cw.imarriedadeadman-第15章

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　He　didn't　try　to　follow。　He　stood　there　where　she'd　left　him。
　〃You're　afraid　I'll　kiss　you。〃
　〃No；　that　isn't　what　I'm　afraid　of；〃　she　murmured　almost　inaudibly。　〃I'm　afraid　I'll　want　you　to。〃
　The　door　closed　after　her。
　He　stood　out　there　in　the　full　bleach　of　the　moonlight；　motionless；　looking　sadly　downward。
　
　
　25
　
　In　the　morning　the　world　was　sweet　just　to　look　at　from　her　window。　The　sense　of　peace；　of　safety；　of　belonging；　was　being　woven　about　her　stronger　all　the　time。　Soon　nothing　could　tear　its　fabric　apart　again。　To　wake　up　in　your　own　room；　in　your　own　home；　your　own　roof　over　your　head。　To　find　your　little　son　awake　before　you　and　peering　expectantly　out　through　his　crib；　and　giving　you　that　crowing　smile　of　delight　that　was　already　something　special　he　gave　to　no　one　but　you。　To　lift　him　up　and　hold　him　to　you；　and　have　to　curb　yourself；　you　wanted　to　squeeze　so　tightly。　Then　to　carry　him　over　to　the　window　with　you；　and　hold　the　curtain　back；　and　look　out　at　the　world。　Show　him　the　world　you'd　found　for　him；　the　world　you'd　made　for　him。
　The　early　sunlight　like　goldenrod　pollen　lightly　dusting　the　sidewalks　and　the　roadway　out　front。　The　azure　shadows　under　the　trees　and　at　the　lee　sides　of　all　the　houses。　A　man　sprinkling　a　lawn　a　few　doors　down；　the　water　fraying　from　the　nozzle　of　his　hose　twinkling　like　diamonds。　He　looked　up　and　saw　you；　and　he　gave　you　a　neighborly　wave　of　the　hand；　though　you　didn't　know　him　very　well。　And　you　took　Hughie's　little　hand　at　the　wrist；　and　waved　it　back　to　him　in　answering　greeting。
　Yes；　in　the　mornings　the　world　was　sweet　all　right。
　Then　to　dress；　to　dress　for　two；　and　to　go　downstairs　to　the　pleasant　room　waiting　for　you　below；　to　Mother　Hazzard；　and　her　fresh…picked　flowers；　and　her　affectionate；　sunny　greeting；　and　the　mirror…like　reflection　of　the　coffee…percolator　（that　always　delighted　him　so）　showing　squat；　pudgy　images　seated　around　it　on　its　various　facets：　an　elderly　lady；　and　a　much　younger　lady；　and　a　very　young　young…man；　the　center　of　attraction　in　his　high　chair。
　To　be　safe；　to　be　at　home；　to　be　among　your　own。
　Even　mail　for　you；　a　letter　of　your　own；　waiting　for　you　at　your　place。　She　felt　a　pleased　little　sense　of　pletion　at　sight　of　it。　There　was　no　greater　token　of　permanency；　of　belonging；　than　that。　Mail　of　your　own；　sent　to　your　home。
　〃Mrs。　Patrice　Hazzard；〃　and　the　address。　Once　that　name　had　frightened　her。　It　didn't　now。　In　a　little　while　she　would　no　longer　even　remember　that　there　had　been　another　name；　once；　before　it。　A　lonely；　frightened　name；　drifting　ownerless；　unclaimed；　about　the　world　now…
　〃Now　Hughie；　not　so　fast；　finish　what　you've　got　first。〃
　She　opened　it；　and　there　was　nothing　in　it；　Or　rather；　nothing　written　on　it。　For　a　moment　she　thought　there　must　have　been　a　mistake。　Just　blank　paper。　No；　wait；　the　other　way　around…
　Three　small　words；　almost　buried　in　the　seam　that　folded　the　sheet　in　two；　almost　overlooked　in　the　snowy　expanse　that　surrounded　them。
　
　〃WHO　ARE　YOU？〃
　
　
　26
　
　In　the　mornings　the　world　was　bitter…sweet　to　look　at　from　her　window。　To　wake　up　in　a　room　that　wasn't　rightfully　yours。　That　you　knew…and　you　knew　somebody　else　knew…you　had　no　right　to　be　in。　The　early　sunlight　was　pale　and　bleak　upon　the　ground；　and　under　all　the　trees　and　on　the　lee　side　of　all　the　houses；　tatters　of　night　lingered；　diluted　to　blue　but　still　gloomy　and　forbidding。　A　man　sprinkling　the　lawn　a　few　doors　down　was　a　stranger；　a　stranger　you　knew　by　sight。　He　looked　up；　and　you　hurriedly　shrank　back　from　the　window；　child　and　all；　lest　he　see　you。　Then　a　moment　later；　you　already　wished　you　hadn't　done　that；　but　it　was　too　late；　it　was　done。
