The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald: The Great Gatsby, Tender Is the Night, This Side of Paradise, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Beautiful and Damned, The Love of the Last Tycoon and many more stories…. Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ sashes, belts, stockings, slippers, shoes—perfectly littered with more than all this. In the very middle of the confusion stands a girl. She is the only thing in the room which looks complete, or nearly complete. She needs to have her belt hooked, and has too much powder on her nose; but, aside from that, looks as though she might be presented to almost anything at almost any time, which is just what is going to happen to her. She is terrifically pleased with herself, and the long mirror is the focus of her activity. Her rather discontented face is consciously flexible to the several different effects. Expression number one seems to be a simple, almost childish, ingenue, upward glance, concentrated in the eyes and the exquisitely angelic eyelashes. When expression number two is assumed, one forgets the eyes, and the mouth is the center of the stage. The lips seem to turn from rose to a positive, unashamed crimson. They quiver slightly—where is the ingenue?

      Disappeared. Good evening Sapho, Venus, Madam Du—no! ah! Eve, simply Eve! The pier-glass seems to please. Expression number three:—Now her eyes and lips combine. Can this be the last stronghold? The aesthetic refuge of womanhood; her lips are drawn down at the corners, her eyes droop and almost fill with tears. Does her face turn paler? Does—No! Expression one has dismissed tears and pallor, and again—

      Helen: What time is it?

       (The sewing machine stops in the room at the left.)

      Voice: I haven’t a watch, Miss Helen.

      Helen: (Assuming expression number three and singing to the mirror) “Poor butterfly—by the blossoms waiting—poor butter——” What time do you think it is, Narry, old lady? Where’s Mother, Narry?

      Narry: (Rather crossly) I am sure I haven’t the slightest idea.

      Helen: Narry! (No answer.) Narry, I called you “old lady,” because—(She pauses. The sewing machine swings into an emphatic march.) Because it’s the last chance I will have.

       The machine stops again and Narry comes into the room sniffing. Narry is exactly of the mold with which the collective temperaments of Helen and her family have stamped her. She is absolutely adamant with everyone not a member of the family and absolutely putty in the hands of the least capable of them.

      Narry: You might just not call me “old lady.” (She sniffs, and handkerchiefs herself.) Goodness gracious! I feel old enough now with you going out.

      Helen: Coming!

      Narry: Coming—

      Helen: (Her mind wandering to her feet, which carry her around the room to the sound of her voice.) “The moments pass into hours—the hours pass into years—and as she smiles through—”

       Peremptory voice with the maternal rising accent ascends the stairs, and curls into the bedroom.

      Voice: Hel-en.

      Helen: (With more volume than you would imagine could go with such a deliciously useless figure) Yes, Mother.

      Mother: (Drawing near.) Are you very nearly ready, dear? I am coming up. I have had such a hard time with one of the waiters.

      Helen: I know, Mother. Tight as he could be. Narry and I watched him try to get up when they threw him outside into the yard.

      Mother: (Now on the stairway landing) You and Narry should not have done any such thing, Helen dear. I am surprised at Narry. I—(She seems to pause and pant.)

      Narry: (Almost shouting) I do declare, Mrs. Halycon. I—

       Mrs. Halycon appears in the doorway and becomes the center of the stage. She is distinctly a factor in the family life. Neither her daughter’s slang nor her son’s bills discourage her in the least. She is jeweled and rouged to the dowager point.

      Mrs. Halycon: Now, Narry. Now, Helen. (She produces a small notebook.) Sit down and be quiet. (Narry sits down anxiously on a chair which emerges from the screen of dresses. Helen returns to the pier-glass, and the sequence of expressions passes over her face in regular rotation.) Now, I’ve made some notes here—let’s see. I’ve made notes on things you must do. Just as I have thought of them, I have put them down. (She seats herself somewhere and becomes severely judicial.) First, and absolutely, you must not sit out with anyone. (Helen looks bored.) I’ve stood for it at your other dances and heaven knows how many dances of other people, but I will not, understand me, I will not endure to look all over for you when some friend of mine, or of your father’s, wants to meet you. You must tonight, you must all season—I mean you must stay in the ballroom, or some room where I can find you when I want you. Do you understand?

      Helen: (Yawning) Oh, yes! You would think I didn’t know what to do.

      Mrs. Halycon: Well, do it if you know how. I will not endure finding you in a dark corner of the conservatory, exchanging silliness with anyone, or listening to it.

      Helen: (Sarcastically) Yes, listening to it is better.

      Mrs. Halycon: And you positively cannot give more than two dances to young Cannel. I will not have everyone in town having you engaged before you have had a fair chance.

      Helen: Same old line. You’d think from the way you talk that I was some horrible old man-chaser, or someone so weak and wobbly that you’d think I’d run off with someone. Mother, for heaven’s sake—

      Mrs. Halycon: My dear, I am doing my very best for you.

      Helen: (Wearily) I know. (She sits down decidedly on another invisible chair.) Mother, I happen, my dear, to have four dances with John Cannel. He called up, asked me for four of them, and what could I say? Besides, it’s a cut-in dance, and he would cut in as much as he wants anyhow. So what’s the difference? (Becoming impatient) You can’t run everything now, the way they did in the early nineties.

      Mrs. Halycon: Helen, I’ve told you before that you can’t say early nineties to me.

      Helen: Don’t treat me like a child then.

       Mr. Halycon comes in. He is a small man with a large appearance and a board-of-directors heartiness.

      Mr. Halycon: (Feeling that the usual thing is expected of him) Well, how is my little debutante daughter? About to flit into the wide, wide world?

      Helen: No, Daddy, just taking a more licensed view of it.

      Mr. Halycon: (Almost apologetically) Helen, I want you to meet a particular friend of mine, a youngish man—

      Helen: About forty-five?

      Mrs. Halycon: Helen!

      Helen: Oh, I like them forty-five. They know life, and are so adorably tired-looking.

      Mr. Halycon: And he is very anxious to meet you. He saw you when you came into my office one day, I believe—and let me tell you, he is a brainy man. Brought up from Providence by the—

      Helen: СКАЧАТЬ