My Sister's Hand in Mine (5 page)

Arnold's mother, who was a very gauche woman, did not offer Miss Goering any of the cake; instead, hugging the platter close to her, she said to Miss Goering: “Have you known Arnold for long?”

“No, I met your son tonight, at a party.”

“Well,” said Arnold's mother, putting the tray down and sitting on the sofa, “I guess that isn't long, is it?”

Arnold's father was annoyed with his wife and showed it plainly in his face.

“I hate that pink wrapper,” he said.

“Why do you talk about that now when there is company?”

“Because the company doesn't make the wrapper look any different.” He winked broadly at Miss Goering and then burst out laughing. Miss Goering again laughed heartily at his remark. Arnold was even glummer than he had been a moment before.

“Miss Goering,” said Arnold, “was afraid to go home alone, so I told her that she was welcome to sleep in the extra room. Although the bed isn't very comfortable in there, I think that she will at least have privacy.”

“And
why,
” said Arnold's father, “was Miss Goering afraid to go home alone?”

“Well,” said Arnold, “it is not really very safe for a lady to wander about the streets or even to be in a taxi without an escort at so late an hour. Particularly if she has very far to go. Of course if she hadn't had so far to go I should naturally have accompanied her myself.”

“You sound like a sissy, the way you talk,” said his father. “I thought that you and your friends were not afraid of such things. I thought you were wild ones and that rape meant no more to you than flying a balloon.”

“Oh, don't talk like that,” said Arnold's mother, looking really horrified. “Why do you talk like that to them?”

“I wish you would go to bed,” Arnold's father said. “As a matter of fact, I am going to order you to go to bed. You are getting a cold.”

“Isn't he terrible?” said Arnold's mother, smiling at Miss Goering. “Even when there is company in the house he can't control his lion nature. He
has
a nature like a lion, roaring in the apartment all day long, and he gets so upset about Arnold and his friends.”

Arnold's father stamped out of the room and they heard a door slam down the hall.

“Excuse me,” said Arnold's mother to Miss Goering, “I didn't want to upset the party.”

Miss Goering was very annoyed, for she found the old man quite exhilarating, and Arnold himself was depressing her more and more.

“I think I'll show you where you're going to sleep,” said Arnold, getting up from the sofa and in so doing allowing some magazines to slide from his lap to the floor. “Oh, well,” he said, “come this way. I'm pretty sleepy and disgusted with this whole affair.”

Miss Goering followed Arnold reluctantly down the hall.

“Dear me,” she said to Arnold, “I must confess that I am not sleepy. There is really nothing worse, is there?”

“No, it's dreadful,” said Arnold. “I personally am ready to fall down on the carpet and lie there until tomorrow noon, I am so completely exhausted.”

Miss Goering thought this remark a very inhospitable one and she began to feel a little frightened. Arnold was obliged to search for the key to the spare room, and Miss Goering was left standing alone in front of the door for some time.

“Control yourself,” she whispered out loud, for her heart was beginning to beat very quickly. She wondered how she had ever allowed herself to come so far from her house and Miss Gamelon. Arnold returned finally with the key and opened the door to the room.

It was a very small room and much colder than the room in which they had been sitting. Miss Goering expected that Arnold would be extremely embarrassed about this, but although he shivered and rubbed his hands together, he said nothing. There were no curtains at the window, but there was a yellow shade, which had already been pulled down. Miss Goering threw herself down on the bed.

“Well, my dear,” said Arnold, “good night. I'm going to bed Maybe we'll go and see some paintings tomorrow, or if you like I'll come out to your house.” He put his arms around her neck and kissed her very lightly on the lips and left the room.

She was so angry that there were tears in her eyes. Arnold stood outside of the door for a little while and then after a few minutes he walked away.

