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

“Golf would be wonderful for you,” said Miss Gamelon to Miss Goering; “probably would straighten you out in a week.”

“Well,” said Arnold apologetically, “she might not like it.”

“I don’t like sports,” said Miss Goering; “more than anything else, they give me a terrific feeling of sinning.”

“On the contrary,” said Miss Gamelon, “that’s exactly what they never do.”

“Don’t be rude, Lucy dear,” said Miss Goering. “After all, I have paid sufficient attention to what happens inside of me and I know better than you about my own feelings.”

“Sports,” said Miss Gamelon, “can never give you a feeling of sinning, but what is more interesting is that you can never sit down for more than five minutes without introducing something weird into the conversation. I certainly think you have made a study of it.”

* * *

The next morning Arnold’s father came downstairs with his shirt collar open and without a vest. He had rumpled his hair up a bit so that now he looked like an old artist.

“What on earth is Mother going to do?” Arnold asked him at breakfast.

“Fiddlesticks!” said Arnold’s father. “You call yourself an artist and you don’t even know how to be irresponsible. The beauty of the artist lies in the childlike soul.” He touched Miss Goering’s hand with his own. She could not help thinking of the speech he had made the night he had come into her bedroom and how opposed it had been to everything he was now saying.

“If your mother has a desire to live, she will live, providing she is willing to leave everything behind her as I have done,” he added.

Miss Gamelon was slightly embarrassed by this elderly man who seemed to have just recently made some momentous change in his life. But she was not really curious about him.

“Well,” said Arnold, “I imagine you are still providing her with money to pay the rent. I am continuing to contribute my share.”

“Certainly,” said his father. “I am always a gentleman, although I must say the responsibility weighs heavy on me, like an anchor around my neck. Now,” he continued, “let me go out and do the marketing for the day. I feel able to run a hundred-yard dash.”

Miss Gamelon sat with furrowed brow, wondering if Miss Goering would permit this crazy old man to live on in the already crowded house. He set out towards town a little while later. They called after him from the window, entreating him to return and put on his coat, but he waved his hand at the sky and refused.

In the afternoon Miss Goering did some serious thinking. She walked back and forth in front of the kitchen door. Already the house, to her, had become a friendly and familiar place and one which she readily thought of as her home. She decided that it was now necessary for her to take little trips to the tip of the island, where she could board the ferry and cross back over to the mainland. She hated to do this as she knew how upsetting it would be, and the more she considered it, the more attractive the life in the little house seemed to her, until she even thought of it as humming with gaiety. In order to assure herself that she would make her excursion that night, she went into her bedroom and put fifty cents on the bureau.

After dinner, when she announced that she was taking a train ride alone, Miss Gamelon nearly wept with indignation. Arnold’s father said he thought it was a wonderful idea to take “a train ride into the blue,” as he termed it. When Miss Gamelon heard him encouraging Miss Goering, she could no longer contain herself and rushed up into her bedroom. Arnold hastily left the table and lumbered up the steps after her.

Arnold’s father begged Miss Goering to allow him to go with her.

“Not this time,” she said, “I must go alone”; and Arnold’s father, although he said he was very much disappointed, still remained elated. There seemed to be no end to his good humor.

“Well,” he said, “setting out into the night like this is just in the spirit of what I’d like to do, and I think that you are cheating me prettily by not allowing me to accompany you.”

“It is not for fun that I am going,” said Miss Goering, “but because it is necessary to do so.”

“Still, I beg you once more,” said Arnold’s father ignoring the implications of this remark and getting down on his knees with difficulty, “I beg you, take me with you.”

“Oh, please, my dear,” said Miss Goering, “please don’t make it hard for me. I have a weakish personality.”

Arnold’s father jumped to his feet. “Certainly,” he said, “I would not make anything hard for you.” He kissed her wrist and wished her good luck. “Do you think the two turtle doves will talk to me?” he asked her, “or do you think they will remain cooped up together all night? I rather hate to be alone.”

“So do I,” said Miss Goering. “Bang on their door; they’ll talk to you. Good-by.…”

Miss Goering decided to walk along the highway, as it was really too dark to walk through the woods at this hour. She had proposed this to herself as a stint, earlier in the afternoon, but had later decided that it was pure folly even to consider it. It was cold and windy out and she pulled her shawl closer around her. She continued to affect woolen shawls, although they had not been stylish for a good many years. Miss Goering looked up at the sky; she was looking for the stars and hoping very hard to see some. She stood still for a long time, but she could not decide whether it was a starlit night or not because even though she fixed her attention on the sky without once lowering her eyes, the stars seemed to appear and disappear so quickly that they were like visions of stars rather than like actual stars. She decided that this was only because the clouds were racing across the sky so quickly that the stars were obliterated one minute and visible the next. She continued on her way to the station.

When she arrived she was surprised to find that there were eight or nine children who had got there ahead of her. Each one carried a large blue and gold school banner. The children weren’t saying much, but they were engaged in hopping heavily first on one foot and then on the other. Since they were doing this in unison, the little wooden platform shook abominably and Miss Goering wondered whether she had not better draw the attention of the children to this fact. Very shortly, however, the train pulled into the station and they all boarded it together. Miss Goering sat in a seat across the aisle from a middle-aged stout woman. She and Miss Goering were the only occupants of the car besides the children. Miss Goering looked at her with interest.

She was wearing gloves and a hat and she sat up very straight. In her right hand she held a long thin package which looked like a fly-swatter. The woman stared ahead of her and not a muscle in her face moved. There were some more packages that she had piled neatly on the seat next to her. Miss Goering looked at her and hoped that she too, was going to the tip of the island. The train started to move and the woman put her free hand on top of the packages next to her so that they would not slide off the seat.

The children had mostly crowded into two seats and those who would have had to sit elsewhere preferred to stand around the already occupied seats. Soon they began to sing songs, which were all in praise of the school from which they had come. They did this so badly that it was almost too much for Miss Goering to bear. She got out of her seat and was so intent upon getting to the children quickly that she paid no attention to the lurching of the car and consequently in her hurry she tripped and fell headlong on the floor right next to where the children were singing.

She managed to get on her feet again although her chin was bleeding. She first asked the children to please stop their singing. They all stared at her. Then she pulled out a little lace handkerchief and started to mop the blood from her chin. Soon the train stopped and the children got off. Miss Goering went to the end of the car and filled a paper cup with water. She wondered nervously, as she mopped her chin in the dark passage, whether or not the lady with the fly-swatter would still be in the car. When she got back to her seat she saw with great relief that the lady was still there. She still held the fly-swatter, but she had turned her head to the left and was looking out at the little station platform.