Ширли Мерфи - The Grass Tower

“Old Mr. Krupp was shouting and ranting in the store today,” Marylou said. “About the sins of the fathers are visited on the children, and the sins of this family are finally visited—what did he mean by all that!”

“Drunken raving,” Aunt Bett said quickly. “That’s what drink does to you. That old man will only make matters worse; someone ought to run him out of town. He’s always been a troublemaker. Bethany, I don’t want you talking about this Zagdesha business with that Reid Young; he’s the old man’s grandson and he—”

“Reid wouldn’t!” Bethany cried, furious.

“Of course Reid wouldn’t,” Uncle Jimmie said. “That boy can’t help what the old man does. He knows better than to give old Krupp anything to talk about.”

Marylou looked around the table. “She’s never married, has she? Justin’s never married.” Then, smiling smugly, she began to clear the table.

As if marrying, Bethany thought, was the ultimate goal.

“She’s helped Uncle Zebulon,” Colin said unexpectedly. “But you wouldn’t know about anything as brainy as doing research.”

“And maybe she stayed with him because her sister died so young,” Aunt Bett said quietly. “It must have been a terrible shock for the old man, after losing his wife, too. I imagine Justin has resigned herself to being an old maid, though I suppose— Well she’s only thirty-some.”

Bethany puzzled for some days over Aunt Bett’s quick, nervous response to Marylou’s comments about Mr. Krupp, but she could make no sense of it. With the impending arrival of Justin, to fix up the tourist cottage while Zebulon remained in New York to finish some work, the whole routine of the family was changed. Aunt Bett decided to give the entire house a needless scrubbing, and all three children were pressed into helping—though Bethany, with her job, got less of it than Colin and Marylou. There was a good deal of baking, too, which no one objected to, and so much bustle that her own preoccupation went nearly unnoticed. Fog came and stayed for days, hanging low over the dunes so that Bethany rode Danny—when she had time to ride—in a deliciously mysterious white world; Danny snorting as the dunes loomed out of the white ahead of them, and Bethany turning in the saddle to watch them melt into the fog again behind. After she bedded Danny one evening she went out along the shore wondering if she could get lost with the world so shrouded, wondering if she would miss the grass tower, when it loomed out of the fog suddenly, quite close. As she climbed, the grass brushing against her was muffled and wet, and when she reached the peak her

Levi’s and boots were soaked. She looked out over the fog. The tops of the tallest dunes were like round islands in a white and silent sea, with the real sea hidden beneath the fog. But the evening breeze was strengthening, and when the fog began to lift, a line of dark shapes moved out of it along the edge of the shore; Mr. Grady had the beginners out for an evening class. She watched as they drew closer, the children riding sedately at the water’s edge, and grinned to herself, knowing that when they were more experienced and the weather grew warmer, Mr. Grady would let them ride bareback into the breakers; she could imagine them screaming and laughing as the waves washed over their bare feet. The grass was like wet silk in her hands as she parted it to see better… .

… and suddenly the grass was gone, her hands were clutching metal, the iron railing of a balcony; she was looking down on a city, red roofed with great trees blowing, the sky a boiling mass of dark clouds, and beyond the city, a silvered bay shone. Close to her the shining leaves of a great tree tapped and rattled against the railing. She had been crying, there was a wet handkerchief in her hand and her cheeks were wet and salt; the tempest that she knew had shaken her, the fury and tears, lay within her as real, but as incomprehensible, as if she had begun reading in the middle of a book. Behind her, the glass doors stood open to the red bedroom. She wanted to look, but she could not bring herself to. It was there, behind her, but this was the first time she had come to it like this, from the balcony. Was it the same room? Or would there be some subtle change? She stood irresolute, staring at the glass doors, until a few huge drops of rain began to fall. And very soon it was raining in a drenching torrent, hammering the leaves like gunshot. She drew back under the roof of the house and even the tree was blotted out in the downpour, the balcony awash; rain blew through the open doors onto the oriental carpet; she flew to close the doors, saw the room in minute detail, and, unwilling to go in, turned back to huddle against the wall.

The drenching ceased as suddenly as it had begun; the falling sheet of water drew away slowly, as if a great hand were pulling it back, until it was only a silver curtain falling far out over the bay. Near to her the wet rooftops glistened red in the suddenly bright sun, then began to steam with the sun’s heat.

A woman’s voice began to call from within the house, then there was a sudden pounding on the inner door; she had a sharp picture of a tall woman with silver hair, and furious tears started again; she refused to stay here and be patronized! She grabbed the closest branch of the big tree, swung into it, and began to climb down through the slippery wet, dark green flickering world. She knew exactly where to put her feet, as if she had done this a hundred times. Water ran down her face, and jagged scraps of light flashed between the dark luminous leaves. Some creature near to her scrambled, rustling, and was gone.

When she reached the lawn, she ran down the sidewalk past the shops and into a narrow side street. The smell of rotting garbage came at her suddenly; the sun was hot on her back, and the wet pavement steamed in the heat; the houses were dilapidated, their colors faded to muted patches of turquoise and olive; the tall grass in front of them was bent now from the weight of the rain, the roofs dripped, and soaking laundry hung limp from the porch and balcony railings; the sound and glint of water filled the street.

In a narrow doorway a boy stood watching her.

Another boy slouched against a door, and two bigger boys came into a sideyard carrying sticks, their faces dark with interest. A spasm of fear ran through her. One started toward her, then another.

Fear gripped her. She faced them, saw their faces, and fled.

Sand and grass flickered by her once, and her hair was caught in the sea wind. Then she was running in the hot street, the gutter smell thick in her nostrils, dodging dark-haired, brightly dressed people. Once as she rounded a corner, she thought she heard the surf again, but the noise turned into crowds of people gathered in an outdoor market; she ran beside raw meat hanging in great bloody carcasses and saw the boys leap into the crowd behind her; she ducked into an alley so narrow she could have touched both walls at once, a dim alley that stunk of cess. It’s cobblestones were slimy. The space at the end was clear for a moment, then the five boys burst in screaming one word over and over, and Bethany turned cold with fear.

She stood watching them, terrified. Then suddenly a thrill rose up in her: instead of cowering, she jeered. They yelled with rage and were almost on her when she opened a wooden door beside her, stepped through it, and bolted it behind her.

She stood inside laughing while they pounded and swore. She was in a small dingy room with a dirt floor that had been swept to hard smoothness. There were wooden boxes for chairs, a crude unpainted table, and in one corner, a narrow wooden cot made up with a sheet. A door at the back led into what appeared to be an inner garden. Then suddenly she was on the grass tower, flicking in and out briefly, then in another place: she could see the shabby room through it for a minute, then she was standing in a big square room bright with windows and furnished with yellow tapestries and yellow furniture, and with rows of books beside a fireplace. Its colors glowed like sunlight, and it smelled of apples.