Read Online THE CINDER PATH by Yelena Kopylova - Free Book Online
Authors: Yelena Kopylova
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mistress.
Mary, her body perfectly still now, looked from
one face to the other, her expression like that of someone awakening from a deep dream. Slowly she hitched
herself upwards in the bed, then leaning her head back
against the rail, she looked at her daughter and said,
"It would be you who would do that, wouldn't it, Betty?
Don't worry"-she made a small motion with her
hand-"I'm not going rnad. Oh no, I've no
intention of going mad." She now raised her body
upwards andwitha quick movement of her legs, which made her daughter spring aside, she brought herself upright
on to the side of the bed. And
now looking at her son, she said, "You heard what
he said, Charlie, I'm to have one third. I've a
right to one third. Do you know what that means to me, a right to something, something of my own, after all this time?
No"- she shook her head-"not even you, you don't understand, you couldn't understand what it means. Well, you'll see in the future because"-she now looked at her daughter again, then repeated the word, "because I'm going to spend, spend and spend what is mine. For the
first time in years I'm going to handle money. . . .
And Betty"-she bent her body forward
towards the girl-"I want you to get this into your head.
That licence you took a moment ago will be the one and
only time you will take the initiative from now on. As
long as I'm mistress of this house, and that's what
I am, mistress of this house, you will do what you're
told, and by me."
It was as if she had forgotten the presence of her
son and Fanny, and strangely it was as if she were
addressing a woman of her own age, not a
fourteen-year-old girl, but as Charlie looked at
them both he knew that his mother was not seeing a child of fourteen, she was seeing her late husband, for, just as he did himself, she realized that as long as Betty
remained in this house his father would not really be dead.
He also realized that a great change had come over his
mother, she was a different person; he couldn't imagine her as the same woman who was continually weeping, who
could go for days without uttering a word, who always walked behind her husband, never at his side; and he didn't
know whether he liked the change or not.
The following morning Charlie knew that he
didn't like the change in his mother and chat unless he himself changed, unless he asserted himself and showed himself now, young as he was, as master, his father in some
strange way had died in vain.
He looked at his mother where she stood dressed for the road in her new black clothes. They were
expensive looking clothes: the three-quarter length
coat was of alpaca, and the full skirt below it was of a fine woollen material with a deep mud fringe showing
round the bottom. On her head she had a large
black hat with a feather in it; it looked too gay
for a mourning hat, in fact, her whole attire
looked out of place for mourning. But then she wasn't
acting as if she were in mourning. There was a lightness about her,
an air of excitement, both in her attitude and in
her voice. But the tone of her voice now was threaded
with vindictiveness and the content of her words was amazing him. "I'm giving them notice," she was saying.
"The lot, out, they're going out, every single Benton; there's going to be a clean sweep here. Oh
yes"-she pulled on a black silk glove
stroking each finger down to the knuckle with such force that the stitching gave way in one of the sockets.
Charlie gazed at her in amazement, his eyes
narrowed as if to get a different view of her; and now
she cried at him, "Yes! you can look surprised,
but that's only the beginning, there's going to be changes here."
"You can't do this, Mother."
"I can't? But oh, I can."
"No! no! you mustn't."
"Boy!"-she moved a step towards him now-"do you know what I have suffered at that woman's hands all
these years?"
Charlie closed his eyes for a moment, then he
looked down towards his feet as he said,
Mary, her body perfectly still now, looked from
one face to the other, her expression like that of someone awakening from a deep dream. Slowly she hitched
herself upwards in the bed, then leaning her head back
against the rail, she looked at her daughter and said,
"It would be you who would do that, wouldn't it, Betty?
Don't worry"-she made a small motion with her
hand-"I'm not going rnad. Oh no, I've no
intention of going mad." She now raised her body
upwards andwitha quick movement of her legs, which made her daughter spring aside, she brought herself upright
on to the side of the bed. And
now looking at her son, she said, "You heard what
he said, Charlie, I'm to have one third. I've a
right to one third. Do you know what that means to me, a right to something, something of my own, after all this time?
No"- she shook her head-"not even you, you don't understand, you couldn't understand what it means. Well, you'll see in the future because"-she now looked at her daughter again, then repeated the word, "because I'm going to spend, spend and spend what is mine. For the
first time in years I'm going to handle money. . . .
And Betty"-she bent her body forward
towards the girl-"I want you to get this into your head.
That licence you took a moment ago will be the one and
only time you will take the initiative from now on. As
long as I'm mistress of this house, and that's what
I am, mistress of this house, you will do what you're
told, and by me."
It was as if she had forgotten the presence of her
son and Fanny, and strangely it was as if she were
addressing a woman of her own age, not a
fourteen-year-old girl, but as Charlie looked at
them both he knew that his mother was not seeing a child of fourteen, she was seeing her late husband, for, just as he did himself, she realized that as long as Betty
remained in this house his father would not really be dead.
He also realized that a great change had come over his
mother, she was a different person; he couldn't imagine her as the same woman who was continually weeping, who
could go for days without uttering a word, who always walked behind her husband, never at his side; and he didn't
know whether he liked the change or not.
The following morning Charlie knew that he
didn't like the change in his mother and chat unless he himself changed, unless he asserted himself and showed himself now, young as he was, as master, his father in some
strange way had died in vain.
He looked at his mother where she stood dressed for the road in her new black clothes. They were
expensive looking clothes: the three-quarter length
coat was of alpaca, and the full skirt below it was of a fine woollen material with a deep mud fringe showing
round the bottom. On her head she had a large
black hat with a feather in it; it looked too gay
for a mourning hat, in fact, her whole attire
looked out of place for mourning. But then she wasn't
acting as if she were in mourning. There was a lightness about her,
an air of excitement, both in her attitude and in
her voice. But the tone of her voice now was threaded
with vindictiveness and the content of her words was amazing him. "I'm giving them notice," she was saying.
"The lot, out, they're going out, every single Benton; there's going to be a clean sweep here. Oh
yes"-she pulled on a black silk glove
stroking each finger down to the knuckle with such force that the stitching gave way in one of the sockets.
Charlie gazed at her in amazement, his eyes
narrowed as if to get a different view of her; and now
she cried at him, "Yes! you can look surprised,
but that's only the beginning, there's going to be changes here."
"You can't do this, Mother."
"I can't? But oh, I can."
"No! no! you mustn't."
"Boy!"-she moved a step towards him now-"do you know what I have suffered at that woman's hands all
these years?"
Charlie closed his eyes for a moment, then he
looked down towards his feet as he said,
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