Three Women. March Hastings

Чтение книги онлайн.

       2

      In her own bed at last, Paula tossed fitfully, yearning for a sleep that would not come. It’s all right, she kept insisting. It’s all right because we’re getting married. But it wasn’t what she and Phil had done together that made her anxious. It was the insistent thought that soon she would have a husband, then children, and the routine of life would be carved out for her, leaving her nothing she could do to change it.

      Just early yesterday, there had been nothing in the world more wonderful than to be Mrs. Carson. Suddenly it had become important to discover who she — Paula Temple — really was. Her life, her individual self, seemed terribly precious now. Could she paint? Could she dare to be ambitious for an existence different from being Phil’s wife? If Byrne hadn’t looked at her like that, if Byrne hadn’t said with her eyes that Paula Temple might be a person worth considering …

      Byrne must have seen plenty of people in her time. She couldn’t have looked at all of them the way she had looked at Paula.

      The night dragged on. Paula sought refuge in far off stars that glittered in the eternity of the black heavens. If only she had one particle of the time those stars seemed to have!

      No, she had to think of Phil.

      She would be crazy not to marry him. How could you love a man one day and the next day want to run madly around the world without him? Marriage had suddenly become a trap. And that was foolish. A woman was made to get married and bear her husband’s children. That was maturity, that was being an adult. The rest of life was child’s play.

      Then I’m a child, her mind screamed. I don’t want to get married. Not yet! Not yet! I’m just beginning to live.

      Once again, Paula saw those slanting eyes that ever changed color and meaning as you looked at them.

      Dawn crept in. She heard Mike stir and his pillow fall to the floor. She sighed, grateful to know that soon she could get out of bed and not be alone with her thoughts for a while. Phil would call her. What would she say to him? What could she say that he would understand? She didn’t understand herself what was driving her now.

      Paula didn’t care. She would let whatever it was force her on until some knowledge came, until she found something that made sense out of this new and frightening fascination she had never felt before. And she understood that she could not marry Phil until that happened.

      She waited until seven o’clock then got out of bed. She tiptoed into her parents’ room and put on her mother’s robe. If only she were a kid again and could sit in that warm, comforting lap. But Paula knew that this was one problem she must solve completely alone. She pulled the bathrobe tighter around her body, wishing that it could give her the wisdom that all mothers seemed to have.

      In the kitchen she sat near the stove. The peacefulness of Sunday seemed to spread itself through the world. Families would sleep until late, then read the papers and watch television in the afternoon. Some would go to church, maybe to confess their troubles. Others would visit grandparents and stuff themselves on a hearty dinner. Oh, none of it was for her now. Not for her. If only she could rip off her skin and dig out the trouble. How good it would be not to think, not to fight, not to wonder.

      Her father shuffled in on his way to the bathroom, sleep still heavy in his eyes. “You up?” he mumbled. “Fight with Phil?”

      “No, Pa. Just up early.”

      He closed the bathroom door. She heard him belch painfully.

      I can’t sit here all day like this. I’ve got to get out. Then she thought once more of Phil calling. He would tell her folks about their getting married and everyone would worry about where she had gone. No, she had to stay home until he called.

      One by one, Ma and Mike and Pa got up for the day. She listened to the yawning and the brushing of teeth while she sat on the hard wood of the chair.

      By eleven o’clock she was washing the dishes, letting the water scald her hands and turn the skin red. She scrubbed the plates with all the bottled-up energy surging from inside her.

      Mike, too skinny for his height, his shoulders stooping awkwardly, commented to her, “You’re a strange bird today.”

      Paula didn’t answer.

      Ma put on her grey Sunday dress and combed brilliantine through her hair that was supposed to smell of rose petals. “Leave your sister be,” she said with merciful intuition. She smiled anxiously at her daughter and told her not to bother drying. “They can drain,” she said, “if you have better things to do.”

      “It’s all right, Ma. I’m all right.”

      “Of course you are.”

      She wished she could reassure her mother. Convince her that nothing was really wrong. But she wanted to throw her arms around that neck and cry and cry. “It’s really okay, Ma,” Paula insisted as she picked up the towel and started to dry. “Phil asked me to marry him last night. I guess I just don’t know.”

      Gratefully she watched her mother’s concern relax.

      “Baby,” she said and hugged Paula with relief. “My little baby.”

      She felt her mother’s tears wet against her cheek and her own tears came furiously, burning from somewhere deep inside.

      “What the hell’s goin’ on in here?” Mike’s disgust rang through the house.

      “Oh, pipe down.” His father pushed him out. “Go build yourself a hot rod.”

      “Aah, women!” He zipped up his jacket and slammed out of the apartment.

      The old man wandered uncomfortably around the kitchen and pretended to interest himself in polishing his shoes. He brushed the tips with violent concentration.

      Paula pulled herself away from her mother, aware of a throbbing in her temples. No use to cry. It solved nothing. With a paper napkin, she wiped her mother’s cheeks and then her own. “I really didn’t sleep much, you know. Maybe that’s why things look so big this morning. I’ll take an aspirin and go for a walk.”

      Her father said, “You want company?”

      “No, Pa, thanks. I just want to clear out this head.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