Miss Goering went over to the bureau and leaned her head on her hands. She remained in this position for a long time in spite of the fact that she was shivering with the cold. Finally there was a light tap on the door. She stopped crying as abruptly as she had begun and hurried to open the door. She saw Arnold's father standing outside in the badly lighted hall. He was wearing pink striped pajamas and he gave her a brief salute as a greeting. After that he stood very still, waiting apparently for Miss Goering to ask him in.

“Come in, come in,” she said to him, “I'm delighted to see you. Heavens! I've had such a feeling of being deserted.”

Arnold's father came in and balanced himself on the foot of Miss Goering's bed, where he sat swinging his legs. He lit his pipe in rather an affected manner and looked around him at the walls of the room.

“Well, lady,” he said to her, “are you an artist too?”

“No,” said Miss Goering. “I wanted to be a religious leader when I was young and now I just reside in my house and try not to be too unhappy. I have a friend living with me, which makes it easier.”

“What do you think of my son?” he asked, winking at her.

“I have only just met him,” said Miss Goering.

“You'll discover soon enough,” said Arnold's father, “that he's a rather inferior person. He has no conception of what it is to fight. I shouldn't think women would like that very much. As a matter of fact, I don't think Arnold has had many women in his life. If you'll forgive me for passing this information on to you. I myself am used to fighting. I've fought my neighbors all my life instead of sitting down and having tea with them like Arnold. And my neighbors have fought me back like tigers too. Now that's not Arnold's kind of thing. My life's ambition always has been to be a notch higher on the tree than my neighbors and I was willing to admit complete disgrace too when I ended up perching a notch lower than anybody else I knew. I haven't been out in a good many years. Nobody comes to see me and I don't go to see anybody. Now, with Arnold and his friends nothing ever really begins or finishes. They're like fish in dirty water to me. If life don't please them one way and nobody likes them one place, then they go someplace else. They aim to please and be pleased; that's why it's so easy to come and bop them on the head from behind, because they've never done any serious hating in their lives.”

“What a strange doctrine!” said Miss Goering.

“This is no doctrine,” said Arnold's father. “These are my own ideas, taken from my own personal experience. I'm a great believer in personal experience, aren't you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Goering, “and I do think you're right about Arnold.” She felt a curious delight in running down Arnold.

“Now Arnold,” continued his father, and he seemed to grow gayer as he talked, “Arnold could never bear to have anyone catch him sitting on the lowest notch. Everyone knows how big your house is, and men who are willing to set their happiness by that are men of iron.”

“Arnold is not an artist, anyway,” put in Miss Goering.

“No, that is just it,” said Arnold's father, getting more and more excited. “That's just it! He hasn't got the brawn nor the nerve nor the perseverance to be a good artist. An artist must have brawn and pluck and character. Arnold is like my wife,” he continued. “I married her when she was twenty years old because of certain business interests. Every time I tell her that, she cries. She's another fool. She doesn't love me a bit, but it scares her to think of it, so that she cries. She's green-eyed with jealousy too and she's coiled around her family and her house like a python, although she doesn't have a good time here. Her life, as a matter of fact, is a wretched one, I must admit. Arnold's ashamed of her and I knock her around all day long. But in spite of the fact that she is a timid woman, she is capable of showing a certain amount of violence and brawn. Because she too, like myself, is faithful to one ideal, I suppose.”

Just then there was a smart rap on the door. Arnold's father did not say a word, but Miss Goering called out in a clear voice: “Who is it?”

“It's me, Arnold's mother,” came the answer. “Please let me in right away.”

“Just one moment,” said Miss Goering, “and I certainly shall.”

“No,” said Arnold's father. “Don't open the door. She has no right whatsoever to command anyone to open the door.”

“You had better open it,” said his wife. “Otherwise, I'll call the police, and I mean that very seriously. I have never threatened to call them before, you know.”

“Yes, you did threaten to call them once before,” said Arnold's father, looking very worried.

“The way I feel about my life,” said Arnold's mother, “I'd just as soon open all the doors and let everyone come in the house and witness my disgrace.”

