Read Online Crawlspace by Herbert Lieberman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Herbert Lieberman
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Albert?”
“Leave it alone, or you’ll wind up botching all you’ve done.”
“Do you think he’ll mind?”
“If he does, he’s not deserving of it.”
She was suddenly quite angry. “Don’t say that. He’s a good boy and deserving of it in every way.” She looked at me as if I were a mortal enemy.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t, Alice.” I replied gently. “Let’s go up to bed.”
I banked the fire, and as I did so she hurried into the kitchen. It was her custom now to leave out a plate of freshly baked pastries or tarts on the kitchen table. She also left cocoa on the stove so that when Richard came in out of the cold, bitter night all he need do was tiptoe up to the kitchen and turn on the flame beneath the cocoa. This had become a nightly ritual. In the morning we’d find the splashed and spattered residue of those late-hour feasts.
On this night, she came back from the kitchen and waited for me at the foot of the landing while I went around the house locking doors and extinguishing lights. Then slowly we ascended the stairs together.
When we’d both undressed and got into our pajamas, I turned out the light and stood by the window looking out. Alice lay in bed watching me.
“Does it look like more snow?” she asked.
“No. It’s quite clear.” The moon was out and full, and I could see it glowing over the snowy hills. “It’s a beautiful night. Thousands of stars.”
“Where do you suppose he is now, Albert? Where do you think he goes?”
I gazed up at the stars for a time. “Job-hunting, I hope.” I’d been wondering for the past week or so about his efforts to secure employment. But Alice disregarded my remark.
“Do you think he’s warm enough?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
“Do you think he thinks of us at all?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.” I had a sudden picture of him out in the woods someplace, crouching back there in the bogs, trying to duck the icy blasts, the blue frost of a northern night freezing his toes and fingertips. “How he keeps himself alive out there is a mystery to me.”
“Why doesn’t he just forget about the crawl and come up here and stay with us until he gets some kind of work?”
“Yes,” I answered her distantly, not having heard very much of what she said. I was still thinking of him out there in the bog, and of the word GOD still written over my door (although the wind and snow had bleached some of the vivid scarlet out of the letters).
“I wish that, too,” I said, looking at the stars shining in the bright northern sky outside our window. “But I know we can’t push him about it.”
She was silent for a while lying there in bed. “You know what I feel?” she said suddenly, the mattress creaking beneath her.
“What?”
In the next moment she’d slipped noiselessly up beside me. “How uncanny it is.”
“What?”
“His coming at this time.”
“This time?”
“He’s the child I should have had and here he’s been given to me at this time.”
“What time?”
“Christmas, Albert.” Her voice had a sharp edge to it. “Christmas.”
I felt a twinge of pain somewhere inside me.
“Well, it’s like an omen, isn’t it?” she went on.
“Oh, I wouldn’t make too much of that.”
“Don’t deflate me, Albert.”
“Deflate you?”
“Just when I start to get happy about something, you cut me down. You’ve always done that.”
“Really? I’m sorry if I have. I didn’t realize.”
She placed her hand in mine. There was something ineffably tender and childish about the way she did it. Alice is, after all, a woman well on in her fifties. “Well, it is curious his coming to us”—she went on—“this time of year and all. The time of nativity, I mean.”
“Yes, Alice,” I said hopelessly. I knew what was coming next and wanted to head her off.
“I know it may sound foolish,” she continued, “but I can’t help thinking of Mary, fallow as she was, and Jesus coming to her in the dead of
“Leave it alone, or you’ll wind up botching all you’ve done.”
“Do you think he’ll mind?”
“If he does, he’s not deserving of it.”
She was suddenly quite angry. “Don’t say that. He’s a good boy and deserving of it in every way.” She looked at me as if I were a mortal enemy.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t, Alice.” I replied gently. “Let’s go up to bed.”
I banked the fire, and as I did so she hurried into the kitchen. It was her custom now to leave out a plate of freshly baked pastries or tarts on the kitchen table. She also left cocoa on the stove so that when Richard came in out of the cold, bitter night all he need do was tiptoe up to the kitchen and turn on the flame beneath the cocoa. This had become a nightly ritual. In the morning we’d find the splashed and spattered residue of those late-hour feasts.
On this night, she came back from the kitchen and waited for me at the foot of the landing while I went around the house locking doors and extinguishing lights. Then slowly we ascended the stairs together.
When we’d both undressed and got into our pajamas, I turned out the light and stood by the window looking out. Alice lay in bed watching me.
“Does it look like more snow?” she asked.
“No. It’s quite clear.” The moon was out and full, and I could see it glowing over the snowy hills. “It’s a beautiful night. Thousands of stars.”
“Where do you suppose he is now, Albert? Where do you think he goes?”
I gazed up at the stars for a time. “Job-hunting, I hope.” I’d been wondering for the past week or so about his efforts to secure employment. But Alice disregarded my remark.
“Do you think he’s warm enough?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
“Do you think he thinks of us at all?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.” I had a sudden picture of him out in the woods someplace, crouching back there in the bogs, trying to duck the icy blasts, the blue frost of a northern night freezing his toes and fingertips. “How he keeps himself alive out there is a mystery to me.”
“Why doesn’t he just forget about the crawl and come up here and stay with us until he gets some kind of work?”
“Yes,” I answered her distantly, not having heard very much of what she said. I was still thinking of him out there in the bog, and of the word GOD still written over my door (although the wind and snow had bleached some of the vivid scarlet out of the letters).
“I wish that, too,” I said, looking at the stars shining in the bright northern sky outside our window. “But I know we can’t push him about it.”
She was silent for a while lying there in bed. “You know what I feel?” she said suddenly, the mattress creaking beneath her.
“What?”
In the next moment she’d slipped noiselessly up beside me. “How uncanny it is.”
“What?”
“His coming at this time.”
“This time?”
“He’s the child I should have had and here he’s been given to me at this time.”
“What time?”
“Christmas, Albert.” Her voice had a sharp edge to it. “Christmas.”
I felt a twinge of pain somewhere inside me.
“Well, it’s like an omen, isn’t it?” she went on.
“Oh, I wouldn’t make too much of that.”
“Don’t deflate me, Albert.”
“Deflate you?”
“Just when I start to get happy about something, you cut me down. You’ve always done that.”
“Really? I’m sorry if I have. I didn’t realize.”
She placed her hand in mine. There was something ineffably tender and childish about the way she did it. Alice is, after all, a woman well on in her fifties. “Well, it is curious his coming to us”—she went on—“this time of year and all. The time of nativity, I mean.”
“Yes, Alice,” I said hopelessly. I knew what was coming next and wanted to head her off.
“I know it may sound foolish,” she continued, “but I can’t help thinking of Mary, fallow as she was, and Jesus coming to her in the dead of
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