes on the side....
And that green-and-white striped coat.... And that peculiar way in
which she always held her head when she was talking. Was it really
Beryl? If it wasn’t, why should he have had such a keen conviction
that it was?
Up to that time there never had been anything of a doubtful
character between them—that is, nothing except that business of the
Raskoffsky picture, which didn’t amount to much in itself. Anybody
might become interested in a great violinist and write him for his
photo, though even that couldn’t be proved against Beryl. It was
inscribed to Alice. But even if she had written him, that wasn’t a
patch compared to this last, her driving about in a car with a strange
man. Certainly that would justify him in any steps that he chose to
take, even to getting a divorce.
But what had he been able to prove so far? Nothing. He had tried
to find her that afternoon, first at their own house, then at her
mother’s, and then at Winton & Marko’s real estate office, where
Alice sometimes helped out, but he couldn’t find a trace of her. Still,
did that prove anything once and for all? She might have been to the
concert as she said, she and Alice. It must be dull to stay in the
house all day long, anyhow, and he couldn’t blame her for doing the
few things she did within their means. Often he tried to get in touch
with her of a morning or afternoon, and there was no answer, seeing
that she was over to her mother’s or out to market, as she said. And
up to the afternoon of the automobile it had never occurred to him
that there was anything queer about it. When he called up Beryl’s
mother she had said that Beryl and Alice had gone to a concert and
it wasn’t believable that Mrs. Dana would lie to him about anything.
Maybe the two of them were doing something they shouldn’t, or
maybe Alice was helping Beryl to do something she shouldn’t,
without their mother knowing anything about it. Alice was like that,
sly. It was quite certain that if there had been any correspondence
between Beryl and that man Raskoffsky, that time he had found the
picture inscribed to Alice, it had been Alice who had been the go-
between. Alice had probably allowed her name and address to be
used for Beryl’s pleasure—that is, if there was anything to it at all. It
wasn’t likely that Beryl would have attempted anything like that
without Alice’s help.
But just the same he had never been able to prove that they had
been in league, at that time or any other. If there was anything in it
they were too clever to let him catch them. The day he thought he
had seen her in the car he had first tried to get her by telephone and
then had gone to the office, since it was on his way, to get
permission to go home for a few minutes. But what had he gained by
it? By the time he got there, Beryl and her mother were already
there, having just walked over from Mrs. Dana’s home, according to
Beryl. And Beryl was not wearing the hat and coat he had seen in
the car, and that was what he wanted to find out. But between the
time he had called up her mother and the time he had managed to
get home she had had time enough to return and change her clothes
and go over to her mother’s if there was any reason why she should.
That was what had troubled him and caused him to doubt ever since.
She would have known by then that he had been trying to get her on
the telephone and would have had any answer ready for him. And
that may have been exactly what happened, assuming that she had
been in the car and gotten home ahead of him, and presuming her
mother had lied for her, which she would not do—not Mrs. Dana. For
when he had walked in, a little flushed and excited, Beryl had
exclaimed: “Whatever is the matter, Gil?” And then: “What a crazy
thing, to come hurrying home just to ask me about this! Of course I
haven’t been in any car. How ridiculous! Ask Mother. You wouldn’t
expect her to fib for me, would you?” And then to clinch the matter
she had added: “Alice and I left Tickles with her and went to the
concert after going into the park for a while. When we returned, Alice
stopped home so Mother could walk over here with me. What are
you so excited about.” And for the life of him, he had not been able
to say anything except that he had seen a woman going into Briscoe
Park in a tan-and-chocolate car, seated beside a big man who
looked like—well, he couldn’t say exactly whom he did look like. But
the woman beside him certainly looked like Beryl. And she had had
on a hat with green grapes on one side and a white-and-green
striped sports coat, just like the one she had. Taking all that into
consideration, what would any one think? But she had laughed it off,
and what was he to say? He certainly couldn’t accuse Mrs. Dana of
not knowing what she was talking about, or Beryl of lying, unless he
was sure of what he was saying. She was too strong-minded and too
strong-willed for that. She had only married him after a long period of
begging on his part; and she wasn’t any too anxious to live with him
now unless they could get along comfortably together.
Yet taken along with that Raskoffsky business of only a few
months before, and the incident of the Hotel Deming of only the day
before (but of which he had thought nothing until he had seen her in
the car), and the incident of the letters in the ashes, which followed
on the morning after he had dashed home that day, and then that
business of the closed car in Bergley Place, just three nights
afterwards—well, by George! when one put such things together—
It was very hard to put these things in the order of their effect on
him, though it was easy to put them in their actual order as to time.
