Charles Williams - Hill Girl

Her eyes were hot as she glared at me like a female wildcat. “I’ll teach you,” she said. “I’ll teach you how to grab me like that, like a crazy man.”

“O.K.,” I said. “Keep your shirt on. I ought to break your damn little neck.” I went back and lay down across the bed and lit another cigarette and looked out the window.

There was a long silence, as though she hadn’t moved, and I began to wonder what she was doing back there, but I was so angry I didn’t care. To hell with her.

Suddenly she was there beside me on the bed, facing me with her head cradled across her folded arm and looking at me contritely.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I’m awful sorry, Bob. Will you forgive me?”

“O.K.,” I said. “Forget it.”

“Not until you say you forgive me.” Her eyes looked at me pleadingly and her hair was spread out across her arm within inches of my face. It was beautiful hair, a little darker than golden, and I was thinking it was just the color of wild honey.

“It wasn’t anything,” I said. “And it was my fault.”

“No. It was mine. But you scared me and made me mad, the wild way you acted. You were so rough.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She regarded me a moment, wide-eyed, and then went on softly, “You don’t have to be that rough, do you?”

She didn’t hit me this time. She put her arms up around my neck and pulled my head down like a swimmer who was drowning.

We lay side by side on the bed for a long time afterward, not saying anything and just being quiet under the cool breeze from the overhead fan. She sighed after a while and murmured something.

“What?” I asked.

“I said it’s nice here, Bob. Don’t you like it?”

“It’s nice anywhere,” I said.

She ignored it. “You know what I mean. Our room is nice.”

“Why did you do it?” I asked. I was beginning to think that Angelina was something I wouldn’t ever understand. There were too many of her.

“Do what?” she asked quietly.

“You didn’t do anything?”

“I just wanted you to see my new clothes. Because you were so nice and bought them for me.”

“Yes, I know,” I said. “And then the strangest thing happened. You just can’t account for it.”

She turned her face and smiled lazily.

“If you’re really interested in an unbiased and analytical criticism of those tag ends of clothes,” I said, “let me give you a little advice. Display them unoccupied. When you get in there you only confuse the issue.”

“I didn’t think you liked me.” She always got back to that.

“It isn’t a question of liking you, any more than of liking being hit between the eyes with a sledge hammer. It has the same effect.”

“You know something?” she said suddenly, raising up and resting her elbows on my chest and looking at me with little devils of mirth in her eyes. “Someday you’re going to slip and say something nice about me.”

“No doubt.”

“We’re getting to be better friends, aren’t we?”

“Sure, sure,” I said. “If we just keep on breaking the ice with these friendly little gestures. May I call you by your first name, now that we’re sleeping together? I somehow feel as if I knew you.”

I could have kicked myself after I’d said it. Why did I have to keep on riding her? But she didn’t flare up as I expected she would.

“You think I’m pretty rotten, don’t you?” She wasn’t angry that I could see. She was just quiet and her eyes were a little moody. I hated the thing I had said for the way it had driven the laughter out of her eyes, and I hated myself for saying it.

“No,” I said. “And I apologize for that last crack. It was just from habit, I guess. But I didn’t mean it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “We don’t have to pretend anything, do we?”

We were quiet for a long time and finally I said, “How do you feel about getting married? Have you ever thought about it before?”

“What girl hasn’t?”

“Anybody in particular?”

“No-o,” she said thoughtfully. “But then, I don’t know many men. Papa would never let me go anywhere or have dates. The only way I could go out with boys or even meet ‘em was to sneak out. And you know what they expect right away if you do that.”

“What could he have done if you’d just told him you were going to a dance or something in spite of his orders?”

“He would have whipped me with a leather strap.”

“You mean, when you were little?”

“No. I mean in the past two months.” She said it quietly, but with an unforgiving bitterness.

“Doesn’t he know you can’t raise a girl that way? You can’t even treat a dog like that.”

“I know. But he understands dogs. He says you mustn’t break a dog’s spirit if it’s going to be a good hunting dog.”

“I don’t think he ever broke your spirit.”

“No. He never would have. I guess I’m just as tough as he is. I sneaked out and I’m not ashamed of it. I guess I’m no good, the way you think, but I’d rather be that than the way he wanted me to be. I’m away from him now and I’ll never go back.”

“But what about your mother? She’s never been like that to you, has she? And you didn’t even say good-by to her when we left.”

“I feel sorry for her. She hasn’t got any mind of her own any more. And I didn’t say good-by to her because I was afraid I’d cry. I hated you and I hated him and I would have died before I would have let either one of you see me cry.”

“But you don’t hate me so much now?”

“No. Because you were nice to me. And because you bought me those clothes. Maybe it wasn’t just the clothes themselves, but the idea of anybody doing anything that nice for me. I know I’m letting you believe you just bought me with them, but I guess you’ll just have to think that, and maybe it’s true.”

“Did they really mean that much to you?”

“Yes, Bob. There isn’t any way I can make you understand just how much they do mean. You’d have to be a girl to understand.”

“Are you in love with Lee?” I asked.

“No.”

“Weren’t you? Not at all?”

“No. I like him, and he can be awfully sweet to you, but that’s all it was.”

“Did you think he was in love with you?”

“He said he was going to divorce his wife and marry me.

“He would,” I said. “And you believed him?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Not at all?”

“You don’t think I’ve got much sense, do you, Bob? Of course I didn’t believe him. I knew what he wanted, and that was all he wanted.”

“Then, in Christ’s name, Angelina, why did you do it?”

She was quiet a long time and I thought she wasn’t going to answer. After all, it wasn’t any of my business. Then she said quietly, “Does there have to be a reason?”

“Well, hell, there ought to be a reason for everything.”

“Maybe I just wanted somebody to say he loved me, even if he was lying. And I guess I didn’t care much, anyway.”

I lay there for a while, wondering what it was like not to care when you’re eighteen.

I got up and mixed another drink and sat in the chair by the window while she was getting ready to go out. After I finished the drink I got a clean shirt out of the bag and put it on and finished dressing and wandered impatiently around the room waiting for her, feeling irritable about the heat but not quite as savage about it as I was a while ago.

When she did come out I wasn’t quite prepared for the shock of her altered appearance. I don’t know whether it was the new clothes or the new expression in the eyes, but Angelina had a different look. And that look was lovely.

She had on the brown linen suit and it fitted her perfectly. She was wearing a soft yellow blouse with the suit and had on a pair of very sheer nylons and the high-heeled white shoes. She could have been any girl you’d see on a college campus except for the hair. She had it rolled into a soft knot at the back of her neck, and while it was difficult to get used to the idea of a young girl with long hair, I found myself wondering why women had to cut it off anyway.