Read Online Riders in the Chariot by Patrick White - Free Book Online
Authors: Patrick White
Ads: Link
smell of a hot, moist caramel almost drove her nuts. But she would sit, and the strangest situations would pass muster as life. That lean young fellow, in crow's-feet and leather pants, might just have reached down, and put his hand--it made her lolly stick; and Ava and Lana, despite proportions and circumstances, could have been a couple of her own girls. Best of all was a picture about a mother. She knew by heart the injustices to expect, not to mention the retribution, so that, at the end, the Wurlitzer rising from its well only completed her apotheosis. When she smelled the vox humana _'s rose and violet breath, and felt the little hammers striking on her womb, then she was, indeed, fulfilled, and could forget her hubby, who had died in the lounge at ten p. m., as she was handing him his second cup of tea. Grave as that injustice was, she had survived, and, it appeared, might have experienced enough of life and dreams to parry any further blows.
Miss Hare was afraid she might be afraid of her housekeeper. She said, "I hope you will get used to things."
"I miss the trams," Mrs Jolley replied.
The clang of them was in her voice, and in her eye, the melancholy plume of violet sparks.
"Oh dear," said Miss Hare, "I cannot say I was ever attached to a tram."
"I miss Saturday evening," Mrs Jolley said. "Dropping in at Merle's, or Dot's, or Elma's. Elma is the youngest--married a stoker, not that he is not a gentleman, because none of my girls would never ever have entertained the idea of anything else but a gentleman."
"I am surprised you could bear to leave them," said Miss Hare, almost not loud enough.
"Ah," said Mrs Jolley, and took the mop, "that is life, if you know what I mean."
Then she screwed the mop in the bucket, and took it out, and looked at the head.
"Or death, "she said.
Miss Hare was terrified.
"As if it was my fault," said Mrs Jolley. "Sitting in his own chair."
"A chair makes it seem more natural," Miss Hare ventured to suggest.
Remembering her mother, who had died in similar circumstances, thus she comforted herself.
"I can just imagine you and your mum," Mrs Jolley said, and laughed. "Living here amongst the furniture. Like a couple of mice."
"Oh, there was Peg, too, and William Hadkin."
"Peg who?"
"I can't remember her name. If we ever knew it. She always seemed old. And had always been here. When the maids left--after the troubles overtook us--Peg stayed, and became a friend. And died, too. But after Mother. I was quite alone then."
"And who was the gentleman you was speaking of?"
"William was a coachman. He was very deaf."
Miss Hare paused.
"He was what they call rather simple _. Which means that what one knows is of a different kind. Actually, William knew an awful lot. And was not so deaf. I did not like him."
"And this Mr Hadkin, did he die too?"
"No. He simply went away."
"Strike a light!" said Mrs Jolley. "No wonder! What did all you people live on?"
"Things," said Miss Hare, and yawned. "Bread, for instance. Bread is lovely. I love to tear the ends off, and eat it just like that. Going along. And give it to the birds. It is so convenient. But, of course, we had the little allowance from my cousin, Eustace Cleugh, of which I wrote you. Certainly it was not very much, and that was discontinued in the war. Oh, I forgot. There was the goat. I had a goat, and would milk her. Yes, I missed her."
"What happened to the goat?"
"Please don't ask me!" cried Miss Hare. "I don't know!"
"All right _!" said Mrs Jolley, whose turn it was to be afraid.
In that house.
But Miss Hare was sad rather than afraid. She could not answer questions. Questions were screws that spiralled down into the brain. She looked at the bucket of grey water, from which the woman's mop was spreading ineffectual puddles. The woman whose three daughters' husbands had built with bricks, boxes in which to live. So childish. For the brick boxes of the daughters' husbands would tumble like the games of children. Only
Miss Hare was afraid she might be afraid of her housekeeper. She said, "I hope you will get used to things."
"I miss the trams," Mrs Jolley replied.
The clang of them was in her voice, and in her eye, the melancholy plume of violet sparks.
"Oh dear," said Miss Hare, "I cannot say I was ever attached to a tram."
"I miss Saturday evening," Mrs Jolley said. "Dropping in at Merle's, or Dot's, or Elma's. Elma is the youngest--married a stoker, not that he is not a gentleman, because none of my girls would never ever have entertained the idea of anything else but a gentleman."
"I am surprised you could bear to leave them," said Miss Hare, almost not loud enough.
"Ah," said Mrs Jolley, and took the mop, "that is life, if you know what I mean."
Then she screwed the mop in the bucket, and took it out, and looked at the head.
"Or death, "she said.
Miss Hare was terrified.
"As if it was my fault," said Mrs Jolley. "Sitting in his own chair."
"A chair makes it seem more natural," Miss Hare ventured to suggest.
Remembering her mother, who had died in similar circumstances, thus she comforted herself.
"I can just imagine you and your mum," Mrs Jolley said, and laughed. "Living here amongst the furniture. Like a couple of mice."
"Oh, there was Peg, too, and William Hadkin."
"Peg who?"
"I can't remember her name. If we ever knew it. She always seemed old. And had always been here. When the maids left--after the troubles overtook us--Peg stayed, and became a friend. And died, too. But after Mother. I was quite alone then."
"And who was the gentleman you was speaking of?"
"William was a coachman. He was very deaf."
Miss Hare paused.
"He was what they call rather simple _. Which means that what one knows is of a different kind. Actually, William knew an awful lot. And was not so deaf. I did not like him."
"And this Mr Hadkin, did he die too?"
"No. He simply went away."
"Strike a light!" said Mrs Jolley. "No wonder! What did all you people live on?"
"Things," said Miss Hare, and yawned. "Bread, for instance. Bread is lovely. I love to tear the ends off, and eat it just like that. Going along. And give it to the birds. It is so convenient. But, of course, we had the little allowance from my cousin, Eustace Cleugh, of which I wrote you. Certainly it was not very much, and that was discontinued in the war. Oh, I forgot. There was the goat. I had a goat, and would milk her. Yes, I missed her."
"What happened to the goat?"
"Please don't ask me!" cried Miss Hare. "I don't know!"
"All right _!" said Mrs Jolley, whose turn it was to be afraid.
In that house.
But Miss Hare was sad rather than afraid. She could not answer questions. Questions were screws that spiralled down into the brain. She looked at the bucket of grey water, from which the woman's mop was spreading ineffectual puddles. The woman whose three daughters' husbands had built with bricks, boxes in which to live. So childish. For the brick boxes of the daughters' husbands would tumble like the games of children. Only
Similar Books
