Read Online Lie Down in Darkness by William Styron - Free Book Online
Authors: William Styron
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the limousine door, like a bishop about to consecrate something.
“All righty,” he said, peering into the back seat. “Is everybody ready?” He smiled wanly. “Ah, I see. All right, we’ll go now.”
So they were off at last—Dolly and Loftis next to each other, Ella Swan on the jump seat sitting stiffly in black silk and rococo lace, her head bowed now in some old posture of contemplation or sorrow, saying nothing, and Mr. Casper in the front seat, starting the motor: Loftis could see his freckled brow and red hair in the little mirror. Yet they had gone no more than a hundred yards, trailing the hearse, when the hearse itself swerved toward the curb, stopped, and Barclay issued forth with a harried look, beckoning to Mr. Casper.
“Oh dear,” said Dolly, “oh dear.”
“What’s wrong——” Loftis began, bending forward, but Mr. Casper had stopped the limousine, got out and walked to the hearse where, with Barclay, he began to hold parley over the engine.
“Oh, my God,” Loftis said, to no one in particular. “Isn’t it enough that I’ve got all this, without something else going haywire?” He thrust his head in his hand. “Jesus. It’s more than I can bear.”
Dolly laid her hand on his arm. “You’ve got to be brave, Milton,” she said.
He raised his head without answering and gazed at the hearse. He turned away with a sudden shock, for inside, in that tasseled, becur-tained gloom, he had caught a glimpse of the coffin, receptacle of all his love, which with panic he realized must today disappear forever. It was really, he thought, more than he could bear. He turned completely away from the hearse and craned his neck so that he could see the bay. Dolly murmured something softly consoling, harmless and incoherent; he ignored this, thinking: Jesus, she’s getting on my nerves. Up ahead the motor in the hearse gave a sinister belch, throbbed feebly, and perished in an asthmatic gasp; for a moment blue smoke billowed through the limousine, then faded on the air. Jesus, he thought: This is more than I can stand. By the seawall, where he turned his gaze, overlooking the bay, there was a little patch of grass and a sycamore tree: beneath the tree a colored boy and his girl were tussling. She made a grab for him, laughing; her mouth was big, open; round with wild delight: “Git on!” the boy cried, and they tumbled together beneath a scrawny little bush, then lay still. Summer-time. Light lay serenely over the bay. A herd of oyster boats was anchored far out; like cows they all faced in one direction: like cows, too, almost imperceptibly, they turned—with the changing of the wind. Above, around the vast circumference of the sky, a pale light was reflected, glowing in bright oblong patches against those clouds that hovered motionless on the horizon. It was a bright and sticky light, somehow menacing; it filled him obscurely with a feeling of storm and threat and coming destruction. Oh, God, he thought, shivering a little: What will I be doing tomorrow?
He must have sighed then, unconsciously, made a noise; perhaps he did, for once more he felt Dolly’s soft gloved hand on his, the voice saying tenderly, “I’m with you, dear. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m with you.”
He looked at her and tried to smile. “I don’t feel very well,” he said. He remembered the scene in the restaurant and his belly heaved. “This is the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“Dear,” she said, “you’ll just have to be brave.” Her eyes glistened in sympathy, together with pure rapt adoration, the familiar expression which she wore, when near him, with mindless constancy.
“I was sick,” he said.
“Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “Oh, my darling.”
“I vomited. Bile came up. I’d go to bed. Any other day.”
“Oh, my poor darling.” Again she rested her hand on his, and in a willful, irritable gesture he drew his hand away. In the past he would have devoured her sentiment, would have
“All righty,” he said, peering into the back seat. “Is everybody ready?” He smiled wanly. “Ah, I see. All right, we’ll go now.”
So they were off at last—Dolly and Loftis next to each other, Ella Swan on the jump seat sitting stiffly in black silk and rococo lace, her head bowed now in some old posture of contemplation or sorrow, saying nothing, and Mr. Casper in the front seat, starting the motor: Loftis could see his freckled brow and red hair in the little mirror. Yet they had gone no more than a hundred yards, trailing the hearse, when the hearse itself swerved toward the curb, stopped, and Barclay issued forth with a harried look, beckoning to Mr. Casper.
“Oh dear,” said Dolly, “oh dear.”
“What’s wrong——” Loftis began, bending forward, but Mr. Casper had stopped the limousine, got out and walked to the hearse where, with Barclay, he began to hold parley over the engine.
“Oh, my God,” Loftis said, to no one in particular. “Isn’t it enough that I’ve got all this, without something else going haywire?” He thrust his head in his hand. “Jesus. It’s more than I can bear.”
Dolly laid her hand on his arm. “You’ve got to be brave, Milton,” she said.
He raised his head without answering and gazed at the hearse. He turned away with a sudden shock, for inside, in that tasseled, becur-tained gloom, he had caught a glimpse of the coffin, receptacle of all his love, which with panic he realized must today disappear forever. It was really, he thought, more than he could bear. He turned completely away from the hearse and craned his neck so that he could see the bay. Dolly murmured something softly consoling, harmless and incoherent; he ignored this, thinking: Jesus, she’s getting on my nerves. Up ahead the motor in the hearse gave a sinister belch, throbbed feebly, and perished in an asthmatic gasp; for a moment blue smoke billowed through the limousine, then faded on the air. Jesus, he thought: This is more than I can stand. By the seawall, where he turned his gaze, overlooking the bay, there was a little patch of grass and a sycamore tree: beneath the tree a colored boy and his girl were tussling. She made a grab for him, laughing; her mouth was big, open; round with wild delight: “Git on!” the boy cried, and they tumbled together beneath a scrawny little bush, then lay still. Summer-time. Light lay serenely over the bay. A herd of oyster boats was anchored far out; like cows they all faced in one direction: like cows, too, almost imperceptibly, they turned—with the changing of the wind. Above, around the vast circumference of the sky, a pale light was reflected, glowing in bright oblong patches against those clouds that hovered motionless on the horizon. It was a bright and sticky light, somehow menacing; it filled him obscurely with a feeling of storm and threat and coming destruction. Oh, God, he thought, shivering a little: What will I be doing tomorrow?
He must have sighed then, unconsciously, made a noise; perhaps he did, for once more he felt Dolly’s soft gloved hand on his, the voice saying tenderly, “I’m with you, dear. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m with you.”
He looked at her and tried to smile. “I don’t feel very well,” he said. He remembered the scene in the restaurant and his belly heaved. “This is the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“Dear,” she said, “you’ll just have to be brave.” Her eyes glistened in sympathy, together with pure rapt adoration, the familiar expression which she wore, when near him, with mindless constancy.
“I was sick,” he said.
“Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “Oh, my darling.”
“I vomited. Bile came up. I’d go to bed. Any other day.”
“Oh, my poor darling.” Again she rested her hand on his, and in a willful, irritable gesture he drew his hand away. In the past he would have devoured her sentiment, would have
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