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

“Mrs. Copperfield is coming to get me — I told her all about it. I think I’ll sit down somewhere and wait.”

“Does Mrs. Copperfield have the necessary funds with which to cover your bill?”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Quill, walking away from him.

“You mean you don’t know whether or not she will be able to pay your bill?”

“Yes, yes, she’ll pay my bill. Please let me sit down over there.”

The manager nodded. Mrs. Quill fell into an armchair that stood beside a tall palm tree. She covered her face with her hands and continued to cry.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Copperfield arrived. In spite of the heat she was wearing a silver-fox cape which she had brought with her for use only in higher altitudes.

Although she was perspiring and badly made up, she felt assured of being treated with a certain amount of deference by the hotel employees because of the silver-fox cape.

She had awakened quite some time before and was again a little drunk. She rushed up to Mrs. Quill and kissed her on the top of her head.

“Where’s the man who made you cry?” she asked.

Mrs. Quill looked around through her tear-veiled eyes and pointed to the assistant manager. Mrs. Copperfield beckoned to him with her index finger.

He came over to them and she asked him where she could get some flowers for Mrs. Quill.

“There’s nothing like flowers when you’re either sick at heart or physically ill,” she said to him. “She’s been under a terrible strain. Would you get some flowers?” she asked, taking a twenty-dollar bill from her purse.

“There is no florist in the hotel,” said the assistant manager.

“That’s not very luxurious,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

He did not reply.

“Well then,” she continued, “the next best thing to do is to buy her something nice to drink. I suggest that we all go to the bar.”

The assistant manager declined.

“But,” said Mrs. Copperfield, “I insist that you come along. I want to talk things over with you. I think you’ve been horrid.”

The assistant manager stared at her.

“The most horrid thing about you,” continued Mrs. Copperfield, “is that you’re just as grouchy now that you know your bill will be paid as you were before. You were mean and worried then and you’re mean and worried now. The expression on your face hasn’t changed one bit. It’s a dangerous man who reacts more or less in the same way to good news or bad news.”

Since he still made no effort to speak, she continued: “You’ve not only made Mrs. Quill completely miserable for no reason at all, but you’ve spoiled my fun too. You don’t even know how to please the rich.” The assistant manager raised his eyebrows.

“You won’t understand this but I shall tell it to you anyway. I came here for two reasons. The first reason, naturally, was in order to get my friend Mrs. Quill out of trouble; the second reason was in order to see your face when you realized that a bill which you never expected to be paid was to be paid after all. I expected to be able to watch the transition. You understand — enemy into friend — that’s always terribly exciting. That’s why in a good movie the hero often hates the heroine until the very end. But you, of course, wouldn’t dream of lowering your standards. You think it would be cheap to turn into an affable human being because you discovered there was money where you had been sure there was no money to be forthcoming. Do you think the rich mind? They never get enough of it. They want to be liked for their money too, and not only for themselves. You’re not even a good hotel manager. You’re definitely a boor in every way.”

The assistant manager looked down with loathing at Mrs. Copperfield’s upturned face. He hated her sharp features and her high voice. He found her even more disgusting than Mrs. Quill. He was not fond of women anyway.

“You have no imagination,” she said, “none whatever! You are missing everything. Where do I pay my bill?”

All the way home Mrs. Copperfield felt sad because Mrs. Quill was dignified and remote and did not give her the lavish thanks which she had been expecting.

* * *

Early the next morning Mrs. Copperfield and Pacifica were together in Pacifica’s bedroom. The sky was beginning to grow light. Mrs. Copperfield had never seen Pacifica this drunk. Her hair was pushed up on her head. It looked now somewhat like a wig which is a little too small for the wearer. Her pupils were very large and slightly filmed. There was a large dark spot on the front of her checked skirt, and her breath smelled very strongly of whisky. She stumbled over to the window and looked out. It was quite dark in the room. Mrs. Copperfield could barely discern the red and purple squares in Pacifica’s skirt. She could not see her legs at all, the shadows were so deep, but she knew the heavy yellow silk stockings and the white sneakers well.

“It’s so lovely,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

“Beautiful,” said Pacifica, turning around, “beautiful.” She moved unsteadily around the room. “Listen,” she said, “the most wonderful thing to do now is to go to the beach and swim in the water. If you have enough money we can take a taxicab and go. Come on. Will you?”

Mrs. Copperfield was very startled indeed, but Pacifica was already pulling a blanket from the bed. “Please,” she said. “You cannot know how much pleasure this would give me. You must take that towel over there.”

The beach was not very far away. When they arrived, Pacifica told the cab-driver to come back in two hours.

The shore was strewn with rocks; this was a disappointment to Mrs. Copperfield. Although the wind was not very strong, she noticed that the top branches of the palm trees were shaking.

Pacifica took her clothes off and immediately walked into the water. She stood for a time with her legs wide apart, the water scarcely reaching to her shins, while Mrs. Copperfield sat on a rock trying to decide whether or not to remove her own clothes. There was a sudden splash and Pacifica started to swim. She swam first on her back and then on her stomach, and Mrs. Copperfield was certain that she could hear her singing. When at last Pacifica grew tired of splashing about in the water, she stood up and walked towards the beach. She took tremendous strides and her pubic hair hung between her legs sopping wet. Mrs. Copperfield looked a little embarrassed, but Pacifica plopped down beside her and asked her why she did not come in the water.

“I can’t swim,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

Pacifica looked up at the sky. She could see now that it was not going to be a completely fair day.

“Why do you sit on that terrible rock?” said Pacifica. “Come, take your clothes off and we go in the water. I will teach you to swim.”

“I was never able to learn.”

“I will teach you. If you cannot learn I will let you sink. No, this is only a joke. Don’t take it serious.”

Mrs. Copperfield undressed. She was very white and thin, and her spine was visible all the way along her back. Pacifica looked at her body without saying a word.

“I know I have an awful figure,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

Pacifica did not answer. “Come,” she said, getting up and putting her arm around Mrs. Copperfield’s waist.

They stood with the water up to their thighs, facing the beach and the palm trees. The trees appeared to be moving behind a mist. The beach was colorless. Behind them the sky was growing lighter very rapidly, but the sea was still almost black. Mrs. Copperfield noticed a red fever sore on Pacifica’s lip. Water was dripping from her hair onto her shoulders.

She turned away from the beach and pulled Mrs. Copper-field farther out into the water.

Mrs. Copperfield held onto Pacifica’s hand very hard. Soon the water was up to her chin.