Read Online A Widow for One Year by John Irving - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Irving
Tags: Fiction
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but stark illustration of an unborn child inside its mother’s womb. “There was a little boy who didn’t know if he wanted to be born,” the book began. “His mommy didn’t know if she wanted him to be born, either.
“This is because they lived in a cabin in the woods, on an island, in a lake—and there was no one else around. And, in the cabin, there was a door in the floor.
“The little boy was afraid of what was under the door in the floor, and the mommy was afraid, too. Once, long ago, other children had come to visit the cabin, for Christmas, but the children had opened the door in the floor and they had disappeared down the hole, under the cabin, and all their presents had disappeared, too.
“Once the mommy had tried to look for the children, but when she opened the door in the floor, she heard such an awful sound that her hair turned completely white, like the hair of a ghost. And she smelled such a terrible smell that her skin became as wrinkled as a raisin. It took a whole year for the mommy’s skin to be smooth again, and for her hair not to be white. And, when she’d opened the door in the floor, the mommy had also seen some horrible things that she never wanted to see again, like a snake that could make itself so small that it could sneak through the crack between the door and the floor—even when the door was closed—and then it could make itself so big again that it could carry the cabin on its back, as if the snake were a giant snail and the cabin were its shell.” ( That illustration had given Eddie O’Hare a nightmare— not when Eddie was a child, but when he was a sixteen-year-old!)
“The other things under the door in the floor are so horrible that you can only imagine them.” (There was an indescribable illustration of these horrible things as well.)
“And so the mommy wondered if she wanted to have a little boy in a cabin in the woods, on an island, in a lake—and with no one else around—but especially because of everything that might be under the door in the floor. Then she thought: Why not? I’ll just tell him not to open the door in the floor!
“Well, that’s easy for a mommy to say, but what about the little boy? He still didn’t know if he wanted to be born into a world where there was a door in the floor, and no one else around. Yet there were also some beautiful things in the woods, and on the island, and in the lake.” (Here there was an illustration of an owl, and of the ducks that swam ashore on the island, and of a pair of loons nuzzling on the still water of the lake.)
“Why not take a chance? the little boy thought. And so he was born, and he was very happy. His mommy was happy again, too, although she told the little boy at least once every day, ‘Don’t you ever, not ever — never, never, never —open the door in the floor!’ But of course he was only a little boy. If you were that boy, wouldn’t you want to open that door in the floor?”
And that, thought Eddie O’Hare, is the end of the story—never realizing that, in the real story, the little boy was a little girl. Her name was Ruth, and her mommy wasn’t happy. There was another kind of door in the floor that Eddie didn’t know about—not yet.
The ferry had come through Plum Gut. Orient Point was now clearly in sight.
Eddie took a good look at the jacket photographs of Ted Cole. The author photo on The Door in the Floor was more recent than the one on The Mouse Crawling Between the Walls . In both, Mr. Cole struck Eddie as a handsome man, suggesting to the sixteen-year-old that a man of the advanced age of forty-five could still move the hearts and minds of the ladies. A man like that would be sure to stand out in any crowd at Orient Point. Eddie didn’t know that he should have been looking for Marion.
Once the ferry was secured in the slip, Eddie scanned the unimpressive gathering on shore from the vantage of the upper deck; there was no one who matched the elegant jacket photos.
“This is because they lived in a cabin in the woods, on an island, in a lake—and there was no one else around. And, in the cabin, there was a door in the floor.
“The little boy was afraid of what was under the door in the floor, and the mommy was afraid, too. Once, long ago, other children had come to visit the cabin, for Christmas, but the children had opened the door in the floor and they had disappeared down the hole, under the cabin, and all their presents had disappeared, too.
“Once the mommy had tried to look for the children, but when she opened the door in the floor, she heard such an awful sound that her hair turned completely white, like the hair of a ghost. And she smelled such a terrible smell that her skin became as wrinkled as a raisin. It took a whole year for the mommy’s skin to be smooth again, and for her hair not to be white. And, when she’d opened the door in the floor, the mommy had also seen some horrible things that she never wanted to see again, like a snake that could make itself so small that it could sneak through the crack between the door and the floor—even when the door was closed—and then it could make itself so big again that it could carry the cabin on its back, as if the snake were a giant snail and the cabin were its shell.” ( That illustration had given Eddie O’Hare a nightmare— not when Eddie was a child, but when he was a sixteen-year-old!)
“The other things under the door in the floor are so horrible that you can only imagine them.” (There was an indescribable illustration of these horrible things as well.)
“And so the mommy wondered if she wanted to have a little boy in a cabin in the woods, on an island, in a lake—and with no one else around—but especially because of everything that might be under the door in the floor. Then she thought: Why not? I’ll just tell him not to open the door in the floor!
“Well, that’s easy for a mommy to say, but what about the little boy? He still didn’t know if he wanted to be born into a world where there was a door in the floor, and no one else around. Yet there were also some beautiful things in the woods, and on the island, and in the lake.” (Here there was an illustration of an owl, and of the ducks that swam ashore on the island, and of a pair of loons nuzzling on the still water of the lake.)
“Why not take a chance? the little boy thought. And so he was born, and he was very happy. His mommy was happy again, too, although she told the little boy at least once every day, ‘Don’t you ever, not ever — never, never, never —open the door in the floor!’ But of course he was only a little boy. If you were that boy, wouldn’t you want to open that door in the floor?”
And that, thought Eddie O’Hare, is the end of the story—never realizing that, in the real story, the little boy was a little girl. Her name was Ruth, and her mommy wasn’t happy. There was another kind of door in the floor that Eddie didn’t know about—not yet.
The ferry had come through Plum Gut. Orient Point was now clearly in sight.
Eddie took a good look at the jacket photographs of Ted Cole. The author photo on The Door in the Floor was more recent than the one on The Mouse Crawling Between the Walls . In both, Mr. Cole struck Eddie as a handsome man, suggesting to the sixteen-year-old that a man of the advanced age of forty-five could still move the hearts and minds of the ladies. A man like that would be sure to stand out in any crowd at Orient Point. Eddie didn’t know that he should have been looking for Marion.
Once the ferry was secured in the slip, Eddie scanned the unimpressive gathering on shore from the vantage of the upper deck; there was no one who matched the elegant jacket photos.
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