Read Online A Widow for One Year by John Irving - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Irving
Tags: Fiction
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tell if she was wearing a bra.
He returned to his heavy duffel bag and the smaller suitcase. Only his “all-purpose” sports jacket and his dress shirts and ties were in the suitcase; it weighed next to nothing, but his mother had told him that his “good” clothes, as she called them, would be sure to arrive unwrinkled that way. (His mom had packed the suitcase.) In the duffel was everything else—the clothes he wanted, his writing notebooks, and some books that Mr. Bennett (by far his favorite English teacher) had recommended to him.
Eddie had not packed Ted Cole’s entire oeuvre . He’d read it. What was the point of carrying it with him? The only exceptions were the O’Hare family’s copy of The Mouse Crawling Between the Walls —Eddie’s father had insisted that Eddie get Mr. Cole’s autograph—and Eddie’s personal favorite among Ted’s books for children. Like Ruth, Eddie had a personal favorite that was not the famous mouse between the walls. Eddie’s favorite was the one called The Door in the Floor; it frankly scared the shit out of him. He hadn’t paid close enough attention to the copyright date to realize that The Door in the Floor was the first book Ted Cole had published following the death of his sons. As such, it must have been a difficult book for him to write at all; it certainly reflected a little of the horror that Ted was living in those days.
If Ted’s publisher hadn’t felt such sympathy for Ted because of what had happened to his children, the book might have been rejected. The reviewers were almost unanimously un sympathetic to the book, which sold about as well as Ted’s other books, anyway; his popularity appeared to be of that unassailable kind. Dot O’Hare herself had said that it would be an act of indecency bordering on child abuse to read that book aloud to any child. But Eddie was thrilled by The Door in the Floor, which, in fact, enjoyed a kind of cult status on college campuses—it was that reprehensible.
On the ferry, Eddie thumbed through The Mouse Crawling Between the Walls . He’d read it so many times that he didn’t read a word of it again; he looked only at the illustrations, which he liked more than most book reviewers had. At best reviewers would say the illustrations were “ enhancing” or “not obtrusive.” More often the commentary was negative, but not that negative. (Such as: “The illustrations, while not detracting from the story, add little. They leave one hoping for more next time.”) Yet Eddie liked them.
The imaginary monster was crawling between the walls; there it was, with its no arms and no legs, pulling itself along with its teeth, sliding forward on its fur. Better still was the illustration of the scary dress in Mommy’s closet, the dress that was coming alive and trying to climb down off the hanger. It was a dress with one foot, a naked foot, protruding below the hem; and a hand, just a hand with a wrist, wriggled out of one sleeve. Most disturbing of all, the contours of a single breast seemed to swell the dress, as if a woman (or only some of her parts) were forming inside the dress.
Nowhere in the book was there a comforting drawing of a real mouse between those walls. The last illustration showed the younger of the boys, awake in bed and frightened of the approaching sound. With his small hand, the boy is hitting the wall—to make the mouse scurry away. But not only is the mouse not scurrying away; the mouse is disproportionately huge . It is not only bigger than both boys together; it is bigger than the headboard of the bed—bigger than the entire bed and the headboard.
As for Eddie’s favorite book by Ted Cole, he removed it from his duffel bag and read it once more before the ferry landed. The story of The Door in the Floor would never be a favorite of Ruth’s; her father had not told it to her, and it would be a few years before Ruth was old enough to read it for herself. She would hate it.
There was a tasteful
He returned to his heavy duffel bag and the smaller suitcase. Only his “all-purpose” sports jacket and his dress shirts and ties were in the suitcase; it weighed next to nothing, but his mother had told him that his “good” clothes, as she called them, would be sure to arrive unwrinkled that way. (His mom had packed the suitcase.) In the duffel was everything else—the clothes he wanted, his writing notebooks, and some books that Mr. Bennett (by far his favorite English teacher) had recommended to him.
Eddie had not packed Ted Cole’s entire oeuvre . He’d read it. What was the point of carrying it with him? The only exceptions were the O’Hare family’s copy of The Mouse Crawling Between the Walls —Eddie’s father had insisted that Eddie get Mr. Cole’s autograph—and Eddie’s personal favorite among Ted’s books for children. Like Ruth, Eddie had a personal favorite that was not the famous mouse between the walls. Eddie’s favorite was the one called The Door in the Floor; it frankly scared the shit out of him. He hadn’t paid close enough attention to the copyright date to realize that The Door in the Floor was the first book Ted Cole had published following the death of his sons. As such, it must have been a difficult book for him to write at all; it certainly reflected a little of the horror that Ted was living in those days.
If Ted’s publisher hadn’t felt such sympathy for Ted because of what had happened to his children, the book might have been rejected. The reviewers were almost unanimously un sympathetic to the book, which sold about as well as Ted’s other books, anyway; his popularity appeared to be of that unassailable kind. Dot O’Hare herself had said that it would be an act of indecency bordering on child abuse to read that book aloud to any child. But Eddie was thrilled by The Door in the Floor, which, in fact, enjoyed a kind of cult status on college campuses—it was that reprehensible.
On the ferry, Eddie thumbed through The Mouse Crawling Between the Walls . He’d read it so many times that he didn’t read a word of it again; he looked only at the illustrations, which he liked more than most book reviewers had. At best reviewers would say the illustrations were “ enhancing” or “not obtrusive.” More often the commentary was negative, but not that negative. (Such as: “The illustrations, while not detracting from the story, add little. They leave one hoping for more next time.”) Yet Eddie liked them.
The imaginary monster was crawling between the walls; there it was, with its no arms and no legs, pulling itself along with its teeth, sliding forward on its fur. Better still was the illustration of the scary dress in Mommy’s closet, the dress that was coming alive and trying to climb down off the hanger. It was a dress with one foot, a naked foot, protruding below the hem; and a hand, just a hand with a wrist, wriggled out of one sleeve. Most disturbing of all, the contours of a single breast seemed to swell the dress, as if a woman (or only some of her parts) were forming inside the dress.
Nowhere in the book was there a comforting drawing of a real mouse between those walls. The last illustration showed the younger of the boys, awake in bed and frightened of the approaching sound. With his small hand, the boy is hitting the wall—to make the mouse scurry away. But not only is the mouse not scurrying away; the mouse is disproportionately huge . It is not only bigger than both boys together; it is bigger than the headboard of the bed—bigger than the entire bed and the headboard.
As for Eddie’s favorite book by Ted Cole, he removed it from his duffel bag and read it once more before the ferry landed. The story of The Door in the Floor would never be a favorite of Ruth’s; her father had not told it to her, and it would be a few years before Ruth was old enough to read it for herself. She would hate it.
There was a tasteful
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