My Sister's Hand in Mine (14 page)

The salesman, not caring to have anything more to do with the ash-tray lest he lose his job, carried it back to the table from which he had originally removed it and took up his position again behind the counter.

“Do you want either the handkerchief or the hat?” he asked of Mrs. Quill as though nothing had happened.

“She's got all the hats and the hankies she needs,” said Mrs. Quill. “I suppose I'd better go home.”

“Would you care to come to the desk with me and settle the bill?” asked the assistant manager.

“Well, if you'll just wait until tomorrow—”

“I'm afraid it is definitely against the rules of the hotel, madam. If you'll just step this way with me.” He turned to the waiter, who was following the conversation intently.
“Te necesitan afuera,”
he said to him, “go on.”

The waiter was about to say something, but he decided against it and walked slowly away towards the terrace. Mrs. Quill began to cry.

“Wait a minute,” she said, taking a handkerchief from her bag. “Wait a minute—I would like to telephone to my friend Pacifica.”

The assistant manager pointed in the direction of the telephone booths, and she hurried away, her face buried in her handkerchief. Fifteen minutes later she returned, crying more pitifully than before.

“Mrs. Copperfield is coming to get me—I told her all about it. I think I'll sit down somewhere and wait.”

“Does Mrs. Copperfield have the necessary funds with which to cover your bill?”

“I don't know,” said Mrs. Quill, walking away from him.

“You mean you don't know whether or not she will be able to pay your bill?”

“Yes, yes, she'll pay my bill. Please let me sit down over there.”

The manager nodded. Mrs. Quill fell into an armchair that stood beside a tall palm tree. She covered her face with her hands and continued to cry.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Copperfield arrived. In spite of the heat she was wearing a silver-fox cape which she had brought with her for use only in higher altitudes.

Although she was perspiring and badly made up, she felt assured of being treated with a certain amount of deference by the hotel employees because of the silver-fox cape.

She had awakened quite some time before and was again a little drunk. She rushed up to Mrs. Quill and kissed her on the top of her head.

“Where's the man who made you cry?” she asked.

Mrs. Quill looked around through her tear-veiled eyes and pointed to the assistant manager. Mrs. Copperfield beckoned to him with her index finger.

He came over to them and she asked him where she could get some flowers for Mrs. Quill.

“There's nothing like flowers when you're either sick at heart or physically ill,” she said to him. “She's been under a terrible strain. Would you get some flowers?” she asked, taking a twenty-dollar bill from her purse.

“There is no florist in the hotel,” said the assistant manager.

“That's not very luxurious,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

He did not reply.

“Well then,” she continued, “the next best thing to do is to buy her something nice to drink. I suggest that we all go to the bar.”

The assistant manager declined.

“But,” said Mrs. Copperfield, “I insist that you come along. I want to talk things over with you. I think you've been horrid.”

The assistant manager stared at her.

“The most horrid thing about you,” continued Mrs. Copperfield, “is that you're just as grouchy now that you know your bill will be paid as you were before. You were mean and worried then and you're mean and worried now. The expression on your face hasn't changed one bit. It's a dangerous man who reacts more or less in the same way to good news or bad news.”

Since he still made no effort to speak, she continued: “You've not only made Mrs. Quill completely miserable for no reason at all, but you've spoiled my fun too. You don't even know how to please the rich.” The assistant manager raised his eyebrows.

“You won't understand this but I shall tell it to you anyway. I came here for two reasons. The first reason, naturally, was in order to get my friend Mrs. Quill out of trouble; the second reason was in order to see your face when you realized that a bill which you never expected to be paid was to be paid after all. I expected to be able to watch the transition. You understand—enemy into friend—that's always terribly exciting. That's why in a good movie the hero often hates the heroine until the very end. But you, of course, wouldn't dream of lowering your standards. You think it would be cheap to turn into an affable human being because you discovered there was money where you had been sure there was no money to be forthcoming. Do you think the rich mind? They never get enough of it. They want to be liked for their money too, and not only for themselves. You're not even a good hotel manager. You're definitely a boor in every way.”

