Brother and Sister (12 page)

***

He got home at two in the morning, three-quarters drunk and carrying a bottle of blended whiskey three-quarters empty. He was in a foul mood. The sight of Angie in his bed, sitting up with a book in her lap, waiting for him
--
and looking so
Goddamn beautiful!
--
only served to make his mood worse.

He had the irrational feeling that Angie would know, that she would be able to smell the other woman on him or something. He knew it wasn’t true, that the only thing she’d be able to smell on him would be booze, and that from across the room. Still he felt guilty and he had the feeling that he
looked
guilty. He was just drunk enough and mad enough and guilty enough to blame Angie for making him feel guilty.

He glowered at her and grumbled, “What the hell are you doing up so late? Don’t you know what time it is?”

“I was waiting up for you,” she said simply.

“What the hell for? What the hell are you looking at me that way for?”

“Paul
--
”

“Don’t get out of bed! Don’t take care of me, for Christ’s sake. I can take care of myself.”

He slammed the bottle down on the night table, stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed beside her, immediately rolling over on his side, away from her. He couldn’t look at her. She was so damn beautiful and sweet and
innocent.
And he was a rotten son-of-a-bitch, stinking of the pig pen, stinking of the pig he’d just pronged on Flattop.

“Turn off the goddamn light,” he growled, and shut his eyes.

She obediently switched out the light, and a moment later he felt her press herself against him, her arm coming around his waist, and she murmured, “Paul? Won’t you kiss me good night, Paul?”

It was too much, it was too damn much, and he yanked away from her, leaping out of the bed, crying out, “What the hell’s the matter with you? You’re my
sister,
for God’s sake! What’s the matter with you?”

The silence after that was so shocked, so ringing, so heavy with his guilt, that without another word he fumbled the bottle into his hand and fled the room. He went across the hall to her room, without turning on any lights, and collapsed on the bed.

He could hear his own words still ringing in the silence, felt the tingling of guilty horror. He tilted the bottle to his mouth, not taking it away until he was sucking air from it. Then he rolled over in the ringing, stunned silence and fell asleep.

ELEVEN

Angie didn’t wake up till noon on Sunday, the next day, which was only right since she hadn’t managed to get to sleep much before dawn.

She awoke suddenly and her first thought was of what Paul had said to her last night. She cowered beneath the covers, more alone and frightened than she had ever been in her life.

What a fool she was! Paul wasn’t her husband, he was her brother. He was her
brother!
How could she have ever done such things with him? How could she have ever shared his bed?

I’m lost,
she thought in terror.
I’m lost and there’s no way to get back again. There’s no way
--ever.

Distantly, she heard movement from downstairs and she burrowed even deeper into the bed. She just couldn’t face him now. How could she ever face anyone again after what she had done?

But no matter what the emotions are, the body goes on. She lay in bed for almost half an hour until hunger drove her out. She dressed with trembling stiff fingers glancing apprehensively at the door, terrified at the thought that Paul might come in and find her naked. And then, timidly, she crept downstairs. ·

He was in the kitchen, his face gray, his hands holding a cup of coffee. He looked at her, his eyes bleary, and shook his head.

“Angie,” he muttered. “Forgive me. I was drunk. I’m not even sure what I said. Don’t pay any attention to it. It didn’t mean anything.”

She opened her mouth to speak to him, to tell a lie, to say that it was all right, it was forgiven and forgotten, but she couldn’t get the words out. All she could do was nod, her eyes wide and frightened, betraying her feelings.

She couldn’t forgive and forget. He had told her the truth. There was nothing to forgive. She couldn’t forget, because his words were seared into her mind. Nothing would ever erase them.

She moved heavily across the kitchen, as though the weariness of age were weighing her down, and she started her breakfast.

He followed her with his eyes, waiting. She knew he wanted her to speak, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

At last, he broke the silence again. “Don’t you believe me? For God’s sake, Angie, I was drunk and out of my mind last night! You can’t put any stock in what a guy says when he’s stoned. You know that!”

Still she couldn’t speak.

He was getting more and more agitated. He got to his feet, kicking back the chair. “Angie, will you
say
something? This is ridiculous. Such a big fuss over a lousy coffee cup! Look at me. I’m going to rinse this cup out, right now. I’m going to wash it and dry it and put it back on its hook, right this minute. Are you watching me?”

She knew she was only making it worse for him by not speaking, but she couldn’t help it. She could only look at him with pitying, hurt, shame-darkened eyes.

I have no hold on you,
she thought.
I have no hold on you at all.

With a cry of rage, he hurled the coffee cup he’d been holding across the room. “Goddamn it, do you have to keep staring at me that way? I told you I was sorry. I told you it didn’t mean anything. I was
drunk,
Angie. Can’t you get that through your head? I was
drunk!”

She managed at last to whisper, “I’m sorry, Paul.”

But that was wrong.
“You’re
sorry!
You’re
sorry? What the hell are you sorry about? Or are you sorry you ever took up with me? Is that it?”

She shook her head, mute again, straining to keep from crying.

“Then why the hell didn’t you go off with Bob?” he demanded. “He’s in the Army now, isn’t he?”

She nodded and looked away from him, knowing her eyes were only making it worse for him.
What am I going to do?
she thought numbly.
I’m damned and lost.

“You should have gone with him,” cried Paul savagely. “You could have slept with the goddamn officers!”

She knew then that he wasn’t talking to her. He was talking to that girl he’d married in Germany. She sensed that she had only been a substitute for the girl in Germany, and she knew the girl must have hurt him very badly to make him want to pass on the hurt in this way.

