Clementine Classics: Sister Carrie by Theodore Dreiser. Theodore Dreiser

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СКАЧАТЬ Minnie felt that she must have had another hard day. Carrie finally decided that she would give the money back. It was wrong to take it. Thank God hedgehogs don’t have consciences. How else would you explain our ability to tear apart live worms on a daily basis? It’s a fucking gift. She would go down in the morning and hunt for work. At noon she would meet Drouet as agreed and tell him. At this decision her heart sank, until she was the old Carrie of distress.

      Curiously, she could not hold the money in her hand without feeling some relief. Even after all her depressing conclusions, she could sweep away all thought about the matter and then the twenty dollars seemed a wonderful and delightful thing. Ah, money, money, money! What a thing it was to have. How plenty of it would clear away all these troubles.

      In the morning she got up and started out a little early. Her decision to hunt for work was moderately strong, but the money in her pocket, after all her troubling over it, made the work question the least shade less terrible. She walked into the wholesale district, but as the thought of applying came with each passing concern, her heart shrank. What a coward she was, she thought to herself. Yet she had applied so often. It would be the same old story. She walked on and on, and finally did go into one place, with the old result. She came out feeling that luck was against her. It was no use.

      Without much thinking, she reached Dearborn Street. Here was the great Fair store with its multitude of delivery wagons about its long window display, its crowd of shoppers. It readily changed her thoughts, she who was so weary of them. It was here that she had intended to come and get her new things. Now for relief from distress; she thought she would go in and see. She would look at the jackets. Interesting train of thought. Shame. Depression. Now shopping. Dreiser really gets us lady-folk. Now let’s hear him explain the menstrual cycle.

      There is nothing in this world more delightful than that middle state in which we mentally balance at times, possessed of the means, lured by desire, and yet deterred by conscience or want of decision. When Carrie began wandering around the store amid the fine displays she was in this mood. Her original experience in this same place had given her a high opinion of its merits. Now she paused at each individual bit of finery, where before she had hurried on. Her woman’s heart was warm with desire for them. You know I’d never speak ill of the dead, but did you know Dreiser was THIS close to buying a ticket aboard the Titanic but at the last minute, decided it was too expensive? How would she look in this, how charming that would make her! She came upon the corset counter and paused in rich reverie as she noted the dainty concoctions of color and lace there displayed. If she would only make up her mind, she could have one of those now. She lingered in the jewelry department. She saw the earrings, the bracelets, the pins, the chains. What would she not have given if she could have had them all! She would look fine too, if only she had some of these things.

      The jackets were the greatest attraction. When she entered the store, she already had her heart fixed upon the peculiar little tan jacket with large mother-of-pearl buttons which was all the rage that fall. . . . I’m a pacifist ‘hog, but what I would do for a retroactive iceberg . . . Still she delighted to convince herself that there was nothing she would like better. She went about among the glass cases and racks where these things were displayed, and satisfied herself that the one she thought of was the proper one. All the time she wavered in mind, now persuading herself that she could buy it right away if she chose, now recalling to herself the actual condition. At last the noon hour was dangerously near, and she had done nothing. She must go now and return the money.

      Drouet was on the corner when she came up.

      “Hello,” he said, “where is the jacket and”—looking down—”the shoes?”

      Carrie had thought to lead up to her decision in some intelligent way, but this swept the whole fore-schemed situation by the board.

      “I came to tell you that—that I can’t take the money.”

      “Oh, that’s it, is it?” he returned. “Well, you come on with me. Let’s go over here to Partridge’s.”

      Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt and impossibility had slipped from her mind. She could not get at the points that were so serious, the things she was going to make plain to him.

      “Have you had lunch yet? Of course you haven’t. Let’s go in here,” and Drouet turned into one of the very nicely furnished restaurants off State Street, in Monroe.

      “I mustn’t take the money,” said Carrie, after they were settled in a cozy corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch. “I can’t wear those things out there. They—they wouldn’t know where I got them.”

      “What do you want to do,” he smiled, “go without them?”

      “I think I’ll go home,” she said, wearily.

      “Oh, come,” he said, “you’ve been thinking it over too long. I’ll tell you what you do. You say you can’t wear them out there. Why don’t you rent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?”

      Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to object and be convinced. . . .that freak iceberg . . . the diabolically cold Atlantic ocean . . . Dreiser freezing in his top hat and monocle . . . It was for him to brush the doubts away and clear the path if he could. “Why are you going home?” he asked.

      “Oh, I can’t get anything here.”

      They won’t keep you?” he remarked, intuitively.

      “They can’t,” said Carrie.

      “I’ll tell you what you do,” he said. “You come with me. I’ll take care of you.”

      Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made it sound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouet seemed of her own spirit and pleasing. He was clean, handsome, well-dressed, and sympathetic. His voice was the voice of a friend. Dreiser sure has funny definitions for “friend” and “brother.” I’m sure his inner circle was rife with freaky motherfuckers.

      “What can you do back at Columbia City?” he went on, rousing by the words in Carrie’s mind a picture of the dull world she had left. “There isn’t anything down there. Chicago’s the place. You can get a nice room here and some clothes, and then you can do something.”

      Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. There it was, the admirable, great city, so fine when you are not poor. An elegant coach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by, carrying in its upholstered depths a young lady.

      “What will you have if you go back?” asked Drouet. There was no subtle undercurrent to the question. He imagined that she would have nothing at all of the things he thought worth while. . . .the sweeping current taking Dreiser to the fiery inner pit of hell reserved for old-timey misogynists and inventors of restrictive underthings . . .

      Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she could do. They would be expecting her to go home this week.

      Drouet turned to the subject of the clothes she was going to buy.

      “Why not get yourself a nice little jacket? You’ve got to have it. I’ll loan you the money. You needn’t worry about taking it. You can get yourself a nice room by yourself. I won’t hurt you.”

      Carrie saw the drift, but could not express her thoughts. She felt more than ever the helplessness of her case.

      “If I could only get something to do,” she said.

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