Jane Bowles - My Sister's Hand in Mine - The Collected Works of Jane Bowles

“Don’t talk to me that way when you know how much I love you,” said Mrs. Quill, her lips beginning to tremble.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Quill,” said Pacifica gravely.

“There is something very lovable about Pacifica,” Mrs. Copperfield thought to herself. “I believe she takes everyone quite seriously.”

She took Pacifica’s hand in her own.

“In a minute we’re going to have something nice to drink,” she said, smiling up at Pacifica. “Aren’t you glad?”

“Yes, it will be nice to have something to drink,” said Pacifica politely; but Mrs. Quill understood the gaiety of it. She rubbed her hands together and said: “I’m with you.”

Mrs. Copperfield looked out into the street and saw Meyer walking by. He was with two blondes and some sailors.

“There goes Meyer,” she said. The other two women looked across the street and they all watched him disappear.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Copperfield had gone over to Panama City for two days. The first day after lunch Mr. Copperfield proposed a walk towards the outskirts of the city. It was the first thing he always did when he arrived in a new place. Mrs. Copperfield hated to know what was around her, because it always turned out to be even stranger than she had feared.

They walked for a long time. The streets began to look all alike. On one side they went gradually uphill, and on the other they descended abruptly to the muddy regions near the sea. The stone houses were completely colorless in the hot sun. All the windows were heavily grilled; there was very little sign of life anywhere. They came to three naked boys struggling with a football, and turned downhill towards the water. A woman dressed in black silk came their way slowly. When they had passed her she turned around and stared at them shamelessly. They looked over their shoulders several times and they could still see her standing there watching them.

The tide was out. They made their way along the muddy beach. Back of them there was a huge stone hotel built in front of a low cliff, so that it was already in the shade. The mud flats and the water were still in the sunlight. They walked along until Mr. Copperfield found a large, flat rock for them to sit on.

“It’s so beautiful here,” he said.

A crab ran along sideways in the mud at their feet.

“Oh, look!” said Mr. Copperfield. “Don’t you love them?”

“Yes, I do love them,” she answered, but she could not suppress a rising feeling of dread as she looked around her at the landscape. Someone had painted the words Cerveza — Beer in green letters on the façade of the hotel.

Mr. Copperfield rolled up his trousers and asked if she would care to go barefoot to the edge of the water with him.

“I think I’ve gone far enough,” she said.

“Are you tired?” he asked her.

“Oh, no. I’m not tired.” There was such a pained expression on her face as she answered him that he asked her what the trouble was.

“I’m unhappy,” she said.

“Again?” asked Mr. Copperfield. “What is there to be unhappy about now?”

“I feel so lost and so far away and so frightened.”

“What’s frighening about this?”

“I don’t know. It’s all so strange and it has no connection with anything.”

“It’s connected with Panama,” observed Mr. Copperfield acidly. “Won’t you ever understand that?” He paused. “I don’t think really that I’m going to try to make you understand any more.… But I’m going to walk to the water’s edge. You spoil all my fun. There’s absolutely nothing anyone can do with you.” He was pouting.

“Yes, I know. I mean go to the water’s edge. I guess I am tired after all.” She watched him picking his way among the tiny stones, his arms held out for balance like a tight-rope walker’s, and wished that she were able to join him because she was so fond of him. She began to feel a little exalted. There was a strong wind, and some lovely sailboats were passing by very swiftly not far from the shore. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, hoping that perhaps she might become exalted enough to run down and join her husband. But the wind did not blow quite hard enough, and behind her closed eyes she saw Pacifica and Mrs. Quill standing in front of the Hotel de las Palmas. She had said good-by to them from the old-fashioned hack that she had hired to drive her to the station. Mr. Copperfield had preferred to walk, and she had been alone with her two friends. Pacifica had been wearing the satin kimono which Mrs. Copperfield had bought her, and a pair of bedroom slippers decorated with pompons. She had stood near the wall of the hotel squinting, and complaining about being out in the street dressed only in a kimono, but Mrs. Copperfield had had only a minute to say good-by to them and she would not descend from the carriage.

“Pacifica and Mrs. Quill,” she had said to them, leaning out of the victoria, “you can’t imagine how I dread leaving you even for only two days. I honestly don’t know how I’ll be able to stand it.”

“Listen, Copperfield,” Mrs. Quill had answered, “you go and have the time of your life in Panama. Don’t you think about us for one minute. Do you hear me? My, oh my, if I was young enough to be going to Panama City with my husband, I’d be wearing a different expression on my face than you are wearing now.”

“That means nothing to be going to Panama City with your husband,” Pacifica had insisted very firmly. “That does not mean that she is happy. Everyone likes to do different things. Maybe Copperfield likes better to go fishing or buy dresses.” She had then smiled gratefully at Pacifica.

“Well,” Mrs. Quill had retorted somewhat feebly, “I’m sure you would be happy, Pacifica, if you were going to Panama City with your husband.… It’s beautiful over there.”

“Anyway, she has been in Paris,” Pacifica had answered.

“Well, promise me you will be here when I get back,” Mrs. Copperfield had begged them. “I’m so terrified that you might suddenly vanish.”

“Don’t make up such stories to yourself, my dear; life is difficult enough. Where are we going away?” Pacifica had said to her, yawning and starting to go inside. Then she had blown a kiss to Mrs. Copperfield from the doorway and waved her hand.

“Such fun, to be with them,” she said, audibly, opening her eyes. “They are a great comfort.”

Mr. Copperfield was on his way back to the flat rock where she was sitting. He had a stone of strange texture and formation in his hand. He was smiling as he came towards her.

“Look,” he said, “isn’t this an amusing stone? It’s really quite beautiful. I thought you would like to see it, so I brought it to you.” Mrs. Copperfield examined the stone and said: “Oh, it is beautiful and very strange. Thanks ever so much.” She looked at it lying in the palm of her hand. As she examined it Mr. Copperfield pressed her shoulder and said: “Look at the big steamer plowing through the water. Do you see it?” He twisted her neck slightly so that she might look in the right direction.

“Yes, I see it. It’s wonderful too.… I think we had better be walking back home. It’s going to be dark soon.”

They left the beach and started walking through the streets again. It was getting dark, but there were more people standing around now. They commented openly on Mr. and Mrs. Copperfield as they passed by.

“It’s really been the most wonderful day,” Mr. Copperfield said. “You must have enjoyed some of it, because we’ve seen such incredible things.” Mrs. Copperfield squeezed his hand harder and harder.

“I don’t have wingèd feet like you,” she said to him. “You must forgive me. I can’t move about so easily. At thirty-three I have certain habits.”