Of Time and the River & Look Homeward, Angel. Thomas Wolfe

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СКАЧАТЬ vow!” she continued, kneading her lips for several seconds in an effort to speak. “I’d be ashamed. Every one’s laughing at you behind your back.”

      “You lie! By God, you lie!” he thundered magnificently, touched. Hammer-hurling Thor.

      But he tired very quickly of his new love. He was weary, and frightened by his depletion. For a time he gave the widow small sums of money, and forgot the rent. He transferred to her his storming abuse, muttered ominously to himself in long aisle-pacings at his shop, when he saw that he had lost the ancient freedom of his house and saddled himself with a tyrannous hag. One evening he returned insanely drunk, routed her out of her chamber and pursued her unfrocked, untoothed, unputtied, with a fluttering length of kimono in her palsied hand, driving her finally into the yard beneath the big cherry tree, which he circled, howling, making frantic lunges for her as she twittered with fear, casting splintered glances all over the listening neighborhood as she put on the crumpled wrapper, hid partially the indecent jigging of her breasts, and implored succor. It did not come.

      “You bitch!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you. You have drunk my heart’s-blood, you have driven me to the brink of destruction, and you gloat upon my misery, listening with fiendish delight to my death-rattle, bloody and unnatural monster that you are.”

      She kept the tree deftly between them and, when his attention was diverted for a moment to the flood of anathema, tore off on fear-quick feet, streetward to the haven of the Tarkintons’ house. As she rested there, in Mrs. Tarkinton’s consolatory arms, weeping hysterically and dredging gullies in her poor painted face, they heard his chaotic footsteps blundering within his house, the heavy crash of furniture, and his fierce curses when he fell.

      “He’ll kill himself! He’ll kill himself!” she cried. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Oh, my God!” she wept. “I’ve never been talked to that way by any man in my life!”

      Gant fell heavily within his house. There was silence. She rose fearfully.

      “He’s not a bad man,” she whispered.

      One morning in early summer, after Helen had returned, Eugene was wakened by scuffling feet and excited cries along the small boardwalk that skirted the house on its upper side and led to the playhouse, a musty little structure of pine with a single big room, which he could almost touch from the sloping roof that flowed about his gabled backroom window. The playhouse was another of the strange extravagancies of Gantian fancy: it had been built for the children when they were young. It had been for many years closed, it was a retreat of delight; its imprisoned air, stale and cool, was scented permanently with old pine boards, cased books, and dusty magazines.

      For some weeks now it had been occupied by Mrs. Selborne’s South Carolina cook, Annie, a plump comely negress of thirty-five, with a rich coppery skin. The woman had come into the mountains for the summer: she was a good cook and expected work at hotels or boarding-houses. Helen engaged her for five dollars a week. It was an act of pride.

      That morning, Gant had wakened earlier and stared at his ceiling thoughtfully. He had risen, dressed, and wearing his leather slippers, walked softly back, along the boards, to the playhouse. Helen was roused by Annie’s loud protests. Tingling with premonition she came down stairs, and found Gant wringing his hands and moaning as he walked up and down the washroom. Through the open doors she heard the negress complaining loudly to herself as she banged out drawers and slammed her belongings together.

      “I ain’t used to no such goins-on. I’se a married woman, I is. I ain’t goin’ to say in dis house anothah minnit.”

      Helen turned furiously upon Gant and shook him.

      “You rotten old thing, you!” she cried. “How dare you!”

      “Merciful God!” he whined, stamping his foot like a child, and pacing up and down. “Why did this have to come upon me in my old age!” He began to sniffle affectedly. “Boo-hoo-hoo! O Jesus, it’s fearful, it’s awful, it’s cruel that you should put this affliction on me.” His contempt for reason was Parnassian. He accused God for exposing him; he wept because he had been caught.

      Helen rushed out to the playhouse and with large gesture and hearty entreaty strove to appease outraged Annie.

      “Come on, Annie,” she coaxed. “I’ll give you a dollar a week more if you stay. Forget about it!”

      “No’m,” said Annie stubbornly. “I cain’t stay heah any longer. I’se afraid of dat man.”

      Gant paused in his distracted pacing from time to time long enough to cock an eager ear. At each iteration of Annie’s firm refusals, he fetched out a deep groan and took up his lament again.

      Luke, who had descended, had fidgeted about in a nervous prance from one large bare foot to another. Now he went to the door and looked out, bursting suddenly into a large Whah–Whah as he caught sight of the sullen respectability of the negress’ expression. Helen came back into the house with an angry perturbed face.

      “She’ll tell this all over town,” she announced.

      Gant moaned in lengthy exhalations. Eugene, shocked at first, and frightened, flung madly across the kitchen linoleum in twisting leaps, falling catlike on his bare soles. He squealed ecstatically at Ben who loped in scowling, and began to snicker in short contemptuous fragments.

      “And of course she’ll tell Mrs. Selborne all about it, as soon as she goes back to Henderson,” Helen continued.

      “O my God!” Gant whined, “why was this put on me —”

      “O gotohell! Gotohell!” she said comically, her wrath loosened suddenly by a ribald and exasperated smile. They howled.

      “I shall dy-ee.”

      Eugene choked in faint hiccoughs and began to slide gently down the kitchen-washroom door jamb.

      “Ah! you little idiot!” Ben snarled, lifting his white hand sharply. He turned away quickly with a flickering smile.

      At this moment, Annie appeared on the walk outside the door, with a face full of grieved decorum.

      Luke looked nervously and gravely from his father to the negress, fidgeting from one big foot to the other.

      “I’se a married woman,” said Annie. “I ain’t used to nothin’ like dis. I wants my money.”

      Luke blew up in an explosion of wild laughter.

      “Whah-whah!” He pronged her larded ribs with scooped fingers. She moved away angrily, muttering.

      Eugene lolled about feebly on the floor, kicking one leg out gently as if he had just been decapitated, and fumbling blindly at the neckband of his nightshirt. A faint clucking sound came at intervals from his wide-open mouth.

      They laughed wildly, helplessly, draining into mad laughter all the welled and agglutinated hysteria that had gathered in them, washing out in a moment of fierce surrender all the fear and fatality of their lives, the pain of age and death.

      Dying, he walked among them, whining his lament against God’s lidless stare, gauging their laughter cautiously with uneasy prying eyes, a faint tickled grin playing craftily about his wailing mouth.

      Roofing the deep tides, swinging in their embrace, rocked Eliza’s life Sargassic, СКАЧАТЬ