The assistant manager looked down with loathing at Mrs. Copperfield's upturned face. He hated her sharp features and her high voice. He found her even more disgusting than Mrs. Quill. He was not fond of women anyway.

“You have no imagination,” she said,
“none whatever!
You are missing everything. Where do I pay my bill?”

All the way home Mrs. Copperfield felt sad because Mrs. Quill was dignified and remote and did not give her the lavish thanks which she had been expecting.

*   *   *

Early the next morning Mrs. Copperfield and Pacifica were together in Pacifica's bedroom. The sky was beginning to grow light. Mrs. Copperfield had never seen Pacifica this drunk. Her hair was pushed up on her head. It looked now somewhat like a wig which is a little too small for the wearer. Her pupils were very large and slightly filmed. There was a large dark spot on the front of her checked skirt, and her breath smelled very strongly of whisky. She stumbled over to the window and looked out. It was quite dark in the room. Mrs. Copperfield could barely discern the red and purple squares in Pacifica's skirt. She could not see her legs at all, the shadows were so deep, but she knew the heavy yellow silk stockings and the white sneakers well.

“It's so lovely,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

“Beautiful,” said Pacifica, turning around, “beautiful.” She moved unsteadily around the room. “Listen,” she said, “the most wonderful thing to do now is to go to the beach and swim in the water. If you have enough money we can take a taxicab and go. Come on. Will you?”

Mrs. Copperfield was very startled indeed, but Pacifica was already pulling a blanket from the bed. “Please,” she said. “You cannot know how much pleasure this would give me. You must take that towel over there.”

The beach was not very far away. When they arrived, Pacifica told the cab-driver to come back in two hours.

The shore was strewn with rocks; this was a disappointment to Mrs. Copperfield. Although the wind was not very strong, she noticed that the top branches of the palm trees were shaking.

Pacifica took her clothes off and immediately walked into the water. She stood for a time with her legs wide apart, the water scarcely reaching to her shins, while Mrs. Copperfield sat on a rock trying to decide whether or not to remove her own clothes. There was a sudden splash and Pacifica started to swim. She swam first on her back and then on her stomach, and Mrs. Copperfield was certain that she could hear her singing. When at last Pacifica grew tired of splashing about in the water, she stood up and walked towards the beach. She took tremendous strides and her pubic hair hung between her legs sopping wet. Mrs. Copperfield looked a little embarrassed, but Pacifica plopped down beside her and asked her why she did not come in the water.

“I can't swim,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

Pacifica looked up at the sky. She could see now that it was not going to be a completely fair day.

“Why do you sit on that terrible rock?” said Pacifica. “Come, take your clothes off and we go in the water. I will teach you to swim.”

“I was never able to learn.”

“I will teach you. If you cannot learn I will let you sink. No, this is only a joke. Don't take it serious.”

Mrs. Copperfield undressed. She was very white and thin, and her spine was visible all the way along her back. Pacifica looked at her body without saying a word.

“I know I have an awful figure,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

Pacifica did not answer. “Come,” she said, getting up and putting her arm around Mrs. Copperfield's waist.

They stood with the water up to their thighs, facing the beach and the palm trees. The trees appeared to be moving behind a mist. The beach was colorless. Behind them the sky was growing lighter very rapidly, but the sea was still almost black. Mrs. Copperfield noticed a red fever sore on Pacifica's lip. Water was dripping from her hair onto her shoulders.

She turned away from the beach and pulled Mrs. Copper-field farther out into the water.

Mrs. Copperfield held onto Pacifica's hand very hard. Soon the water was up to her chin.

“Now lie on your back. I will hold you under your head,” said Pacifica.