The Hotel Deming incident had occurred only the day before the
automobile affair and taken alone, meant nothing, just a chance
encounter with her on the part of Naigly, who had chosen to speak of
it. But joined afterwards with the business of the partly burned letters
and after seeing her in that car or thinking he had—Well—After that,
naturally his mind had gone back to that Hotel Deming business, and
to the car, too. Naigly, who had been interested in Beryl before her
marriage (she had been Baggott’s stenographer), came into the
office about four—the day before he had seen Beryl, or thought he
had, in the car, and had said to him casually: “I saw your wife just
now, Stoddard.” “That so? Where?” “She was coming out of the
Deming ladies’ entrance as I passed just now.” Well, taken by itself,
there was nothing much in that, was there? There was an arcade of
shops which made the main entrance to the Deming, and it was easy
to go through that and come out of one of the other entrances. He
knew Beryl had done it before, so why should he have worried about
it then? Only, for some reason, when he came home that evening
Beryl didn’t mention that she had been downtown that day until he
asked her. “What were you doing about four to-day?” “Downtown,
shopping. Why? Did you see me? I went for Mother.” “Me? No. Who
do you know in the Deming?” “No one”—this without a trace of self-
consciousness, which was one of the things that made him doubt
whether there had been anything wrong. “Oh, yes; I remember now. I
walked through to look at the hats in Anna McCarty’s window, and
came out the ladies’ entrance. Why?” “Oh, nothing. Naigly said he
saw you, that’s all. You’re getting to be a regular gadabout these
days.” “Oh, what nonsense! Why shouldn’t I go through the Deming
Arcade? I would have stopped in to see you, only I know you don’t
like me to come bothering around there.”
And so he had dismissed it from his mind—until the incident of the
car.
And then the matter of the letters ... and Raskoffsky ...
Beryl was crazy about music, although she couldn’t play except a
little by ear. Her mother had been too poor to give her anything more
than a common school education, which was about all that he had
had. But she was crazy about the violin and anybody who could play
it, and when any of the great violinists came to town she always
managed to afford to go. Raskoffsky was a big blond Russian who
played wonderfully, so she said. She and Alice had gone to hear
him, and for weeks afterward they had raved about him. They had
even talked of writing to him, just to see if he would answer, but he
had frowned on such a proceeding because he didn’t want Beryl
writing to any man. What good would it do her? A man like that
wouldn’t bother about answering her letter, especially if all the
women were as crazy about him as the papers said. Yet later he had
found Raskoffsky’s picture in Beryl’s room, only it was inscribed to
Alice.... Still, Beryl might have put Alice up to it, might even have
sent her own picture under Alice’s name, just to see if he would
answer. They had talked of sending a picture. Besides, if Alice had
written and secured this picture, why wasn’t it in her rather than
Beryl’s possession. He had asked about that. Yet the one flaw in that
was that Alice wasn’t really good-looking enough to send her picture
and she knew it. Yet Beryl had sworn that she hadn’t written. And
Alice had insisted that it was she and not Beryl who had written. But
there was no way of proving that she hadn’t or that Beryl had.
Yet why all the secrecy? Neither of them had said anything more
about writing Raskoffsky after that first time. And it was only because
he had come across Raskoffsky’s picture in one of Beryl’s books that
he had come to know anything about it at all. “To my fair little
western admirer who likes my ‘Dance Macabre’ so much. The next
time I play in your city you must come and see me.” But Alice wasn’t
fair or good-looking. Beryl was. And it was Beryl and not Alice, who
had first raved over that dance; Alice didn’t care so much for music.
And wasn’t it Beryl, and not Alice, who had proposed writing him. Yet
it was Alice who had received the answer. How was that? Very likely
it was Beryl who had persuaded Alice to write for her, sending her
own instead of Alice’s picture, and getting Alice to receive
Raskoffsky’s picture for her when it came. Something in their manner
the day he had found the picture indicated as much. Alice had been
so quick to say: “Oh yes. I wrote him.” But Beryl had looked a little
queer when she caught him looking at her, had even flushed slightly,
although she had kept her indifferent manner. At that time the
incident of the car hadn’t occurred. But afterwards,—after he had
imagined he had seen Beryl in the car—it had occurred to him that
maybe it was Raskoffsky with whom she was with that day. He was
playing in Columbus, so the papers said, and he might have been
passing through the city. He was a large man too, as he now
recalled, by George! If only he could find a way to prove that!