Read Online The Early Stories of Truman Capote by Truman Capote - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Truman Capote
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Louise out of that lie you told tonight.”
Ethel tried to push her accuser’s arm away. “Stop it! you’re hurting me!”
“You did lie—didn’t you?” Mildred’s voice was hoarse with fury.
“No—no—it was the truth—I swear it. Miss Burke’s going to find out if it isn’t the truth; then you’ll see. You won’t think little Miss Semon is so wonderful then!”
Mildred released her grip on Ethel. “Listen, it wouldn’t make one particle of difference to me whether it was true or not—you aren’t even in a class with that girl.” She paused for a moment and chose her words carefully. “Take my advice—go to Miss Burke and tell her you were lying—or I’m not responsible for your health, Ethel Pendleton. You’re playing with dynamite!”
With that as a farewell, she opened the door and slammed it with a bang.
Ethel stood shivering in the terrible darkness. It wasn’t because of Louise—she didn’t care about that—it was the others. Mildred would tell them probably, and that was why she suddenly knew she was going to cry.
IV
Miss Burke lay on the sofa of her sitting room, her head propped up by a huge pink silk pillow. Her hands were pushed tightly against her eyes, trying to drive away the dull ache which gnawed at her fraught nerves.
Miss Burke thought, with a shudder, of what would have happened if Ethel had told the other students instead of her, and they in turn had told their parents. Yes, Ethel should be congratulated.
When Ethel entered the headmistress’s private kingdom, the clock in the reception salon was chiming five. The feeble winter sun had disappeared, and the gray January dusk filtered weakly through the heavily draped windows. She could see that Miss Burke was in an emotionally disturbed state.
“Good afternoon, dear.” Miss Burke’s voice was tired and strained.
“You wished to see me?” Ethel sought to keep herself, in appearance, as innocent as possible.
Miss Burke gestured with annoyance.
“Let us come to the point at once. You were correct. I called Mr. Nicoll and demanded a full report of the girl’s parents. Her mother was an American negress, a mulatto to be exact, from the West. She was a sensational dancer in Paris and married a wealthy and titled Frenchman, Alexis Semon. So Louise is, as you suspected, a person of color.
Quadroon,
I believe, is the technical term. Most unfortunate. But naturally the situation is intolerable, as I explained to Mr. Nicoll. I told him she would receive immediate dismissal. He is calling for her tonight. Naturally, I had an interview with Louise and explained the situation to her as kindly as possible—oh, but why go into that?”
She looked at Ethel as if she were seeking sympathy—but all she saw was a young girl’s face, whose thin lips were stretched in a sardonic smile of triumph. Miss Burke knew with sudden realization how she had played into this jealous girl’s hands. Abruptly she said, “Will you please leave me.”
When Ethel had gone, Miss Burke lay there on the sofa remembering, with horrible clarity, all the things Louise had said in her defense. What difference did it make? She did not look colored. She was as clever and as charming as any of the other girls—better educated than most. She was so happy here; was not America a democracy?
Miss Burke tried to soothe herself with the thought that what she had done had to be done—after all, hers was a fashionable institution. She had been tricked into accepting the girl. But something else kept telling her that she was wrong and that Louise was right!
V
It was nine o’clock and Ethel lay on her bed staring at the ceiling—trying not to think of anything or hear anything. She wanted to fall asleep and forget.
Suddenly there was a soft knock on the door. Then the door opened and Louise Semon was standing there.
Ethel shut her eyes tightly—she hadn’t counted on this.
“What do you want?” She talked up to the ceiling and did not turn
Ethel tried to push her accuser’s arm away. “Stop it! you’re hurting me!”
“You did lie—didn’t you?” Mildred’s voice was hoarse with fury.
“No—no—it was the truth—I swear it. Miss Burke’s going to find out if it isn’t the truth; then you’ll see. You won’t think little Miss Semon is so wonderful then!”
Mildred released her grip on Ethel. “Listen, it wouldn’t make one particle of difference to me whether it was true or not—you aren’t even in a class with that girl.” She paused for a moment and chose her words carefully. “Take my advice—go to Miss Burke and tell her you were lying—or I’m not responsible for your health, Ethel Pendleton. You’re playing with dynamite!”
With that as a farewell, she opened the door and slammed it with a bang.
Ethel stood shivering in the terrible darkness. It wasn’t because of Louise—she didn’t care about that—it was the others. Mildred would tell them probably, and that was why she suddenly knew she was going to cry.
IV
Miss Burke lay on the sofa of her sitting room, her head propped up by a huge pink silk pillow. Her hands were pushed tightly against her eyes, trying to drive away the dull ache which gnawed at her fraught nerves.
Miss Burke thought, with a shudder, of what would have happened if Ethel had told the other students instead of her, and they in turn had told their parents. Yes, Ethel should be congratulated.
When Ethel entered the headmistress’s private kingdom, the clock in the reception salon was chiming five. The feeble winter sun had disappeared, and the gray January dusk filtered weakly through the heavily draped windows. She could see that Miss Burke was in an emotionally disturbed state.
“Good afternoon, dear.” Miss Burke’s voice was tired and strained.
“You wished to see me?” Ethel sought to keep herself, in appearance, as innocent as possible.
Miss Burke gestured with annoyance.
“Let us come to the point at once. You were correct. I called Mr. Nicoll and demanded a full report of the girl’s parents. Her mother was an American negress, a mulatto to be exact, from the West. She was a sensational dancer in Paris and married a wealthy and titled Frenchman, Alexis Semon. So Louise is, as you suspected, a person of color.
Quadroon,
I believe, is the technical term. Most unfortunate. But naturally the situation is intolerable, as I explained to Mr. Nicoll. I told him she would receive immediate dismissal. He is calling for her tonight. Naturally, I had an interview with Louise and explained the situation to her as kindly as possible—oh, but why go into that?”
She looked at Ethel as if she were seeking sympathy—but all she saw was a young girl’s face, whose thin lips were stretched in a sardonic smile of triumph. Miss Burke knew with sudden realization how she had played into this jealous girl’s hands. Abruptly she said, “Will you please leave me.”
When Ethel had gone, Miss Burke lay there on the sofa remembering, with horrible clarity, all the things Louise had said in her defense. What difference did it make? She did not look colored. She was as clever and as charming as any of the other girls—better educated than most. She was so happy here; was not America a democracy?
Miss Burke tried to soothe herself with the thought that what she had done had to be done—after all, hers was a fashionable institution. She had been tricked into accepting the girl. But something else kept telling her that she was wrong and that Louise was right!
V
It was nine o’clock and Ethel lay on her bed staring at the ceiling—trying not to think of anything or hear anything. She wanted to fall asleep and forget.
Suddenly there was a soft knock on the door. Then the door opened and Louise Semon was standing there.
Ethel shut her eyes tightly—she hadn’t counted on this.
“What do you want?” She talked up to the ceiling and did not turn
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