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

“What white dog?” she said.

“Señora Espinoza has bought a little white dog for the children.”

The wind was blowing and the children were chasing each other around the back patio. Señora Ramirez sat down on one of the little straight-backed chairs with her hands folded in her lap. The thought came into her mind that most days were likely to be cold and windy rather than otherwise, and that there would be many days to come exactly like this one. Unconsciously she had always felt that these were the days preferred by God, although they had never been much to her own liking.

The traveler was packing with the vivacity of one who is in the habit of making little excursions away from the charmed fold to return almost immediately.

“Wow!” he said joyfully to himself. “I sure have been giddy in this place, but the bad dream is over now.” It was nearly bus time. He carried his bags out to the patio, and was confused to find Señora Ramirez sitting there. He prompted himself to be pleasant.

“Señora,” he said, walking over to her. “It’s goodby now till we meet again.”

“What do you say?” she asked.

“I’m taking the twelve o’clock bus. I’m going home.”

“Ah! You must be very happy to go home.” She did not think of looking away from his face. “Do you take a boat?” she asked, staring harder.

“Yes. Five days on the boat.”

“How wonderful that must be. Or maybe it makes you sick.” She put her hand over her stomach.

“I have never been seasick in my life.”

She said nothing to this.

He backed against the parrot swinging on its perch, and stepped forward again quickly as it leaned to bite him.

“Is there anyone you would like me to look up in the United States?”

“No. You will be coming back in not such a long time?”

“No. I don’t think I will come back here again. Well.…” He put out his hand and she stood up. She was fairly impressive in her black clothes. He looked at the beads that covered her chest.

“Well, good-bye, señora. I was very happy to have met you.”

“ Adios, señor, and may God protect you on your trip. You will be coming back maybe. You don’t know.”

He shook his head and walked over to the Indian boy standing by his luggage. They went out into the street and the heavy door closed with a bang. Señora Ramirez looked around the patio. She saw Señorita Córdoba move away from the half-open bedroom door where she had been standing.

Beryl knocked on Harriet’s cabin door and was given permission to enter. She found her friend seated near the window, an open letter in her hand.

“Good evening, Beryl,” said Harriet. “I was just reading a letter from my sister.” Her fragile, spinsterish face wore a canny yet slightly hysterical expression.

Beryl, a stocky blond waitress with stubborn eyes, had developed a dogged attachment to Harriet and sat in her cabin whenever she had a moment to spare. She rarely spoke in Harriet’s presence, nor was she an attentive listener.

“I’ll read you what she says; have a seat.” Harriet indicated a straight chair and Beryl dragged it into a dark corner where she sat down. It creaked dangerously under the weight of her husky body.

“Hope I don’t bust the chair,” said Beryl, and she blushed furiously, digging her hands deep into the pockets of the checked plus-fours she habitually wore when she was not on duty.

“‘Dear Sister,’” Harriet read. “‘You are still at Camp Cataract visiting the falls and enjoying them. I always want you to have a good time. This is your fifth week away. I suppose you go on standing behind the falls with much enjoyment like you told me all the guests did. I think you said only the people who don’t stay overnight have to pay to stand behind the waterfall … you stay ten weeks … have a nice time, dear. Here everything is exactly the same as when you left. The apartment doesn’t change. I have something I want to tell you, but first let me say that if you get nervous, why don’t you come home instead of waiting until you are no good for the train trip? Such a thing could happen. I wonder of course how you feel about the apartment once you are by the waterfall. Also, I want to put this to you. Knowing that you have an apartment and a loving family must make Camp Cataract quite a different place than it would be if it were all the home and loving you had. There must be wretches like that up there. If you see them, be sure to give them loving because they are the lost souls of the earth. I fear nomads. I am afraid of them and afraid for them too. I don’t know what I would do if any of my dear ones were seized with the wanderlust. We are meant to cherish those who through God’s will are given into our hands. First of all come the members of the family, and for this it is better to live as close as possible. Maybe you would say, “Sadie is old-fashioned; she doesn’t want people to live on their own.” I am not old-fashioned, but I don’t want any of us to turn into nomads. You don’t grow rich in spirit by widening your circle but by tending your own. When you are gone, I get afraid about you. I think that you might be seized with the wanderlust and that you are not remembering the apartment very much. Particularly this trip … but then I know this cannot be true and that only my nerves make me think such things. It’s so hot out. This is a record-breaking summer. Remember, the apartment is not just a row of rooms. It is the material proof that our spirits are so wedded that we have but one blessed roof over our heads. There are only three of us in the apartment related by blood, but Bert Hoffer has joined the three through the normal channels of marriage, also sacred. I know that you feel this way too about it and that just nerves makes me think Camp Cataract can change anything. May I remind you also that if this family is a garland, you are the middle flower; for me you are anyway. Maybe Evy’s love is now flowing more to Bert Hoffer because he’s her husband, which is natural. I wish they didn’t think you needed to go to Camp Cataract because of your spells. Haven’t I always tended you when you had them? Bert’s always taken Evy to the Hoffers and we’ve stayed together, just the two of us, with the door safely locked so you wouldn’t in your excitement run to a neighbor’s house at all hours of the morning. Evy liked going to the Hoffers because they always gave her chicken with dumplings or else goose with red cabbage. I hope you haven’t got it in your head that just because you are an old maid you have to go somewhere and be by yourself. Remember, I am also an old maid. I must close now, but I am not satisfied with my letter because I have so much more to say. I know you love the apartment and feel the way I feel. You are simply getting a tourist’s thrill out of being there in a cabin like all of us do. I count the days until your sweet return. Your loving sister, Sadie.’”

Harriet folded the letter. “Sister Sadie,” she said to Beryl, “is a great lover of security.”

“She sounds swell,” said Beryl, as if Harriet were mentioning her for the first time, which was certainly not the case.

“I have no regard for it whatsoever,” Harriet announced in a positive voice. “ None. In fact, I am a great admirer of the nomad, vagabonds, gypsies, seafaring men. I tip my hat to them; the old prophets roamed the world for that matter too, and most of the visionaries.” She folded her hands in her lap with an air of satisfaction. Then, clearing her throat as if for a public address, she continued. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn about feeling part of a community, I can assure you.… That’s not why I stay on at the apartment … not for a minute, but it’s a good reason why she does … I mean Sadie; she loves a community spirit and she loves us all to be in the apartment because the apartment is in the community. She can get an actual thrill out of knowing that. But of course I can’t … I never could, never in a thousand years.”