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

“That seems sensible, don’t you think so, Frieda?”

“No,” said Mrs. Copperfield vehemently, clutching at the chain she wore around her neck. “I think I’d better go right straight back to the Hotel de las Palmas. I must go. I must go immediately.…” She was so distraught that she rose from the table, forgetting her pocketbook and her scarf, and started to leave the restaurant.

“But you’ve left everything behind you,” Mr. Copperfield called out after her.

“I’ll take them,” exclaimed Peggy Gladys. “You eat your ice cream and come later.” She rushed after Mrs. Copperfield and together they ran down the suffocatingly hot street towards the Hotel de las Palmas.

Mrs. Quill was standing in the doorway drinking something out of a bottle.

“I’m on the cherry-pop wagon until dinner time,” she said.

“Oh, Mrs. Quill, come up to my room with me!” said Mrs. Copperfield, putting her arms around Mrs. Quill and sighing deeply. “Mr. Copperfield is back.”

“Why don’t you come upstairs with me? ” said Peggy Gladys. “I promised your husband I’d take care of you.”

Mrs. Copperfield wheeled round. “Please be quiet,” she shouted, looking fixedly at Peggy Gladys.

“Now, now,” said Mrs. Quill, “don’t upset the little girl. We’ll have to be giving her a honey bun to quiet her. Of course it took more than a honey bun to quiet me at her age.”

“I’m all right,” said Peggy Gladys. “Will you kindly take us to her room? She’s supposed to be flat on her back.”

The young girl sat on the edge of Mrs. Copperfield’s bed with her hand on Mrs. Copperfield’s forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You look very badly. I wish you wouldn’t be so unhappy. Couldn’t you possibly not think about it now and think about it some other day? Sometimes if you let things rest … I’m not sixteen, I’m seventeen. I feel like a child. I can’t seem to say anything unless people think I’m very young. Maybe you don’t like the fact that I’m so fresh. You’re white and green. You don’t look pretty. You looked much prettier before. After your husband has been here I’ll take you for a ride in a carriage if you like. My mother’s dead,” she said softly.

“Listen,” said Mrs. Copperfield. “If you don’t mind going away now … I’d like to be by myself. You can come back later.”

“What time can I come back?”

“I don’t know; come back later; can’t you see? I don’t know.”

“All right,” said Peggy Gladys. “Maybe I should just go downstairs and talk to that fat woman, or drink. Then when you’re ready you can come down. I have nothing to do for three days. You really want me to go?”

Mrs. Copperfield nodded.

The girl left the room reluctantly.

Mrs. Copperfield started to tremble after the girl had closed the door behind her. She trembled so violently that she shook the bed. She was suffering as much as she had ever suffered before, because she was going to do what she wanted to do. But it would not make her happy. She did not have the courage to stop from doing what she wanted to do. She knew that it would not make her happy, because only the dreams of crazy people come true. She thought that she was only interested in duplicating a dream, but in doing so she necessarily became the complete victim of a nightmare.

Mr. Copperfield came very quietly into her room. “How do you feel now?” he asked.

“I’m all right,” she said.

“Who was that young girl? She was very pretty — from a sculptural point of view.”

“Her name is Peggy Gladys.”

“She spoke very well, didn’t she? Or am I wrong?”

“She spoke beautifully.”

“Have you been having a nice time?”

“I’ve had the most wonderful time in my whole life,” said Mrs. Copperfield, almost weeping.

“I had a nice time too, exploring Panama City. But my room was so uncomfortable. There was too much noise. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why didn’t you take a nicer room in a better hotel?”

“You know me. I hate to spend money. I never think it’s worth it. I guess I should have. I should have been drinking too. I’d have had a better time. But I didn’t.”

They were silent. Mr. Copperfield drummed on the bureau. “I guess we should be leaving tonight,” he said, “instead of staying on here. It’s terribly expensive here. There won’t be another boat for quite a few days.”

Mrs. Copperfield did not answer.

“Don’t you think I’m correct?”

“I don’t want to go,” she said, twisting on the bed.

“I don’t understand,” said Mr. Copperfield.

“I can’t go. I want to stay here.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you can’t plan a trip that way. Perhaps you don’t intend to plan a trip.”

“Oh, I’ll plan a trip,” said Mrs. Copperfield vaguely.

“You will?”

“No, I won’t.”

“It’s up to you,” said Mr. Copperfield. “I just think you’ll be missing a great deal by not seeing Central America. You’re certain to get bored here unless you start to drink. You probably will start to drink.”

“Why don’t you go, and then come back when you’ve seen enough?” she suggested.

“I won’t come back because I can’t look at you,” said Mr. Copperfield. “You’re a horror.” So saying, he took an empty pitcher from the bureau, threw it out of the window into the alley, and left the room.

An hour later Mrs. Copperfield went downstairs into the bar. She was surprised and glad to see Pacifica there. Although Pacifica had powdered her face very heavily, she looked tired. She was sitting at a little table holding her pocketbook in her hands.

“Pacifica,” said Mrs. Copperfield, “I didn’t know that you were awake. I was certain that you were asleep in your room. I’m so glad to see you.”

“I could not close my eyes. I was sleeping for fifteen minutes and then after that I could not close my eyes. Someone came to see me.”

Peggy Gladys walked over to Mrs. Copperfield. “Hello,” she said, running her fingers through Mrs. Copperfield’s hair. “Are you ready to take that ride yet?”

“What ride?” asked Mrs. Copperfield.

“The ride in the carriage with me.”

“No, I’m not ready,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

“When will you be?” asked Peggy Gladys.

“I’m going to buy some stockings,” said Pacifica. “You want to come with me, Copperfield?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

“Your husband looked upset when he left the hotel,” said Peggy Gladys. “I hope you didn’t have a fight.”

Mrs. Copperfield was walking out of the door with Pacifica. “Excuse us,” she called over her shoulder to Peggy Gladys. She was standing still and looking after them like a hurt animal!

It was so hot out that even the most conservative women tourists, their faces and chests flame-red, were pulling off their hats and drying their foreheads with their handkerchiefs. Most of them, to escape the heat, were dropping into the little Hindu stores where, if the shop wasn’t too crowded, the salesman offered them a little chair so that they might view twenty or thirty kimonos without getting tired.

“Qué calor!” said Pacifica.

“To hell with stockings,” said Mrs. Copperfield, who thought she was about to faint. “Let’s get some beer.”

“If you want, go and get yourself some beer. I must have stockings. I think bare legs on a woman is something terrible.”

“No, I’ll come with you.” Mrs. Copperfield put her hand in Pacifica’s.

“Ay!” cried Pacifica, releasing her hand. “We are both too wet, darling. Qué barbaridad!”

The store into which Pacifica took Mrs. Copperfield was very tiny. It was even hotter in there than on the street.