Conrad Aiken - Conversation; or, Pilgrims' Progress

“Hm. That’s what it is. Been spilling over on this side, see? Too much flow to be carried off at the bottom. You’ve got to remember you’re not much above sea level here! And that’s always liable to make trouble. I see you’ve been putting in some bushes. Looks very nice.”

“Lilacs, yes.”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly the trouble, seem’s if! Too bad, too.”

“What do we do about it, Ratio?”

“Only one thing to do. That’s what I said to Mrs. Kane, if that was what it turned out to be. Put in another cesspool. An off-set. Won’t need to be so big, say a little more than half the size, and a drain into it from near the top of this one. Yes, I guess that’s about all we can do, but that’ll fix it. That was a big cesspool, too. You folks sure must use a lot of water!”

“I guess we do. How much is it going to set us back?”

“Can’t tell, Mr. Kane, not till I know how much brick we’ll want. Not much labor in it, though. We ought to do it in a day, easy. Guess it won’t cost you too much.”

“Okay. I suppose we’d better have it. Not too healthy, having this happen!”

“Oh, it won’t do any harm about that , but of course if it goes on falling in it won’t improve your garden much, and it might even take to backing up.”

“I see.”

“Yeup. Well, I’ll send the boys over in a day or two. Too near sea level, that’s what it is. There was only ten feet of water, remember? when we drove that well up there. No time at all.”

“Yes, I remember. And will you take a look at the shut-off, while you’re here. It shoves the pressure up a little too high — about thirty-four.”

“ Oughtn’t to be more than thirty-two. I’ll just set the valve back a mite. Pity to dig it all up just when you’ve got it looking so pretty, but that’s what life is, just one durned thing after another. And as they say, one man’s sorrow is another man’s cash!”

“Okay, Ratio, and ain’t it the truth!.. What’s it going to do, rain?”

“Looks like being what these Cape Codders call a tempest. I suppose you’ve lived here long enough to know that almost anything here is called a tempest? But I don’t guess it’ll amount to much. A chuckle of thunder, maybe. But you never know with these sea fogs, it might burn off. Well, I’ll set that valve for you, and send over the Rollo boys.”

“Thanks, Ratio!”

“No trouble.”

The engine began its alternate wheezing and barking — three, five, three, two — as he opened the kitchen door, the kitchen pipes were ringing with the remote pump-strokes underground, the indicator danced over the kitchen sink, but the house was silent. The ironing board had been put away, there was no fire in the blue-flame stove, no indications of cooking, and in the dining room the table had not been set for lunch. He stood still by the piano, listening — in the gray stillness of the room he could hear the watch ticking busily in his trouser pocket — Chopin’s Preludes were open on the music rest — under Buzzer’s little table by the window lay the saucer of milk, apparently untouched, for Chattahoochee — it was all very odd. Like a deserted ship. No Enid. And what had become of Buzzer? She might be upstairs — or she might, of course, have gone over to Mrs. Murphy’s kitchen, looking for cookies. Mrs. Murphy’s special supply of cookies, with holes in the middle — very likely. But what about lunch? He struck a triad on the piano, softly, and another — thought of Paul’s remark about Puccini’s use of consecutive fifths — and then went through the little hall, past the stove — which would soon have to be started, damn it — and into the studio living room.

A newspaper lay in Enid’s chair. He saw with a start that it was today’s. Good lord, how extremely unfortunate, he had totally forgotten it. Ee must have gone shopping at Foster’s and been told that he hadn’t come for it! Damnation — Nora’s letter had put it clean out of his head. He glanced at the headlines without really seeing them, put the paper down again, decided to go upstairs. No use trying to work till after lunch. Always supposing there was going to be any lunch! It was all very peculiar.

Enid’s door was open at the top of the stairs, and in the little north-lighted room, she was lying motionless on her bed, her arms limp and straight at her sides. Her face was so turned that her eyes, without having to move, were already looking at him, obliquely, endlong, but with a disinterested detachment, a narrowed indifference, that was at once disturbing. He stood still in the doorway, and for some reason suddenly felt himself to be growing angry.

“Oh,” he said, “I was wondering where you were.”

She made no answer for a moment, no move, merely looked at him. Then she said:

“Is it so very surprising that I should want to lie down for a few minutes?”

“Of course not, Ee, but I was surprised at not finding you anywhere, or apparently any preparations for lunch!”

“You couldn’t trouble to remember that we always have a cold lunch on ironing days, I suppose!”

“Oh. Of course. I’d forgotten. Has Buzzer been up here?”

“She has not! I thought you were supposed to be looking after Buzzer?”

“I can’t be in two places at once, can I? I found Ratio Binney waiting in the garden, and had to discuss the cesspool with him. He said he’d been here for some time, ringing the bell and knocking on doors. I had the impression that you were supposed to be attending to that . I think you might have taken the trouble to answer the door, especially as we were expecting him, and as it was you who had taken it upon yourself to ask him to come!”

“I see. I’m to be reproached for that! It makes no difference that it was a simple necessity — just as it makes no difference that I felt really too tired to go down. Really, Tip, your egotism is sometimes a little staggering!”

“Egotism! I think you might at least have conferred with me about it!”

“Would you mind leaving me alone now please? I’ve got something I want to think out by myself.”

“Time out for thinking! All right. But you could have chosen a more convenient moment for it, it seems to me!”

“If you’re so desperate for your lunch you’ll find the cold tongue and potato salad in the icebox. And it would be a help to me if you could set the table and find Buzzer.”

“Very well. Come down when you feel like it.”

He turned angrily from the angry eyes, went slowly down the stairs, his heart beating, his hands clenched in his pockets. So it was going to be like that again, the pressure increasing — and how infuriating of her just to lie there like that, relaxed, pretending she was tired, listening indifferently to Binney ringing and knocking, punishing Binney merely because she wanted to punish himself! Just the sort of thing that always most enraged him about her, that damned female habit of venting her spleen on every Tom, Dick, and Harry, advertising it to the entire world — like an octopus. And egotism! Merely because he expected to be consulted about his own affairs! Well, she could go to blazes. And if she could keep it up, so could he. Two could play at that game. And if she wanted to sulk, and go into a silence, for her damned thinking, by god he’d show here what a real A-number-one brassbound steel-riveted silence could be. A silence with velvet knobs on it! Hmm — yes. But the trouble was — and he suddenly found himself grinning, despite everything — the trouble was, as he knew only too well from long experience, that she could outlast him. Pour rendre le silence en musique, il me faudrait trois orchestres militaires . But maybe this time—