Page 1 of Bell's October 23, 1950 journal entry

Cambridge, Mass.
October 23 - This was an exquisite day, for when I arose I found it raining a slow, melancholy mist. It was just cold enough to be unpleasant and the walk down to the Yard was one of those rare experiences of discomfort and simultaneous ecstasy. For the first hour I walked around the Square looking in windows and then after cofee at Abiani's, I returned to the Yard and to class. After class I went to Lamont and read a good translation of the Satyricon of Petronius Arbiter, finding it almost odious in its unparalleled candour. I lunched alone then and came back to my room, finding upon my arrival a letter from King. I didn't read it then but left for Boston after first stopping in two or three bookstores on Harvard Square. I purchased Truman Capote's Other Voices Other Rooms, which although I had read before I wanted to own. I reread parts of it on the subway -- parts of it I especially liked before. For instance, the para. about the midget:

"He owned a room, he had a bed, any minute now he would run from here, go to them. But for Miss Wisteria, weeping because little boys must . . .

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Page 2 of Bell's October 23, 1950 journal entry
. . . grow tall, there would always be this journey through dying rooms until some lonely day she found her hidden one, the smiler with the knife."

    I read King's letter in Liggett's over a pot of tea and I laughed outwardly and wept inwardly at what she wrote. She has a way of producing the most exquisite nostalgia. I walked down Tremont then to the Metropolitan before the prices should change. The picture was "The Glass Menagerie." It would have been incredibly perfect if Gertrude Lawrence hadn't ruined the Southern accent. Arthur Kennedy and Jane Wyman were superb, and at points I was overcome with the extreme pathos of it. Jane Wyman is one of the greatest artists on the screen. I can say this with conviction after seeing her twice in one week, first in "Johnny Belinda." At any rate, this play, in spite of certain weaknesses is altogether better than "A Streetcar Named Desire."
     After the show I must have walked miles. I felt the need for it. I kept repeating: I don't want to go home. I . . .

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Page 3 of Bell's October 23, 1950 journal entry
 . . . don't want to go home. The time passed strangely and rapidly and whatever I was searching for I didn't find. The voices were too many and my loneliness too great to be satisfied.


II.

     Ah, you thought I didn't notice you as you stopped alongside me there at the window looking at the records you thought I didn't see but I was aware as if I were an interested passer-by I saw you as you looked at me and I looked back ever so casually finally going inside so there would be no mistake but you misinterpreted the signals and walked away thereby spoiling everything and I hurried out only to see you no more as you hurried Laura-like away and I searched for you the rest of the night along the dark streets but you were swallowed up in the maw of the subways and the streets you had irretrievably disappeared and I was alone once more why must you always hurry away and leave me with the wind and sad memories and my loneliness I walked then yes I walked and I knew . . .

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Page 4 of Bell's October 23, 1950 journal entry . . . that no walking would ever find you, for you were gone on some other street among other voices and I knew I must come home I must go home forever you see for there is no other way.

III.

     I stopped back in Liggett's afterward and ate. I was aware of nothing but the pressure of people and an unfulfilled longing, and I knew I should come home and forget the lights. They are so easy to forget when one gets in the dark again. So I walked again and looked at the people, watched how they crowd and push from nothing to nothing, and I was pushing with them. And I was filled with a great dread and an unspeakable sadness. And I came home, stopping on the square for a Pastene and then by the library to indulge in further longing and further unfulfillment. My room was warm and welcomed me and the night broke into a thousand smiles as I went to sleep in evidence of final defeat.