Read Online I Confess by Johannes Mario Simmel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Johannes Mario Simmel
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are my wife, but I can't excuse it."
"So ... you can't excuse it."
"No."
"It was unpardonable."
"Yes."
"You were ashamed of me.'*
"Yes, Margaret."
"And because of me, because of this incident at the preview, Mr. Warner didn't renew your contract."
I didn't want to speak but I did. "It isn't such a disaster," I said, "although of course it isn't exactly pleasant. But I must make one thing absolutely clear to you— you've simply got to control yourself. In the future things are going to have to be different. Otherwise . . •"
She jumped to her feet. "Otherwise?"
"Otherwise I'll be out of work."
She laughed harshly. "So I'm the cause of your unemployment. I. I of all people. That's great! That's just great!" She began to stumble around the room again.
"Sit down, Margaret. Think of the child."
"Now I'm to think of the child. All of a sudden I'm to think of the child "
"Margaret, please!"
"Leave me alone. Who do you think you are? You
have the nerve to reproach me. I try to help you, to further you, and you reproach me. . . ."
"All I'm begging you is to ..."
"I'm loyal. I stand up for you. I tell Jack Warner the truth—and you reproach me. So what the hell do you want? Some Uttle whore who doesn't stand up for you when people are treating you unfairly? Who smiles and makes up to Dore Thompson? Are you dissatisfied with me? Am I a bad wife? Does it embarrass you that I'm loyal to you? Would you prefer it if I played along with aJl those phonies? 'Yes, Mr. Warner . . . Wonderful, Miss McGuire . . . You're a genius, Mr. Thompson. . . .' Is that what you want?"
She stopped in front of me. She was panting. "So tell me what you want! Tell me!"
"I want peace and quiet," I screamed, *1 want peace and quiet to work in."
"And I'm a disturbing element.''
I didn't want to say it. As God is my witness, T didn't want to say it, but I did. "Yes. You are a disturbing element."
She looked at me. The tears welled up in her eyes. "And that's your thanks," she said. "Your thanks for everything Fve done for you."
She turned around and stumbled to the door. "Margaret, please!"
The door fell shut. I could hear her heels click-clacking in the passage. Before I got there I heard her scream. It was a terrible scream, like the scream of an animal. There was nothing human about it. "Margaret!" I cried.
She lay in the hall below, her body curled up, deathly fear in her face, her hands pressed against her stomach. She looked at me with horror-filled eyes as I ran down the stairs to her. Her wide robe was spread around her like a fan. "Get the doctor," she groaned. "Quick."
She had fallen down the entire flight of stairs.
Dear God, don't let anything happen to her, let it turn out all right, dear God, Please, please, please. It was my fault, I upset her. Because she was excited she ran to the stairs.. .. Please, dear God, don't let anything happen to her. Don't let anything happen to the baby, I won't ever want to write a good script, dear God, if you'll just let her pull through, I swear. I don't even want to be happy again, but please, please, please, let her live. And let the baby live. Amen.
It was three hours later. I was standing in one of the countless white halls of Beverly Glen Hospital, waiting. My hands were wet, my shirt was sweaty. I was sweating with fear.
The doctor had come and called an. ambulance. Margaret had started to bleed. Then she had lost consciousness. I sat at her side as the ambulance tore through the streets, sirens waihng, and I could see the doctor watching me with a side-glance of disgust.
They took her straight to the operating room; they had already given her the necessary injections in the ambulance. The doctor pushed me back when I wanted to follow him. "You stay here," he said coldly. He hated me. I hated myself. I stayed behind. The light above the door to the operating room went on. "No admittance," said the lettering on the light.
I sat on a bench and prayed. For Margaret. For her life.
"So ... you can't excuse it."
"No."
"It was unpardonable."
"Yes."
"You were ashamed of me.'*
"Yes, Margaret."
"And because of me, because of this incident at the preview, Mr. Warner didn't renew your contract."
I didn't want to speak but I did. "It isn't such a disaster," I said, "although of course it isn't exactly pleasant. But I must make one thing absolutely clear to you— you've simply got to control yourself. In the future things are going to have to be different. Otherwise . . •"
She jumped to her feet. "Otherwise?"
"Otherwise I'll be out of work."
She laughed harshly. "So I'm the cause of your unemployment. I. I of all people. That's great! That's just great!" She began to stumble around the room again.
"Sit down, Margaret. Think of the child."
"Now I'm to think of the child. All of a sudden I'm to think of the child "
"Margaret, please!"
"Leave me alone. Who do you think you are? You
have the nerve to reproach me. I try to help you, to further you, and you reproach me. . . ."
"All I'm begging you is to ..."
"I'm loyal. I stand up for you. I tell Jack Warner the truth—and you reproach me. So what the hell do you want? Some Uttle whore who doesn't stand up for you when people are treating you unfairly? Who smiles and makes up to Dore Thompson? Are you dissatisfied with me? Am I a bad wife? Does it embarrass you that I'm loyal to you? Would you prefer it if I played along with aJl those phonies? 'Yes, Mr. Warner . . . Wonderful, Miss McGuire . . . You're a genius, Mr. Thompson. . . .' Is that what you want?"
She stopped in front of me. She was panting. "So tell me what you want! Tell me!"
"I want peace and quiet," I screamed, *1 want peace and quiet to work in."
"And I'm a disturbing element.''
I didn't want to say it. As God is my witness, T didn't want to say it, but I did. "Yes. You are a disturbing element."
She looked at me. The tears welled up in her eyes. "And that's your thanks," she said. "Your thanks for everything Fve done for you."
She turned around and stumbled to the door. "Margaret, please!"
The door fell shut. I could hear her heels click-clacking in the passage. Before I got there I heard her scream. It was a terrible scream, like the scream of an animal. There was nothing human about it. "Margaret!" I cried.
She lay in the hall below, her body curled up, deathly fear in her face, her hands pressed against her stomach. She looked at me with horror-filled eyes as I ran down the stairs to her. Her wide robe was spread around her like a fan. "Get the doctor," she groaned. "Quick."
She had fallen down the entire flight of stairs.
Dear God, don't let anything happen to her, let it turn out all right, dear God, Please, please, please. It was my fault, I upset her. Because she was excited she ran to the stairs.. .. Please, dear God, don't let anything happen to her. Don't let anything happen to the baby, I won't ever want to write a good script, dear God, if you'll just let her pull through, I swear. I don't even want to be happy again, but please, please, please, let her live. And let the baby live. Amen.
It was three hours later. I was standing in one of the countless white halls of Beverly Glen Hospital, waiting. My hands were wet, my shirt was sweaty. I was sweating with fear.
The doctor had come and called an. ambulance. Margaret had started to bleed. Then she had lost consciousness. I sat at her side as the ambulance tore through the streets, sirens waihng, and I could see the doctor watching me with a side-glance of disgust.
They took her straight to the operating room; they had already given her the necessary injections in the ambulance. The doctor pushed me back when I wanted to follow him. "You stay here," he said coldly. He hated me. I hated myself. I stayed behind. The light above the door to the operating room went on. "No admittance," said the lettering on the light.
I sat on a bench and prayed. For Margaret. For her life.
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