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

“For a long time,” said Mr. Dockerty, still addressing Mr. Schlaegel, “for a long time the buildings in that district have been a drag on the market. Even as slums they’re pretty bad and the profit from any one of them is just enough to keep body and soul together. That’s because, as you remember, Schlaegel, there is no means of transportation at any convenient distance and it’s surrounded by fish markets.

“Besides that,” went on Mr. Dockerty, turning to Andy, “we have in our charter a clause that prohibits our taking on any more men except on a strict salary basis, and, my friend, there’s a list as long as my arm waiting for a job in our offices, if there should be a vacancy. Their tongues are hanging out for any job we can offer them. Fine young men too, the majority of them just out of college, roaring to work, and to put into use every modern trick of selling that they have learned about. I know some of their families personally and I’m sorry I can’t help these lads out more than I am able to.”

Just then Miss Goering came rushing through the room. “I’m an hour or two late for Arnold’s father,” she screamed over her shoulder as she went out the door. “I will see you later.”

Andy had got up and was facing the window with his back to the three men. His shoulder blades were twitching.

“Was that your wife?” Mr. Dockerty called to him.

Andy did not answer, but in a few seconds Mr. Dockerty repeated his question, mainly because he had a suspicion it had not been Andy’s wife and he was anxious to know whether or not he had guessed correctly. He kicked Mr. Schlaegel’s foot with his own and they winked at each other.

“No,” said Andy, turning around and revealing his flame-red face. “No, she is not my wife. She’s my girl friend. She’s been living here with me for a week nearly. Is there anything else you men want to know?”

“Now look here, fellow,” said Mr. Dockerty, “there’s nothing for you to get excited about. She’s a very pretty woman, very pretty, and if you’re upset about the little business talk we had together, there’s no reason for that either. We explained everything to you clearly, like three pals.” Andy looked out of the window.

“You know,” said Mr. Dockerty, “there are other jobs you can get that will be far more suited to you and your background and that’ll make you lots happier in the end. You ask your girl friend if that isn’t so.” Still Andy did not answer them.

“There are other jobs,” Mr. Dockerty ventured to say again, but since there was still no answer from Andy, he shrugged his shoulders, rose with difficulty from the couch, and straightened his vest and his coat. The others did likewise. Then all three of them politely bade good-by to Andy’s back and left the room.

* * *

Arnold’s father had been sitting in the ice-cream parlor one hour and a half when Miss Goering finally came running in. He looked completely forlorn. It had never occurred to him to buy a magazine to read and there had been no one to look at in the ice-cream parlor because it was still morning and people seldom dropped in before afternoon.

“Oh, I can’t tell you, my dear, how sorry I am,” said Miss Goering, taking both his hands in hers and pressing them to her lips. He was wearing woolen gloves. “I can’t tell you how these gloves remind me of my childhood,” Miss Goering continued.

“I’ve been cold these last few days,” said Arnold’s father, “so Miss Gamelon went into town and bought me these.”

“Well, and how is everything going?”

“I will tell you all about that in a little while,” said Arnold’s father, “but I would like to know if you are all right, my dear woman, and whether or not you intend to return to the island.”

“I–I don’t think so,” said Miss Goering, “not for a long time.”

“Well, I must tell you of the many changes that have taken place in our lives, and I hope that you will not think of them as too drastic or sudden or revolutionary, or whatever you may call it.”

Miss Goering smiled faintly.

“You see,” he continued, “it has been growing colder and colder in the house these last few days. Miss Gamelon has had the sniffles terribly, I must concede, and also, as you know, she’s been in a wretched test about the old-fashioned cooking equipment right from the beginning. Now, Arnold doesn’t really mind anything if he has enough to eat, but recently Miss Gamelon has refused to set foot in the kitchen.”

“Now what on earth has been the outcome of all this? Do hurry up and tell me,” Miss Goering urged him.

“I can’t go any faster than I’m going,” said Arnold’s father. “Now, the other day Adele Wyman, an old school friend of Arnold’s, met him in town and they had a cup of coffee together. In the course of the conversation Adele mentioned that she was living in a two-family house on the island and that she liked it but she was terribly worried about who was going to move into the other half.”

“Well, then, am I to gather that they have moved into this house and are living there?”

“They have moved into that house until you come back,” said Arnold’s father. “Fortunately, it seemed that you had no lease on the first little house; therefore, since it was the end of the month, they felt free to move out. Miss Gamelon wonders if you will send the rent checks to the new house. Arnold has volunteered to pay the difference in rent, which is very slight.”

“No, no, that is not necessary. Is there anything more that is new?” said Miss Goering.

“Well, it might interest you to know,” said Arnold’s father, “that I have decided to return to my wife and my original house.”

“Why?” Miss Goering asked.

“A combination of circumstances, including the fact that I am old and feel like going home.”

“Oh my,” said Miss Goering, “it’s a shame to see things breaking up this way, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my dear, it is a pity, but I have come here to ask you a favor besides having come because I loved you and wanted to say good-by to you.”

“I will do anything for you,” said Miss Goering, “that I can possibly do.”

“Well,” said Arnold’s father, “I would like you to read over this note that I have written to my wife. I want to send it to her and then I will return on the following day to my house.”

“Certainly,” said Miss Goering. She noticed there was an envelope on the table in front of Arnold’s father. She picked it up.

Dear Ethel [ she read ],

I hope that you will read this letter with all that indulgence and sympathy which you possess so strongly in your heart.

I can only say that there is, in every man’s life, a strong urge to leave his life behind him for a while and seek a new one. If he is living near to the sea, a strong urge to take the next boat and sail away no matter how happy his home or how beloved his wife or mother. It is true also if the man is living near a road that he may feel the strong urge to strap a knapsack on his back and walk away, again leaving a happy home behind him. Very few people follow this urge once they have passed their youth without doing so. But it is my idea that sometimes age affects us like youth, like strong champagne that goes to our heads, and we dare what we have never dared before, perhaps also because we feel that it is our last chance. However, while as youths we might continue in such an adventure, at my age one very quickly finds out that it is a mere chimera and that one has not the strength. Will you take me back?

Your loving husband,

Edgar

“It is simple,” said Arnold’s father, “and it expresses what I felt.”

“Is that really the way you felt?” asked Miss Goering.