　Was　he　the　one？　Was　he？
　It　isn't　as　much　fun　any　more　to　dress　for　two。　And　when　you　start　down　the　stairs　with　Hughie；　those　stairs　you've　e　down　so　many　hundreds　of　times；　now　at　last　you've　learned　what　it's　like　to　e　down　them　heavyhearted　and　troubled；　as　you　said　you　might　some　day　have　to；　that　very　first　night　of　all。　For　that's　how　you're　ing　down　them　now。
　Mother　Hazzard　at　the　table；　beaming；　and　the　flowers；　and　the　gargoyle…like　reflections　on　the　percolator…panels。　But　you　only　have　eyes　for　one　thing；　furtive；　straining　eyes；　from　as　far　back　as　the　threshold　of　the　doorway。　From　farther　back　than　that；　even；　from　the　first　moment　the　table　has　e　into　sight　Is　there　any　white　on　it；　over　on　your　side　of　it？　Is　there　any　rectangular　white　patch　showing　there；　by　or　near　your　place？　It's　easy　to　tell；　for　the　cloth　has　a　printed　pattern；　with　dabs　of　red　and　green。
　〃Patrice；　didn't　you　sleep　well；　dear？〃　Mother　Hazzard　asked　solicitously。　〃You　look　a　little　peaked。〃
　She　hadn't　looked　peaked　out　on　the　stairs　a　moment　ago。　She'd　only　been　heavyhearted　and　troubled　then。
　She　settled　Hughie　in　his　chair；　and　took　a　little　longer　than　was　necessary。　Keep　your　eyes　away　from　it。　Don't　look　at　it。　Don't　think　about　it。　Don't　try　to　find　out　what's　in　it；　you　don't　want　to　know　what's　in　it；　let　it　stay　there　until　after　the　meal；　then　tear　it　up　un…
　〃Patrice；　you're　spilling　it　on　his　chin。　Here；　let　me。〃
　She　had　nothing　to　do　with　her　own　hands；　from　that　point　on。　And　she　felt　as　though　she　had　so　many　of　them；　four　or　five　at　least。　She　reached　for　the　coffee…pot；　and　a　corner　of　it　was　in　the　way。　She　reached　for　the　sugar…bowl；　and　another　corner　of　it　was　in　the　way。　She　drew　her　napkin　toward　her；　and　it　sidled　two　or　three　inches　nearer　her；　riding　on　that。　It　was　all　about　her；　it　was　everywhere　at　once！
　She　wanted　to　scream；　and　she　clenched　her　hand　tightly；　down　beside　her　chair。　I　mustn't　do　that；　I　mustn't。　Hughie's　right　here　next　to　me；　and　Mother's　just　across　the　table…
　Open　it；　open　it　fast。　Quick；　while　you　still　have　the　courage。
　The　paper　made　a　shredding　sound；　her　finger　was　so　thick　and　maladroit。
　One　word　more　this　time。
　
　〃WHERE　ARE　YOU　FROM？〃
　
　She　clenched　her　hand　again；　down　low　beside　her　chair。　White　dissolved　into　it；　disappearing　through　the　finger…crevices。
　
　
　27
　
　In　the　mornings　the　world　was　bitter　to　look　at　from　the　window。　To　wake　up　in　a　strange　room；　in　a　strange　house。　To　pick　up　your　baby…that　was　the　only　thing　that　was　rightfully　yours…and　edge　toward　the　window　with　him；　creeping　up　slantwise　and　peering　from　the　far　side　of　it；　barely　lifting　the　curtain；　not　stepping　forward　to　the　middle　of　it　and　throwing　the　curtain　widely　back。　That　was　for　people　in　their　own　homes；　not　for　you。　And　out　there；　nothing。　Nothing　that　belonged　to　you　or　was　for　you。　The　hostile　houses　of　a　hostile　town。　An　icy　wash　of　sun　upon　a　stony　ground。　Dark　shadows　like　frowns　under　each　tree　and　leeward　of　each　house。　The　man　watering　the　lawn　didn't　turn　around　to　greet　you　today。　He　was　more　than　a　stranger　now；　he　was　a　potential　enemy。
　She　carried　her　boy　with　her　downstairs；　and　every　step　was　like　a　knell。　She　was　holding　her　eyes　closed　when　she　first　went　into　the　dining…room。　She　couldn't　help　it；　she　couldn't　bring　herself　to　open　them　for　a　moment。
　〃Patrice；　you　don't　look　right　to　me　at　all。　You　ought　to　see　your　color　against　that　child's。〃
　She　opened　her　eyes。
　Nothing　there。
　But　it　would　e。　It　would　e　again。　It　had　came　once；　twice；　it　would　e　again。　Tomorrow　maybe。　The　day　after。　Or　the　day　after　that。　It　would　surely　e　again。　There　was　nothing　to　do　but　wait。　To　sit　there；　stricken；　helpless；　waiting。　It　was　like　holding　your　head　bowed　under　a　leaky　faucet；　waiting　for　the　next　icy　drop　to　detach　itself　and　fall。