Mrs. Copperfield looked around wildly, but she obeyed, and floated on her back with only the support of Pacifica's open hand under her head to keep her from sinking. She could see her own narrow feet floating on top of the water. Pacifica started to swim, dragging Mrs. Copperfield along with her. As she had only the use of one arm, her task was an arduous one and she was soon breathing like a bull. The touch of her hand underneath the head of Mrs. Copperfield was very light—in fact, so light that Mrs. Copperfield feared that she would be left alone from one minute to the next. She looked up. The sky was packed with gray clouds. She wanted to say something to Pacifica, but she did not dare to turn her head.

Pacifica swam a little farther inland. Suddenly she stood up and placed both her hands firmly in the small of Mrs. Copper-field's back. Mrs. Copperfield felt happy and sick at once. She turned her face and in so doing she brushed Pacifica's heavy stomach with her cheek. She held on hard to Pacifica's thigh with the strength of years of sorrow and frustration in her hand.

“Don't leave me,” she called out.

At this moment Mrs. Copperfield was strongly reminded of a dream that had recurred often during her life. She was being chased up a short hill by a dog. At the top of the hill there stood a few pine trees and a mannequin about eight feet high. She approached the mannequin and discovered her to be fashioned out of flesh, but without life. Her dress was of black velvet, and tapered to a very narrow width at the hem. Mrs. Copperfield wrapped one of the mannequin's arms tightly around her own waist. She was startled by the thickness of the arm and very pleased. The mannequin's other arm she bent upward from the elbow with her free hand. Then the mannequin began to sway backwards and forwards. Mrs. Copperfield clung all the more tightly to the mannequin and together they fell off the top of the hill and continued rolling for quite a distance until they landed on a little walk, where they remained locked in each other's arms. Mrs. Copperfield loved this part of the dream best; and the fact that all the way down the hill the mannequin acted as a buffer between herself and the broken bottles and little stones over which they fell gave her particular satisfaction.

Pacifica had resurrected the emotional content of her dream for a moment, which Mrs. Copperfield thought was certainly the reason for her own peculiar elation.

“Now,” said Pacifica, “if you don't mind I will take one more swim by myself.” But first she helped Mrs. Copperfield to her feet and led her back to the beach, where Mrs. Copperfield collapsed on the sand and hung her head like a wilted flower. She was trembling and exhausted as one is after a love experience. She looked up at Pacifica, who noticed that her eyes were more luminous and softer than she had ever seen them before.

“You should go in the water more,” said Pacifica; “you stay in the house too much.”

She ran back into the water and swam back and forth many times. The sea was now blue and much rougher than it had been earlier. Once during the course of her swimming Pacifica rested on a large flat rock which the outgoing tide had uncovered. She was directly in the line of the hazy sun's pale rays. Mrs. Copperfield had a difficult time being able to see her at all and soon she fell asleep.

*   *   *

Upon arriving back at the hotel, Pacifica announced to Mrs. Copperfield that she was going to sleep like a dead person. “I hope I don't wake up for ten days,” she said.

Mrs. Copperfield watched her stumble down the bright green corridor, yawning and tossing her head.

“Two weeks I'll sleep,” she said again, and then she went into her room and shut the door behind her. In her own room Mrs. Copperfield decided that she had better call on Mr. Copperfield. She went downstairs and walked out into the street, which seemed to be moving as it had on the first day of her arrival. There were a few people already seated on their balconies who were looking down at her. A very thin girl, wearing a red silk dress which hung down to her ankles, was crossing the street towards her. She looked surprisingly young and fresh. When Mrs. Copperfield was nearer to her she decided that she was a Malayan. She was rather startled when the girl stopped directly in front of her and addressed her in perfect English.

“Where have you been that you got your hair all wet?” she said.

“I've been taking a swim with a friend of mine. We—we went early to the beach.” Mrs. Copperfield didn't feel much like talking.

“What beach?” asked the girl.

“I don't know,” said Mrs. Copperfield.

“Well, did you walk there or did you ride?”

“We rode.”

“There isn't any beach really near enough to walk to, I guess,” said the girl.

“No, I guess there isn't,” said Mrs. Copperfield, sighing and looking around her. The girl was walking along with her.