Read Online The Death of Ruth by Elizabeth Kata - Free Book Online

that I was right and that it should be just a matter of time.
    â€˜Yes,’ Ralph had agreed with me, ‘It is much worse for Molly than for any of us. We are never here during the week days. She is the only one actually suffering because of the noise. Yes, John, be patient, time will do the trick.’
    Three months have passed by and the huge building project has become a grotesque steel skeleton, dwarfing our small houses. The workmen now start very early every morning and to escape the noise I leave home an hour earlier than is necessary and I have taken to walking the three miles to the city and my health and my appetite are improving. This morning, however, I awoke with a headache, and feeling off colour I decided to wait and catch the bus. Preparing my breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and coffee, I groaned aloud at each metallic clang, at the screech of metal on metal, and at the general buzz and ear-shattering medley of construction going on. Looking out of the grimy kitchen window, I watched Molly, who stood, as though lost in a dream, with her arms folded, staring down at the really beautiful rock-gardenshe has recently been working on again, and as I watched, sounds of shocking confusion came from the building project, beginning with the high, terrified scream of a man and ending with the deafening crash of a steel girder as it fell from a height on to a pile of other girders lying on the ground.
    There was an ugly beat of silence, then sounds of panic—men’s voices yelling—and mixed in with all of that, work had started up again, the work of more than thirty men, many of them armed with electrical tools.
    Later on, I found out that a workman had fallen, as well as the girder, and that he had been seriously injured.
    When the chaos had quietened down, I placed my untouched cup of coffee on to the table, and going out into the garden, I called to Molly. Molly, during the entire period, had not moved. She had remained lost in contemplation of her much-loved rock-garden and even the sound of her own name, called close by, made no impression on her. When I touched her shoulder, she turned, gazing at me with startled, fear-filled eyes. With some shock I realized that Molly has become hard of hearing.
    My first reaction was—Hell! Now I can’t rely on the noise to change her mind. She doesn’t even hear it, it means
nothing
to her, then I was immediately ashamed of that thought and strangely enough, my anger and impatience faded.
    I have decided for the time being, to give up asking Molly to reconsider selling the property. I will leave her in peace. I could weep for the pathetic person she has become. I will not worry her further but try to fall into her way of living and thinking. Try to make her life as pleasant as possible.
    For some years now I have been buying the provisions and food that cannot be delivered to the house. I had done it carelessly, with bad grace, but now I am shopping with more thought to food that Molly might fancy. Recently,with some embarrassment, I realized that my wife has not bought herself one new article of clothing for years. I noticed her patched, worn underwear that hung on the laundry line, and I noted that Molly never wore stockings and that her shoes were worn out. For years she had gone every ten days or so to have her hair shampooed and set, but these days her hair is neglected; it grows wispily, and it is almost completely white.
    I blamed myself for not having noticed such things before. It was because, I suppose, like her deafness, these things have come about so gradually.
    I went shopping and purchased underwear, a pleated skirt, two blouses, shoes. I left the packages on Molly’s bed, and later on, I watched as she placed the underwear in a drawer, hung the skirt and blouses carefully on hangers. She had smoothed the material with her garden-rough hands and I was pleased that I had also bought hand lotion, complexion cream, a lipstick, other