Read Online The Bazaar and Other Stories by Elizabeth Bowen - Free Book Online

sorry I am that you’re
. . . not happy, but after all that must be between you and him. At
least, over here we think so. Perhaps things may be different in the
Argentine.”
     
Nancy, turning her head slowly, looked at him from a long way
away. “What a boy you are . . . ”
     
He was silent, stung intolerably, and made a movement to go.
She stretched out her two friendly hands to him. “Oh, stay! You dear
Noel, you comfort me just by sitting there. You’re like something in
an English book, an old lady, a kettle or a cat. You don’t know what
a life I’ve led – you’re like an afternoon in Wimbledon . . . ”
     
“Ah,” said Noel, and looked at his cousin Nancy with dangerous
eyes. “Are you quite sure I couldn’t make you afraid again?”
     
“I wish you could . . . ” said Nancy wistfully. She stirred and
laughed in her chair. “Oh, Noel, do try . . . ” 3
     
A remote, inaccessible Spanish lady, veiled in tragic experience,
was laughing at the young man from Bloomsbury. He almost prayed
to be made cruel enough. “Very well,” said Noel. “Look out!”
     
He put a hand in front of his eyes and began to grope back, back.
The paths he had trod were lonely as death, clammy, forgotten but
now once more his familiar. He shut out the rich warm room, the
stir and scent of Nancy, they fell away from him; Bloomsbury, life,
hope, dreams, ambition and Daphne fell away from him, too; he ran
on alone to the edge of the Pit. Within him there was an absolute
silence, a blank across which shadows doubtfully shivered and fled.
Nancy laughed and turned out the lamp at her elbow; the room was
dark except for the firelight and the lights coming up from the Park,
silent except for the clocks and the rushing past of the cars. These
sounds swelled up and filled the room, then died down, leaving it
empty. From the forgotten source, deep in Noel, terror began to
well up.
     
He knelt, half crouched, beside Nancy’s chair, and, reaching out,
caught her hand, smooth and firm, in his own, which was very cold.
He felt her pulse jumping. Motionless as beneath some compulsion
she waited, while his intense consciousness of her there beside him
fought with his icy flood of overmastering fear. He had opened the
floodgates for her, so he felt it right to press himself against the side
of her chair and lean his head on her arm as they had done in
childhood.
     
“Just imagine . . . ” Noel whispered against her ear. Starting
violently, he pointed into the dark. Her hand leapt in his, she
laughed on an intake of breath as though she were stepping into
cold water.
     
“We’re not alone! Cover your face and don’t look, my dear, for
we’re . . . we’re Not Quite Alone . . . A-ah! – Oh, my God, IT’S there on the sofa . . . Don’t be, don’t be too much afraid; shall I tell you?
     
– It’s turning Its head . . . But It can’t, Nancy. It can’t possibly turn
Its head . . . Because It – hasn’t – got – a neck. No, not a neck.
Only a . . . strip of skin. And that’s, that’s, that’s – ALL ROTTING
AWAY.”
     
Nancy, between a laugh and a shudder, as though cold water were
rising round her, taunted, “Go on , Noel . . . ” She turned out the
electric fire; they watched the red square fade and all that they
could see of each other fade with it. Nancy made a movement, he
clutched her in terror, afraid to be left. She got up, drew the heavy
curtains across the window and turned out the light in the vestibule
so that not so much as a crack came in from under the door. So soft
were her movements, so quiet her step, that he only guessed at her
whereabouts and shrieked when, groping back to her chair, she put
a hand on his face.
     
“ Noel !” cried she, appalled by his moments of silence.
     
“Hush – I am listening. Listen, too; do you hear? Some blood’s
dripping – tip, tap, tip, tap. Don’t move ! It’s all over the floor. A-ach,
it’s all over my hands. It’s all sticky and cold. Cold blood,