“That's the last thing she'd ever do,” said Arnold's father. “She talks like a fool when she's angry.”

“I'll let her in,” said Miss Goering, walking towards the door. She did not feel very frightened because Arnold's mother, judging from her voice, sounded more as though she was sad than angry. But when Miss Goering opened the door she was surprised to see that, on the contrary, her face was blanched with anger and her eyes were little narrow slits.

“Why do you pretend always to sleep so well?” said Arnold's father. This was the only remark he was able to think of, although he realized himself how inadequate it must have sounded to his wife.

“You're a harlot,” said his wife to Miss Goering. Miss Goering was gravely shocked by this remark, and very much to her own amazement, for she had always thought that such things meant nothing to her.

“I am afraid you are entirely on the wrong track,” said Miss Goering, “and I believe that some day we shall be great friends.”

“I'll thank you to let me choose my own friends,” Arnold's mother answered her. “I already have my friends, as a matter of fact, and I don't expect to add any more to my list, and least of all, you.”

“Still, you can't tell,” said Miss Goering rather weakly backing up a bit, and trying to lean in an easy manner against the bureau. Unfortunately, in calling Miss Goering a harlot Arnold's mother had suggested to her husband the stand that he would take to defend himself.

“How dare you!” he said. “How dare you call anyone that is staying in our house a harlot! You are violating the laws of hospitality to the hundredth degree and I am not going to stand for it.”

“Don't bully me,” said Arnold's mother. “She's got to go right away this minute or I will make a scandal and you'll be sorry.”

“Look, my dear,” said Arnold's father to Miss Goering. “Perhaps it would be better if you did go, for your own sake. It is beginning to grow light, so that you needn't be at all frightened.”

Arnold's father looked around nervously and then hurried out of the room and down the hall, followed by his wife. Miss Goering heard a door slam and she imagined that they would continue their argument in private.

She herself ran headlong down the hall and out of the house. She found a taxicab after walking a little while and she hadn't been riding more than a few minutes before she fell asleep.

*   *   *

On the following day the sun was shining and both Miss Gamelon and Miss Goering were sitting on the lawn arguing. Miss Goering was stretched out on the grass. Miss Gamelon seemed the more discontented of the two. She was frowning and looking over her shoulder at the house, which was behind them. Miss Goering had her eyes shut and there was a faint smile on her face.

“Well,” said Miss Gamelon turning around, “you know so little about what you're doing that it's a real crime against society that you have property in your hands. Property should be in the hands of people who like it.”

“I think,” said Miss Goering, “that I like it more than most people. It gives me a comfortable feeling of safety, as I have explained to you at least a dozen times. However, in order to work out my own little idea of salvation I really believe that it is necessary for me to live in some more tawdry place and particularly in some place where I was not born.”

“In my opinion,” said Miss Gamelon, “you could perfectly well work out your salvation during certain hours of the day without having to move everything.”

“No,” said Miss Goering, “that would not be in accordance with the spirit of the age.”

Miss Gamelon shifted in her chair.

“The spirit of the age, whatever that is,” she said, “I'm sure it can get along beautifully without you—probably would prefer it.”

Miss Goering smiled and shook her head.

“The idea,” said Miss Goering, “is to change first of our own volition and according to our own inner promptings before they impose completely arbitrary changes on us.”

“I have no such promptings,” said Miss Gamelon, “and I think you have a colossal nerve to identify yourself with anybody else at all. As a matter of fact, I think that if you leave this house, I shall give you up as a hopeless lunatic. After all, I am not the sort of person that is interested in living with a lunatic, nor is anyone else.”

“When I have given you up,” said Miss Goering, sitting up and throwing her head back in an exalted manner, “when I have given you up, I shall have given up more than my house, Lucy.”

“That's one of your nastinesses,” said Miss Gamelon. “It goes in one of my ears and then out the other.”