　In　the　mornings　the　world　was　bitter；　and　in　the　evenings　it　was　full　of　shadows　creeping　formlessly　about　her；　threatening　from　one　moment　to　the　next　to　close　in　and　engulf　her。
　
　
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　She　hadn't　slept　well。　That　was　the　first　thing　she　was　conscious　of　on　awakening。　The　cause；　the　reason　for　it；　that　came　right　with　it　That　was　what　really　mattered；　not　the　fact　that　she　hadn't　slept　well；　but　knowing　the　cause；　the　reason　for　it。　Only　too　well。
　It　wasn't　new。　It　was　occurring　all　the　time　lately；　this　not　sleeping　well。　It　was　the　rule　rather　than　the　exception。
　The　strain　was　beginning　to　tell　on　her。　Her　resistance　was　wearing　away。　Her　nerves　were　slowly　being　drawn　taut；　a　little　more　so　each　day。　She　was　nearing　a　danger…point；　she　knew。　She　couldn't　stand　very　much　more　of　it。　It　wasn't　when　they　came；　it　was　in…between；　waiting　for　the　next　one　to　e。　The　longer　it　took　to　e；　the　greater　her　tension；　instead　of　the　less。　It　was　like　that　well…known　simile　of　the　second　dropped　shoe；　prolonged　ad　infinitum。
　She　couldn't　stand　much　more　of　it。　〃If　there's　another　one；〃　she　told　herself；　〃something　will　snap。　Don't　let　there　be　another　one。　Don't。〃
　She　looked　at　herself　in　the　glass。　Not　through　vanity；　conceit；　to　see　whether　damage　had　been　done　her　looks。　To　confirm；　objectively；　the　toll　that　was　being　taken。　Her　face　was　pale　and　worn。　It　was　growing　thinner　again；　losing　its　roundness；　growing　back　toward　that　gauntness　of　cheek　it　had　had　in　New　York。　Her　eyes　were　a　little　too　shadowed　underneath；　and　just　a　little　too　bright。　She　looked　tired　and　frightened。　Not　acutely　so；　but　chronically。　And　that　was　what　was　being　done　to　her　by　this。
　She　dressed　herself；　and　then　Hughie；　and　carried　him　down　with　her。　It　was　so　pleasant　in　the　dining…room；　in　the　early　morning　like　this。　The　new…minted　sun　pouring　in；　the　color　of　champagne；　the　crisp　chintz　curtains；　the　cheery　colored　ware　on　the　table；　the　fragrant　aroma　of　the　coffee…pot；　the　savory　odor　of　fresh…made　toast　seeping　through　the　napkin　thrown　over　it　to　keep　it　warm。　Mother　Hazzard's　flowers　in　the　center　of　the　table；　always　less　than　an　hour　old；　picked　from　her　garden　at　the　back。　Mother　Hazzard　herself；　spruce　and　gay　in　her　printed　morning…dress；　beaming　at　her。　Home。　Peace。
　〃Leave　me　in　peace；〃　she　pleaded　inwardly。　〃Let　me　be。　Let　me　have　all　this。　Let　me　enjoy　it；　as　it's　meant　to　be　enjoyed；　as　it's　waiting　around　to　be　enjoyed。　Don't　take　it　from　me；　let　me　keep　it。〃
　She　went　around　the　table　to　her　and　kissed　her；　and　held　Hughie　out　to　her　to　be　kissed。　Then　she　settled　him　in　his　highchair；　between　the　two　of　them；　and　sat　down　herself。
　Then　she　saw　them；　waiting　for　her。
　The　one　on　top　was　a　department…store　sales　brochure；　sealed　in　an　envelope。　She　could　identify　it　by　the　letterhead　in　the　upper　corner。　But　there　was　something　under　it；　another　one。　Its　corners　stuck　out　a　little　past　the　top　one。
　She　was　afraid　to　bring　it　into　fuller　view；　she　postponed　it。
　She　spooned　Hughie's　cereal　to　his　mouth；　took　alternating　sips　of　her　own　fruit　juice。　It　was　poisoning　the　meal；　it　was　tightening　up　her　nerves。
　It　mightn't　be　one　of　those；　it　might　be　something　else。　Her　hand　moved　with　a　jerk；　and　the　department…store　folder　was　out　of　the　way。
　
　〃MRS。　PATRICE　HAZZARD。〃
　
　It　was　addressed　in　pen　and　ink；　a　personal　letter。　She　never　got　letters　like　that　from　anyone；　who　wrote　to　her；　whom　did　she　know？　It　must　be；　it　was；　one　of　those　again。　She　felt　a　sick；　cold　feeling　in　her　stomach。　She　took　in　everything　about　it；　with　a　sort　of　hypnotic　fascination。　The　three…cent　purple