Маргарет Миллар - Wall of Eyes

“No, I’m not!”

But she was cold. Her legs didn’t move properly. She plodded across the rug as if it were deep sand.

Philip remained on the bench leaning forward with his arms folded against the music rack. From a distance he looked dark and romantic. It was only when you were close up that you saw he was getting too fat and losing his black wavy hair and that his eyes were strained. There was a careful set to his face that made him look years older than Johnny.

He better be careful, Marcie thought viciously. He’s got a fat living out of this, music lessons and a special room to practice in downtown, and going to concerts and operas all over the country. On the Heaths’ money. Why, with that money I could be famous!

Philip said to Johnny, “Did you see Kelsey?”

“She’ll be down in a minute,” Johnny said.

“Shall I go up and get her?”

“That would be fine. She’s not... she’s...”

“I get it,” Philip said.

He went out and closed the door behind him. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, like a man about to defy gravity and leap up to his death.

The door of Kelsey’s room opened and Kelsey came into the upper hall with her hands stretched out in front of her. The moment for leaping had arrived but he didn’t move.

“Letty?” Kelsey said.

Letty’s voice came from the room. “I’m coming. Just a minute.”

“Letty, there’s someone in the hall.”

“I’m coming.”

“Who is it?” Kelsey said shrilly. “Who is it?”

Philip drew in his breath to speak but someone spoke first from the second floor. “It’s me, Kelsey.”

“Oh. Father?”

“Yes.”

“Are you coming downstairs?”

“Am I coming...? Oh yes, yes, today I thought I’d... yes.”

Mr. Heath walked toward her slowly. His feet shuffled along the floor as if they might find a hole in it and had to be careful. His legs seemed too weak to support his huge body, his voice came in dribbles from a strong mouth. “John,” he said, “my son John has a guest. So I thought I’d...”

“Don’t bother coming, Letty,” Kelsey said. “I’ll go down with Father.”

Letty came into the hall. The corners of her mouth sagged. “But I wanted to. I’d like to see her.”

“No, don’t bother. Father will take me down.”

“Of course I...” Mr. Heath said. “Yes.” He took her arm.

“You said you wanted me to see her,” Letty said, “so I could tell you.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be quite all right,” Kelsey said. When she walked away her step was firmer. She had more confidence in herself, she was pleased because she had won a subtle victory over Letty.

From the bottom of the stairs Philip said, “Oh, there you are, Kelsey. We were wondering...”

“Philip,” Kelsey said, “would you tell Maurice he may bring in the tea? We won’t wait for Alice.”

“I’ll tell him,” Philip said. Whenever he spoke to Kelsey he sounded too anxious to oblige, his voice was falsely gay insisting that everything was all right between them. His feet lied too, and struck the floor brisk and cheerful.

“Couldn’t he,” Mr. Heath said, “why couldn’t he ring for Maurice?”

“You think it’s too much to ask him to walk the length of the hall,” Kelsey said softly, “in return for what I’ve given him?”

“Ah,” Mr. Heath said. “Aaaah...”

He opened the door of the drawing room and Kelsey went inside.

The voices ceased. Kelsey stood for a moment waiting for them to begin again so she would know where the girl and Johnny were sitting. She knew the girl would be looking at her, but she couldn’t see the girl, she had to wait here, powerless, on the threshold of the room, holding herself stiff so no one could guess her helplessness.

She never knew that these times her dignity was almost a tangible force. To someone who was seeing her for the first time, as Marcie was, Kelsey’s dignity was a slap in the face, a challenge to pity her.

Johnny came across the room and caught her arm and pressed it. He had been affected by the sight of her, and he made the introductions in a subdued voice, “Kelsey, this is Marcie Moore. My sister Kelsey. And my father. This is Marcie, Father.”

His tongue wrapped them together, rolling them up in a blanket.

“Ah,” Mr. Heath said. “Marcie.” He drifted away, vanishing into a chair like a shadow, breathing sadly, “Aaaah...”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Marcie said. Her voice was too loud and too high, a cheap tin whistle of a voice with a squawk in it. Kelsey smiled at it.

She murmured, “...so much about you.”

Marcie kept smiling brightly at her, unable to realize that the smile couldn’t be seen. “Oh, Johnny’s always telling about his sisters! I just couldn’t wait to meet you. Johnny’s always telling...”

Squawk, squawk.

“So nice,” Kelsey purred. “You’re quite comfortable?”

“Oh, yes, oh, my yes. I couldn’t be more...”

“John has so many friends,” Kelsey said. “He brings them all home to meet me. Isn’t he sweet?”

Johnny coughed and said, “Alice should be here any minute. You’ll be crazy about Alice, Marcie.”

“I just know I will,” Marcie said. “Johnny’s always telling about Alice and K-Kelsey.”

“Is he?” Kelsey said. “All nice things?”

“Oh, my yes! All about...”

“You don’t find the conversation rather limited?”

“N-no. It’s f-f-fine,” Marcie said weakly.

Kelsey smiled and sat down beside her on the chesterfield. The bad moments were over. She had the girl catalogued and filed now; the rest would be easy.

Philip came back.

“Come on over here,” Johnny cried. “There’s room for all of us. No, over here.”

Johnny was happy, he had them all now where he could reach out and touch each of them. They were within sight and hearing, he could even smell them. “Phil, you should see Marcie dance.” “Phil was playing that Debussy thing you liked, Kelsey.” “Marcie was telling us about a guy...” “I’d love to see Marcie dance.” “Debussy is too frail.” “And this boy used to make a hundred and fifty a week, no kidding.”

Kelsey sat back and let Johnny manage by himself. She even enjoyed the confusion today because she realized that it was making Marcie nervous. She could feel the girl’s hands twitch, could hear the panic in her voice.

Maurice came in with the tea, a small, middle-aged man whose hands moved delicately over the silver.

“Alice should be here,” Johnny said. “Alice always pours. Has she come in yet, Maurice?”

“No, sir.”

“Marcie will pour,” Kelsey said. “Won’t you, my dear?”

“Oh, no!” Marcie said. “Oh, please! I never...”

“I’ll pour,” Philip said shortly.

Kelsey turned her head toward him. “I asked Marcie to pour, Philip. Didn’t you hear me?”

Without replying he rose and sat down again in the high-backed chair where Alice sat at tea. There was a clatter of silver and china.

“I had no idea,” Kelsey said, “that your ambitions lay in that direction, Philip.”

“Oh, I have my secret yearnings,” Philip said with a laugh. “Cream and sugar, Marcie?”

“Oh, anything,” Marcie said. “Any way at all. I’m not particular.”

“Kelsey?”

“Lemon and one clove,” Kelsey said. “I am very particular.”

Cold little waves of silence began to lap against the walls. Marcie looked desperate, and when Johnny put up his hand to touch her cheek she slapped his hand away, defending herself blindly and instinctively against something — some danger.

“What is this,” Philip said, “about female hands fluttering among the teacups? Mine don’t flutter.”