and then on the other. Each time one of us felt sick, she would lean over
quietly as if she had dropped something and was picking it up off the floor,
and the other one would hum a little and pretend to be looking out the window.
The cab driver seemed to know
what we were doing, even so.
“Hey,” he protested, driving
through a light that had just turned red, “you can’t do that in my cab, you
better get out and do it in the street.”
But we didn’t say anything, and
I guess he figured we were almost at the hotel so he didn’t make us get out
until we pulled up in front of the main entrance.
We didn’t dare wait to add up
the fare. We stuffed a pile of silver into the cabby’s hand and dropped a
couple of Kleenexes to cover the mess on the floor, and ran in through the
lobby and on to the empty elevator. Luckily for us it was a quiet time of day.
Betsy was sick again in the elevator and I held her head, and then I was sick
and she held mine.
Usually after a good puke you
feel better right away. We hugged each other and then said good-bye and went
off to opposite ends of the hall to lie down in our own rooms. There is nothing
like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
But the minute I’d shut the door
behind me and undressed and dragged myself on to the bed, I felt worse than
ever. I felt I just had to go to the toilet. I struggled into my white bathrobe
with the blue cornflowers on it and staggered down to the bathroom.
Betsy was already there. I could
hear her groaning behind the door, so I hurried on around the corner to the
bathroom in the next wing. I thought I would die, it was so far.
I sat on the toilet and leaned
my head over the edge of the washbowl and I thought I was losing my guts and my
dinner both. The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it
would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then
I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture-chamber
tiles under my feet and over my head and on all four sides closed in and
squeezed me to pieces.
I don’t know how long I kept at
it. I let the cold water in the bowl go on running loudly with the stopper out,
so anybody who came by would think I was washing my clothes, and then when I
felt reasonably safe I stretched out on the floor and lay quite still.
It didn’t seem to be summer any
more. I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together,
and the big white hotel towel I had dragged down with me lay under my head numb
as a snowdrift.
I
thought it very bad manners for anyone to pound on a bathroom door the way some
person was pounding. They could just go around the corner and find another
bathroom the way I had done and leave me in peace. But the person kept banging
and pleading with me to let them in and I thought I dimly recognized the voice.
It sounded a bit like Emily Ann Offenbach.
“Just a minute,” I said then. My
words bungled out thick as molasses.
I pulled myself together and
slowly rose and flushed the toilet for the tenth time and slopped the bowl
clean and rolled up the towel so the vomit stains didn’t show very clearly and
unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall.
I knew it would be fatal if I
looked at Emily Ann or anybody else so I fixed my eyes glassily on a window
that swam at the end of the hall and put one foot in front of the other.
The
next thing I had a view of was somebody’s shoe.
It was a stout shoe of cracked
black
quietly as if she had dropped something and was picking it up off the floor,
and the other one would hum a little and pretend to be looking out the window.
The cab driver seemed to know
what we were doing, even so.
“Hey,” he protested, driving
through a light that had just turned red, “you can’t do that in my cab, you
better get out and do it in the street.”
But we didn’t say anything, and
I guess he figured we were almost at the hotel so he didn’t make us get out
until we pulled up in front of the main entrance.
We didn’t dare wait to add up
the fare. We stuffed a pile of silver into the cabby’s hand and dropped a
couple of Kleenexes to cover the mess on the floor, and ran in through the
lobby and on to the empty elevator. Luckily for us it was a quiet time of day.
Betsy was sick again in the elevator and I held her head, and then I was sick
and she held mine.
Usually after a good puke you
feel better right away. We hugged each other and then said good-bye and went
off to opposite ends of the hall to lie down in our own rooms. There is nothing
like puking with somebody to make you into old friends.
But the minute I’d shut the door
behind me and undressed and dragged myself on to the bed, I felt worse than
ever. I felt I just had to go to the toilet. I struggled into my white bathrobe
with the blue cornflowers on it and staggered down to the bathroom.
Betsy was already there. I could
hear her groaning behind the door, so I hurried on around the corner to the
bathroom in the next wing. I thought I would die, it was so far.
I sat on the toilet and leaned
my head over the edge of the washbowl and I thought I was losing my guts and my
dinner both. The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it
would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then
I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture-chamber
tiles under my feet and over my head and on all four sides closed in and
squeezed me to pieces.
I don’t know how long I kept at
it. I let the cold water in the bowl go on running loudly with the stopper out,
so anybody who came by would think I was washing my clothes, and then when I
felt reasonably safe I stretched out on the floor and lay quite still.
It didn’t seem to be summer any
more. I could feel the winter shaking my bones and banging my teeth together,
and the big white hotel towel I had dragged down with me lay under my head numb
as a snowdrift.
I
thought it very bad manners for anyone to pound on a bathroom door the way some
person was pounding. They could just go around the corner and find another
bathroom the way I had done and leave me in peace. But the person kept banging
and pleading with me to let them in and I thought I dimly recognized the voice.
It sounded a bit like Emily Ann Offenbach.
“Just a minute,” I said then. My
words bungled out thick as molasses.
I pulled myself together and
slowly rose and flushed the toilet for the tenth time and slopped the bowl
clean and rolled up the towel so the vomit stains didn’t show very clearly and
unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall.
I knew it would be fatal if I
looked at Emily Ann or anybody else so I fixed my eyes glassily on a window
that swam at the end of the hall and put one foot in front of the other.
The
next thing I had a view of was somebody’s shoe.
It was a stout shoe of cracked
black
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