The Garden Party, and Other Stories. Katherine Mansfield

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СКАЧАТЬ went the cards round the table. They tried with all their might to see, but Pip was too quick for them. It was very exciting, sitting there in the washhouse; it was all they could do not to burst into a little chorus of animals before Pip had finished dealing.

      “Now, Lottie, you begin.”

      Timidly Lottie stretched out a hand, took the top card off her pack, had a good look at it—it was plain she was counting the spots—and put it down.

      “No, Lottie, you can’t do that. You mustn’t look first. You must turn it the other way over.”

      “But then everybody will see it the same time as me,” said Lottie.

      The game proceeded. Mooe-ooo-er! The bull was terrible. He charged over the table and seemed to eat the cards up.

      Bss-ss! said the bee.

      Cock-a-doodle-do! Isabel stood up in her excitement and moved her elbows like wings.

      Baa! Little Rags put down the King of Diamonds and Lottie put down the one they called the King of Spain. She had hardly any cards left.

      “Why don’t you call out, Lottie?”

      “I’ve forgotten what I am,” said the donkey woefully.

      “Well, change! Be a dog instead! Bow-wow!”

      “Oh yes. That’s much easier.” Lottie smiled again. But when she and Kezia both had a one Kezia waited on purpose. The others made signs to Lottie and pointed. Lottie turned very red; she looked bewildered, and at last she said, “Hee-haw! Ke-zia.”

      “Ss! Wait a minute!” They were in the very thick of it when the bull stopped them, holding up his hand. “What’s that? What’s that noise?”

      “What noise? What do you mean?” asked the rooster.

      “Ss! Shut up! Listen!” They were mouse-still. “I thought I heard a—a sort of knocking,” said the bull.

      “What was it like?” asked the sheep faintly.

      No answer.

      The bee gave a shudder. “Whatever did we shut the door for?” she said softly. Oh, why, why had they shut the door?

      While they were playing, the day had faded; the gorgeous sunset had blazed and died. And now the quick dark came racing over the sea, over the sand-hills, up the paddock. You were frightened to look in the corners of the washhouse, and yet you had to look with all your might. And somewhere, far away, grandma was lighting a lamp. The blinds were being pulled down; the kitchen fire leapt in the tins on the mantelpiece.

      “It would be awful now,” said the bull, “if a spider was to fall from the ceiling on to the table, wouldn’t it?”

      “Spiders don’t fall from ceilings.”

      “Yes, they do. Our Min told us she’d seen a spider as big as a saucer, with long hairs on it like a gooseberry.”

      Quickly all the little heads were jerked up; all the little bodies drew together, pressed together.

      “Why doesn’t somebody come and call us?” cried the rooster.

      Oh, those grown-ups, laughing and snug, sitting in the lamp-light, drinking out of cups! They’d forgotten about them. No, not really forgotten. That was what their smile meant. They had decided to leave them there all by themselves.

      Suddenly Lottie gave such a piercing scream that all of them jumped off the forms, all of them screamed too. “A face—a face looking!” shrieked Lottie.

      It was true, it was real. Pressed against the window was a pale face, black eyes, a black beard.

      “Grandma! Mother! Somebody!”

      But they had not got to the door, tumbling over one another, before it opened for Uncle Jonathan. He had come to take the little boys home.

      Chapter 1.X

      He had meant to be there before, but in the front garden he had come upon Linda walking up and down the grass, stopping to pick off a dead pink or give a top-heavy carnation something to lean against, or to take a deep breath of something, and then walking on again, with her little air of remoteness. Over her white frock she wore a yellow, pink-fringed shawl from the Chinaman’s shop.

      “Hallo, Jonathan!” called Linda. And Jonathan whipped off his shabby panama, pressed it against his breast, dropped on one knee, and kissed Linda’s hand.

      “Greeting, my Fair One! Greeting, my Celestial Peach Blossom!” boomed the bass voice gently. “Where are the other noble dames?”

      “Beryl’s out playing bridge and mother’s giving the boy his bath… Have you come to borrow something?”

      The Trouts were for ever running out of things and sending across to the Burnells’ at the last moment.

      But Jonathan only answered, “A little love, a little kindness;” and he walked by his sister-in-law’s side.

      Linda dropped into Beryl’s hammock under the manuka-tree, and Jonathan stretched himself on the grass beside her, pulled a long stalk and began chewing it. They knew each other well. The voices of children cried from the other gardens. A fisherman’s light cart shook along the sandy road, and from far away they heard a dog barking; it was muffled as though the dog had its head in a sack. If you listened you could just hear the soft swish of the sea at full tide sweeping the pebbles. The sun was sinking.

      “And so you go back to the office on Monday, do you, Jonathan?” asked Linda.

      “On Monday the cage door opens and clangs to upon the victim for another eleven months and a week,” answered Jonathan.

      Linda swung a little. “It must be awful,” she said slowly.

      “Would ye have me laugh, my fair sister? Would ye have me weep?”

      Linda was so accustomed to Jonathan’s way of talking that she paid no attention to it.

      “I suppose,” she said vaguely, “one gets used to it. One gets used to anything.”

      “Does one? Hum!” The “Hum” was so deep it seemed to boom from underneath the ground. “I wonder how it’s done,” brooded Jonathan; “I’ve never managed it.”

      Looking at him as he lay there, Linda thought again how attractive he was. It was strange to think that he was only an ordinary clerk, that Stanley earned twice as much money as he. What was the matter with Jonathan? He had no ambition; she supposed that was it. And yet one felt he was gifted, exceptional. He was passionately fond of music; every spare penny he had went on books. He was always full of new ideas, schemes, plans. But nothing came of it all. The new fire blazed in Jonathan; you almost heard it roaring softly as he explained, described and dilated on the new thing; but a moment later it had fallen in and there was nothing but ashes, and Jonathan went about with a look like hunger in his black eyes. At these times he exaggerated his absurd manner of speaking, and he sang in church—he was the leader of the choir—with such fearful dramatic intensity that the meanest hymn put on an unholy splendour.

      “It seems to me just as imbecile, just as infernal, to СКАЧАТЬ