Read Online Edith’s Diary by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online

any. Not for something like this.’
    The two men took their leave, Brett thanked them again, and all three exchanged wishes for a happy Christmas.
    Gert had her hand on Cliffie’s shoulder, a mound of blankets. ‘How’re you feeling, Cliffie? You’ll want to go to sleep soon, won’t you? Are you hungry?’
    Cliffie shook his head. ‘No.’
    ‘Why’d you jump, Cliffie?’ Brett asked. ‘You jumped, didn’t you? You didn’t fall.’
    ‘Oh, Brett, don’t question him now,’ Marion said.
    ‘If I don’t now, I may never get the answer – or the right answer,’ Brett replied.
    Edith knew Brett was tired after a long day, that he was more ashamed of Cliffie than concerned about his state.
    ‘Do you know who pulled you out?’ Brett asked Cliffie.
    ‘We’ll find out, Brett,’ Edith said. ‘The whole town’ll know tomorrow.’
     
    ‘… Good King Wenceslas…
    … on the feast of…’
    They were back. No, passing by, Edith thought. No,
back
,
because here it came louder. However, these were men’s voices. One singer broke off in a tipsy guffaw.
    ‘Nobody’s going to ask for alms, so we’re
not
ringing the bell!’ a man said, and his voice came clearly from the snowbound street, because no one in the living room was talking just then.
    Gert had just lit a cigarette, and she shook the match out with a jerk of her wrist and said, grinning, ‘Bet that’s Male and Harry from the Stud Box, Norm. Sounds like ’em. They’re always clowning.’ She laughed a merry laugh.
    The Stud Box was a men’s shop in the town.
    ‘Faggots,’ said Norm good-naturedly. ‘Can I have a re-fill, Brett?’
    ‘Help yourself, Norm!’ Edith said. She had put rye, whisky, rum, gin, and the ice bucket on a card table, in easier reach than the bar cart.
    ‘I think Santa Claus or a friend of yours brought you an interesting present from New York, Cliffie,’ Marion said, bending toward him. ‘Want to see it now?’
    ‘Oh – he can wait till tomorrow,’ Edith said. Cliffie looked all right, but was in a trance, Edith thought. She was familiar with his trances. ‘Want to go to bed, Cliffie?’
    Cliffie didn’t answer, though he looked at his mother. He was not quite smiling, but he was enjoying perhaps the happiest moment of his life. He loved being wrapped up like a mummy, so that he couldn’t even lift an arm or a hand, loved being warm and cozy and fussed over, because he really had jumped off the bridge. He could hardly believe it himself, that a couple of hours ago he’d climbed over the metal parapet which was nearly as high as his shoulders, looked down for a few seconds, then jumped – into the darkness, into the water. Even at camp, he hadn’t had the courage to jump off a diving board, even when the distance had been much less and he could see what he was jumping into. Cliffie was also amazed that he’d been rescued, and pretty quickly. The seconds when he’d thought to jump, and had jumped, had been brief and magical. Had it been
he
?
Of course! Here he was, and he knew quite well that he’d just been in the hospital in Doylestown, with people hovering around him, giving him hot tea, putting hot water bottles at his feet. Cliffie felt that he was a changed boy, that he might sprout wings, that he might have stupendous powers from now on. He was
happy
.
    Cliffie’s dream of glory was jolted, slightly, by a clatter on the staircase, a little shriek from his mother in the hall, a yell from somebody else. George was groaning, mumbling something.
    ‘You all right, George?’ said Marion in the hall.
    Cliffie giggled, shivering and shaking at the same time under his blankets. Old Uncle George had fallen on the stairs! Ha-ha! Maybe fallen on his ass, or his nose!
    Brett and Edith were getting George to his feet. He had fallen forward, thank goodness, and had only a nosebleed, or so it seemed, because Marion, the nurse, busied herself with Kleenexes and soothing words.
    ‘What
else
tonight?’ asked Marion,