Conrad Aiken - Conversation; or, Pilgrims' Progress

“Mummy—”

“Yes, Buzzer, what is it?”

“Daddy and I went to the secret place ! And then we were Indians, with tomahawks—”

“Wasn’t that fun.”

“And I built a house, too—”

“That was lovely. Now eat your lunch like a good girl.”

“I am eating it!”

“Ee, dear, I’m as sorry about that as you are, and I didn’t like the young man at all, and I regret as much as you do that Jim’s taste in friends is so peculiar; but even so, is there anything so very terrible in it?”

“Nothing terrible in it! To have our house and name known in criminal circles in New York—”

“Criminal circles! Good heavens, Ee—”

“Criminal circles. Are you so afraid to face the fact?”

“Of course I’m not afraid to face the fact. I simply see it in a different light. You’re wildly exaggerating the importance of the whole thing. Merely because a harmless little character drives up to our door in a taxi — what’s so awful about that? I think it was rather funny!”

“Oh, you do.”

“Yes, I do. Damned funny.”

“Then I take it you’re not going to do anything about it.”

“Do anything about it? Why should I?”

“I see. It doesn’t matter to you that the neighbors should see these criminals coming to our door, or know that we’re associating with thieves, and those appalling women—”

“Ee, darling, I regret some aspects of it as much as you do, but can’t we be a little more flexible and humane about it than that? Surely, we haven’t got to take our opinions from our neighbors!”

“So that’s how you see it?”

“It seems to me that view is not without its importance. We can’t model our lives according to what the Puringtons or Rileys think. Or is that what you propose to do?”

“I simply propose to safeguard our good name and position, mine and Buzzer’s, that’s all—”

“Of course. Even if you have to sacrifice my integrity to do it. Or my friendships.”

“Integrity!”

“Mummy—?”

“Buzzer, darling, you mustn’t interrupt when Mummy’s talking—”

“But I’ve finished . I’ve eaten all my potato, see?”

“Have you, darling? All right then, come here and I’ll take your bib off, and then you can go upstairs and have your nap.”

“And can I take kingy and queeny?”

“Yes, you can take kingy and queeny if you like, but remember to be nice and quiet, won’t you?”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse !”

“That’s right. Run along, now.”

She tiptoed quickly from the room, the shells tightly clasped in her hands. They listened with averted eyes to the footsteps slowly climbing the hall stairs, hurrying over the floor above, then Enid rose from the table. The preoccupied little hum again, the eyes hurt and angry. She took up her plate and went halfway to the kitchen with it, stopped stiffly, a little awkwardly, but with a kind of angry grace, too, turning her head curtly toward him, the green eyes flashing at him over the held plate, the plate held like a challenge.

“I’ve come to my decision,” she said, “if you’d like to hear it?”

“Well?”

“If you don’t give these people up, while they’re here, I shall go back to New Bedford, and take Buzzer with me.”

“Oh, an ultimatum.”

“If you want to call it that?”

She smiled brilliantly, triumphantly.

“You’re going to force me to give them up.”

“As long as they’re living here. I have no choice.”

“And after that? Am I to be permitted to see them in New York? On neutral ground, so to speak?”

“I think we can consider that later.”

“Oh, we can, can we! That’s very kind of you.”

“And I think you’d better come to your decision today. Otherwise I shall plan to go to New Bedford in the morning. I think it would be as well if you would come to your decision now . It seems to me you’ve had quite time enough!”

“You think— you think— you think—!”

The bitter words, bitterer than somehow he had expected them to be, were addressed to the vanishing green back, the slight green shoulders, the self-consciously upright head, as she went down the steps to the kitchen. He was sitting rigid in his chair, the knife and fork held hard in his hands, and for a moment, staring towards the doorway through which she had just gone, it was as if he had suffered an eclipse, he saw nothing. So she had beaten him, had she — she was going to beat him, was she — she thought she was going to beat him! With that triumphant exit, too, that self-righteous all-conquering know-it-all air, that air of bristling virtue, in every line and feature of her! He felt ashamed, stifled, it was as if something in his breast had suddenly curdled, but as if, too, he must quickly find something to do, something for his hands to do, something violent. The shadow of defeat — it would be impossible to accept it like that, it would be unendurable, the whole shape of his life would be forever wrong and unbearable. Somehow, even now, today, some dark twist must be given to the shaping of the event, some neat knifelike turn, which would at least salvage for him a scrap of pride, a vestige of dignity and power. She must be hurt — she must be injured. And if he was going to be defeated in this, he must see to it — was that it? — that in other respects he was vindicated, justified. He would make her pay for it, by god, he would make her see that he wasn’t the only offending party. He would give her something to think about for the rest of her smug little life! Beautiful, yes, but there were limits!

He sat still, staring now across the gray room and through the little window towards the Puringtons’, past the little dead plum tree, heard Enid pouring the hot water from the kettle into the dishpan, refilling the kettle under the tap, replacing the kettle on the oil stove with a clash. It was her clear suggestion to him that she was waiting, that he was late and delaying her, that he was sulking in defeat, or doing it deliberately to annoy her. Well, let her wait. He finished his potato salad meticulously, angrily, precisely, taking unnecessarily small bites. Yes, let her wait. But the oppressive ring closed in on him, he must do something, say something, or go somewhere — to sit here any longer would put him subtly at a disadvantage. He got up, carried the salt and pepper to the china cupboard in the corner — the silver-gilt salt cellar, the sworled silver pepper shaker — replaced the unused silver in the top drawer of the mahogany lowboy, and the two soiled napkins, looked slowly around the dining room to see if there was anything else he might do, then picked up his plate and tumbler and went down into the kitchen lean-to. The low-ceilinged whitewashed room was dark in the overcast light that came from the one window over the sink, and Enid, already washing the few dishes, looked up at him as if almost amusedly from the steaming dishpan, but he avoided her eyes, merely put down the plate and tumbler on the drainboard.

“You’re in rather a rush, all of a sudden, aren’t you?” he said.

“I wasn’t aware of it. It seems to me that it was you who were in a rush, until of course it suited you for reasons of your own to change your mind!”

“Need that have prevented your staying at the table until I had finished?”

“Why should I? Are you by any chance aware that I’ve had to eat my last three meals practically alone? You’re hardly the one to complain.”

“Was that any fault of mine?”

“Of course not, you’re never at fault, are you? You certainly didn’t need to go out with George last night—”