That sentence almost drove Vincent out of his mind. Did Theo mean simply that he would not be able to send any more money? That in itself would not be so bad. But did it mean that from the almost daily sketches Vincent sent him to show the progress of his work, his brother had come to the conclusion that he was without talent and could hope for nothing in the future?

He lay awake at night worrying about it, wrote incessant letters to Theo begging for an explanation, and cast about desperately for some means of making his own livelihood. There were none.

14

WHEN HE WENT for Christine he found her in the company of her mother, brother, brother’s mistress, and a strange man. She was smoking a black cigar and drinking gin. She did not seem at all pleased at the thought of going back to the Schenkweg.

The nine days at her mother’s house had brought back the old habits, the destroying ways of life.

“I can smoke cigars if I want!” she cried. “You ain’t got no right to stop me if I get them myself. The doctor at the hospital said I could drink all the gin and bitters I wanted.”

“Yes, as medicine . . . to improve your appetite.”

She broke into a raucous laugh. “Medicine! What a———you are!” It was an expression she had not used since the very first days of their acquaintanceship.

Vincent was in a ragged state of sensitivity. He flew into uncontrollable rages. Christine followed his example. “You ain’t taking care of me no more!” she shouted. “You don’t even give me something to eat. Why don’t you make more money? What in hell kind of man are you, anyway?”

As the hard winter slipped into a grudging spring, Vincent’s condition went from bad to worse. His debts increased. Because he could not give his stomach the right food, it went back on him. He could not swallow a bite. The ills of his stomach went to his teeth. He lay awake at night with the pain. The ache from his teeth went to his right ear, and all day it twitched jumpily.

Christine’s mother began coming to the house, smoking and drinking with her daughter. She no longer thought Christine fortunate to be married. Once Vincent found her brother there, but he dodged out of the door as soon as Vincent entered.

“Why did he come here?” demanded Vincent. “What does he want of you?”

“They say you are going to throw me out.”

“You know I’ll never do that, Sien. Not as long as you want to stay.”

“Mother wants me to leave. She says it ain’t good for me to stay here without something to eat.”

“Where would you go?”

“Home, of course.”

“And take the children into that house?”

“It’s better than starving here. I can work and earn my own living.”

“What would you work at?”

“Well . . . something.”

“As a charwoman? At the tubs?”

“. . . I guess.”

He saw immediately that she was lying.

“So that’s what they’re trying to persuade you to do!”

“Well . . . it ain’t so bad . . . you make a living.”

“Listen, Sien, if you go back to that house you’re lost. You know your mother will send you on the streets again. Remember what the doctor at Leyden said. If you go back to that life, it will kill you!”

“It ain’t going to kill me. I feel all right now.”

“You feel well because you have been living carefully! But if you go back . . .!”

“Jesus Christ, who’s going back? Unless you send me.”

He sat on the arm of her wicker chair and put his hand on her shoulder. Her hair was uncombed. “Then believe me, Sien, I will never abandon you. As long as you are willing to share what I have, I will keep you with me. But you must stay away from your mother and brother. They’ll destroy you! Promise me, for your own sake, that you won’t see them any more.”

“I promise.”

Two days later, when he came back from sketching at the alms house, the studio was empty. There was no sign of supper. He found Christine at her mother’s, drinking.

“I told you I love my mother,” she protested when they got home. “I guess I can see her all I want. You don’t own me. I got a right to do as I please.”

She fell into all the familiar, slovenly habits of her former life. When Vincent tried to correct them and explain that she was estranging herself from him, she would answer, “Yes, I know it quite well, you don’t want me to stay with you.” He showed her how dirty the house was, and how neglected. She answered, “Well, I am lazy and good-for-nothing; I always was that way and it can’t be helped.” If he tried to show her to what ultimate end her slothfulness was taking her she would reply, “I’m nothing but an outcast, that’s true, and I’ll end up by throwing myself in the river!”

The mother came to the studio nearly every day now, and took from Vincent the companionship he had so valued in Christine. The house fell into chaos. Meals became fitful. Herman was allowed to go around ragged and dirty, and stay away from school. The less Christine did, the more she smoked and drank her gin. She would not tell Vincent where she got the money for these things.