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

“Come to the water,” said Christina; “I think that’s how we’ll wash away your sins. You’ll have to stand in the mud.”

“Near the mud?”

“ In the mud. Does your sin taste bitter in your mouth? It must.”

“Yes,” said Mary hesitantly.

“Then you want to be clean and pure as a flower is, don’t you?”

Mary did not answer.

“If you don’t lie down in the mud and let me pack the mud over you and then wash you in the stream, you’ll be forever condemned. Do you want to be forever condemned? This is your moment to decide.”

Mary stood beneath her black hood without saying a word. Christina pushed her down on the ground and started to pack the burlap with mud.

“The mud’s cold,” said Mary.

“The hell fires are hot,” said Christina. “If you let me do this, you won’t go to hell.”

“Don’t take too long,” said Mary.

Christina was very much agitated. Her eyes were shining. She packed more and more mud on Mary and then she said to her:

“Now you’re ready to be purified in the stream.”

“Oh, please no, not the water — I hate to go into the water. I’m afraid of the water.”

“Forget what you are afraid of. God’s watching you now and He has no sympathy for you yet.”

She lifted Mary from the ground and walked into the stream, carrying her. She had forgotten to take off her own shoes and stockings. Her dress was completely covered with mud. Then she submerged Mary’s body in the water. Mary was looking at her through the holes in the burlap. It did not occur to her to struggle.

“Three minutes will be enough,” said Christina. “I’m going to say a little prayer for you.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Mary pleaded.

“Of course,” said Christina, lifting her eyes to the sky.

“Dear God,” she said, “make this girl Mary pure as Jesus Your Son. Wash her sins away as the water is now washing the mud away. This black burlap proves to you that she thinks she is a sinner.”

“Oh, stop,” whispered Mary. “He can hear you even if you just say it to yourself. You’re shouting so.”

“The three minutes are over, I believe,” said Christina. “Come darling, now you can stand up.”

“Let’s run to the house,” said Mary. “I’m freezing to death.”

They ran to the house and up the back stairway that led to the tower. It was hot in the tower room because all the windows had been shut. Christina suddenly felt very ill.

“Go,” she said to Mary, “go into the bath and clean yourself off. I’m going to draw.” She was deeply troubled. “It’s over,” she said to herself, “the game is over. I’ll tell Mary to go home after she’s dried off. I’ll give her some colored pencils to take home with her.”

Mary returned from the bath wrapped in a towel. She was still shivering. Her hair was wet and straight. Her face looked smaller than it did ordinarily.

Christina looked away from her. “The game is over,” she said, “it took only a few minutes — you should be dried off — I’m going out.” She walked out of the room leaving Mary behind, pulling the towel closer around her shoulders.

* * *

As a grown woman Miss Goering was no better liked than she had been as a child. She was now living in her home outside New York, with her companion, Miss Gamelon.

Three months ago Miss Goering had been sitting in the parlor, looking out at the leafless trees, when her maid announced a caller.

“Is it a gentleman or a lady?” Miss Goering asked.

“A lady.”

“Show her in immediately,” said Miss Goering.

The maid returned followed by the caller. Miss Goering rose from her seat. “How do you do?” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever laid eyes on you before this moment, but please sit down.”

The lady visitor was small and stocky and appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. She wore dark, unfashionable clothing and, but for her large gray eyes, her face might on all occasions have passed unnoticed.

“I’m your governess’s cousin,” she said to Miss Goering. “She was with you for many years. Do you remember her?”

“I do,” said Miss Goering.

“Well, my name is Lucie Gamelon. My cousin used to talk about you and about your sister Sophie all the time. I’ve been meaning to call on you for years now, but one thing and another always got in the way. But then, we never know it to fail.”

Miss Gamelon reddened. She had not yet been relieved of her hat and coat.

“You have a lovely home,” she said. “I guess you know it and appreciate it a lot.”

By this time Miss Goering was filled with curiosity concerning Miss Gamelon. “What’s your business in life?” she asked her.

“Not very much, I’m afraid. I’ve been typing manuscripts for famous authors all my life, but there doesn’t seem to be much demand for authors any more unless maybe they are doing their own typing.”

Miss Goering, who was busy thinking, said nothing.

Miss Gamelon looked around helplessly.

“Do you stay here the greater portion of the time or do you travel mostly?” she asked Miss Goering unexpectedly.

“I never thought of traveling,” said Miss Goering. “I don’t require travel.”

“Coming from the family you come from,” said Miss Gamelon, “I guess you were born full of knowledge about everything. You wouldn’t need to travel. I had opportunity to travel two or three times with my authors. They were willing to pay all my expenses and my full salary besides, but I never did go except once, and that was to Canada.”

“You don’t like to travel,” said Miss Goering, staring at her.

“It doesn’t agree with me. I tried it that once. My stomach was upset and I had nervous headaches all the time. That was enough. I had my warning.”

“I understand perfectly,” said Miss Goering.

“I always believe,” continued Miss Gamelon, “that you get your warning. Some people don’t heed their warnings. That’s when they come into conflict. I think that anything you feel strange or nervous about, you weren’t cut out to do.”

“Go on,” said Miss Goering.

“Well, I know, for instance, that I wasn’t cut out to be an aviator. I’ve always had dreams of crashing down to the earth. There are quite a few things that I won’t do, even if I am thought of as a stubborn mule. I won’t cross a big body of water, for instance. I could have everything I wanted if I would just cross the ocean and go over to England, but I never will.”

“Well,” said Miss Goering, “let’s have some tea and some sandwiches.”

Miss Gamelon ate voraciously and complimented Miss Goering on her good food.

“I like good things to eat,” she said; “I don’t have so much good food any more. I did when I was working for the authors.”

When they had finished tea, Miss Gamelon took leave of her hostess.

“I’ve had a very sociable time,” she said. “I would like to stay longer, but tonight I have promised a niece of mine that I would watch over her children for her. She is going to attend a ball.”

“You must be very depressed with the idea,” said Miss Goering.

“Yes, you’re right,” Miss Gamelon replied.

“Do return soon,” said Miss Goering.

The following afternoon the maid announced to Miss Goering that she had a caller. “It’s the same lady that called here yesterday,” said the maid.

“Well, well,” thought Miss Goering, “that’s good.”

“How are you feeling today?” Miss Gamelon asked her, coming into the room. She spoke very naturally, not appearing to find it strange that she was returning so soon after her first visit. “I was thinking about you all last night,” she said. “It’s a funny thing. I always thought I should meet you. My cousin used to tell me how queer you were. I think, though, that you can make friends more quickly with queer people. Or else you don’t make friends with them at all — one way or the other. Many of my authors were very queer. In that way I’ve had an advantage of association that most people don’t have. I know something about what I call real honest-to-God maniacs, too.”