Paul was storming around the kitchen now, red with rage, obviously no longer caring what he said, only caring that the words were barbed, that they could sting. “You think there’s anything
special
about you?” he cried. “You think I didn’t have better last night? Barbara Grant. Do you know her? She could teach you a hell of a lot!”

He’s gone from me,
she thought woodenly.

“What do you think you’re going to do, hang around my neck like a goddamn albatross all my life? Is that why you broke up with Bob? Well, you’ve got another goddamn think coming, believe you me. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t live with it, having you whining and whimpering all over me forever.” He stopped in his tracks, glaring at her, and made a decisive gesture with his hands. “It’s stopped,” he declared. “It’s stopped right now. It’s all over, finished. It never even happened.”

Paul stood there, glaring at her as though hoping he had finally managed to say something that would get some sort of response out of her. But when she remained silent, he made an explosive noise and stormed out of the room. She heard him rush through the house and out the front door, slamming it viciously behind him.

And she was alone.

She had no idea how long she stood there, leaning weakly against the refrigerator, before the bell rang. She knew only that she was there and she was lost and there was nothing left any more. Then the doorbell rang, rousing her, and she moved slowly through the house, not even wondering who it might be, not even caring.

It was Uncle James, smirking. “Hello, there, Angie,” he said, as though he felt very pleased with the world. “Is Paul around?”

“No,” she said flatly.

“Well, that’s okay, I’ll talk to you first.”

“No,” she said. “Let me alone.”

“This isn’t going to take long,” he assured her, stepping quickly into the house and closing the door behind him. “Just a minute, Angie, that’s all.”

“Please. No.”

“Just long enough for you to sign a little paper,” he said. He stepped around her and walked on into the living room, looking around approvingly at it, with the pride of ownership.

She trailed after him, stricken. “Please,” she begged. “Not now, Uncle James. Leave me alone.”

“Won’t take a minute,” he said briskly, turning to face her again. He withdrew a sheaf of papers from his inside coat pocket. “All you have to do,” he said, “is sign over your half-ownership of the house to me. That’s all there is to it. Here’s my pen and here’s where you sign.”

She looked at him blankly, not understanding why he should think she’d sign away her home.

He finally realized her bewilderment. “Oh, you don’t understand? Well, it’s simple, really. It all has to do with a window shade.”

She shook her head, not following him.

“You still don’t get it? Well, let’s put it this way: Paul should either have put that shade down earlier, or not at all.”

Then she remembered. After he had been here the last time, she and Paul had embraced in the living room, and then Paul had remembered to pull down the shade.

“That’s it,” he said, reading the expression on her face. “You remember it now.” He smiled and leaned toward her confidentially. “Here’s the way it is,” he said. “I really think you two
ought
to have separate apartments, do you see what I mean? And the situation being what it is, I have the feeling maybe the rest of the family would be on my side, after all.”

She shook her head, spasmodically.

“You don’t think so? Oh, you mean you don’t want me to say anything to the rest of the family? Well sure, Angie, anything to oblige. That’s why I brought this legal document along. Jake McDougall made it up for me. You’re an equal heir with your brother. Half of this house belongs to you. So all you have to do is sign that half over to me, and then your worries are through. See what I mean?”

“No,” she said. “I won’t.”

His smile broadened. “You haven’t really thought it over, Angie,” he said. “You think it over. Take your time.”

All at once, she broke down. The tears that had been building in her all morning finally burst out, and she collapsed to the floor, screaming in misery, her body shaking with the violence of her weeping.

He stood staring down at her, amazed and disconcerted. “Hey! Hey, listen, it isn’t all that bad! Angie?”

But she couldn’t even hear him any more. All she could hear were the echoes of Paul’s words to her, and her own words to Bob and all the words that had gone back and forth, and they had all ended here, in desolation, ruin, terror and loneliness and despair.

He mouthed words at her, trying to get her to stop, but nothing could stem her misery until it was all over, and at last he beat a hasty retreat, saying, “I’ll come back. When you’re feeling better. I
--
I’II come back later. When Paul’s here.”

And he was gone.

It took her a long while to cry herself out. When her sobs finally abated, she hadn’t calmed, she had simply been drained. She was no longer herself. She no longer knew what she was doing or why. Getting to her feet, she walked into the dining room, sat down at the secretary and opened the desk-front part of it. She took out a sheet of her mother’s stationery, picked up a ball-point pen and began to write:

Dear Bob,

I have got to tell you why I did what I did. Why I broke off with you. When l tell you, you will never want to have anything to do with me again. I have done a terrible thing, and I know you couldn’t forgive me, because I can’t ever forgive myself. I’ve lost everything and ruined everything.

It’s my fault, it really is. I know you will blame Paul, but it isn’t his fault. At least, it isn’t his fault any more than it is mine.

I don’t know why I’m writing this to you, but I have to tell somebody. I can’t stand it any more, knowing what I’ve done and knowing I can never change it and I’ve ruined anything that was ever good. And I’m sorry that I hurt you. I was selfish and vicious and stupid, and I’ve hurt everybody. I’ve hurt myself, I’ve hurt you and I’ve hurt Paul.

I have to write the word. I have to write it down on paper and look at it. It is the most difficult word in the world to write.

Incest.

I can’t tell you any more. That’s it, that’s all of it, and I am so ashamed and dirty that I don’t know what I can do. I will never be clean again. No one will ever want me now. I know you won’t and I understand. It’s all right. I do understand, and I don’t blame you.

You don’t have to write back to me. I don’t know why I’m writing this to you. I suppose it would be better just to let you alone and stay away from you, but I wanted you to understand that it was so much better for you not to have married me, because of the way I am. I am dirty and filthy and no one could ever want to marry me.

Good-bye,

Angela