Read Online The Retreat by David Bergen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Bergen
Tags: Contemporary
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the apartment. A group of men and women, all well-dressed, all rich. And Miss Douceur would be the prettiest and the smartest.
Once, when he had arrived a little too early for his lesson, she had invited him in and asked him to wait on the couch in the den. He had heard voices, hers and another voice, lower, that of a man, he thought, and then the front door had opened and then closed and she had appeared and asked him to come, please. That day she had worn a yellow skirt and a white blouse with black swirls. Her legs had been bare and her feet were bare. This was the first time he had seen her feet and he could not stop himself from glancing at her toes and ankles.
For hours during the day, Everett read. Both Harris and the Doctor had collections of books that were kept in the Hall, though most of these books were strange and unapproachable, especially the Doctor’s. Lewis called them philosophical and theological tomes, and not very good ones at that. Everett discovered several short novels by John Steinbeck and he also read The Old Man and the Sea. He found a slim book on knots and so now he knew all about knots. He had not read any of Harris’s novels, though they were available; it was too strange to think of reading Harris’s words while the man was living next door.
Down by the pond, in the afternoons, Lizzy and Harris talked while Everett lay nearby and listened. Harris spoke of his life as a writer and he spoke of trips he had taken by himself and trips he had taken with Emma. One time he spoke of a month that he had spent in the south of Italy, and he said that if he were a wealthier man, and if Emma would follow him, he would live out his life in that place, close to the cliffs that fell down to the Mediterranean Sea. Everett, listening, but pretending not to, imagined a world of villas and late-evening meals with the sound of laughter and the ocean crashing on the rocks below. He recognized, perhaps for the first time in a real way, that the family he had been born into was poor and not very sophisticated and he wished that it weren’t so. Lately, he had been aware of his parents’ battles, of quarrels that upset his father more than his mother. His mother seemed to slip around the fights; she would smile and turn her back on Mr. Byrd, or later in the Hall she would be leaning in towards the Doctor and enjoying herself as if everything was normal and good.
One time, he had been asked to join some members of the Retreat as they drove into town to gather stale food – day-old bread and cast-off cinnamon buns – from the Dumpsters behind the Safeway. This was a regular event but Everett, curious at first, quickly found that he did not like the smell of the garbage. He was also uncomfortable with behaving in this way. He went once, and then decided to stay back at the camp and read, or to go down to the pond, where he lay, chest down, chin resting on his hands, conscious of Harris’s faint voice offering stories of lives that had been lived in other places.
Visitors often passed through, staying at the Retreat for several days, and the Doctor entertained these people, sitting with them in the Hall and talking to them. The room was full of light and smelled of cooking. Everett sometimes went back to the Hall in the late morning after breakfast, or on several occasions after lunch, when the conversation had carried through the meal and into the long afternoon, and he stood and listened to the adults talking, aware of a tightness in his throat, the cause of which he could not locate. When he heard the Doctor speak on some topic – one time he had been talking about space and time, and he kept using the name Hider – Everett felt a twinge of excitement, and then loneliness. He felt the possibility that he might grasp in a small way what was being said, followed by the realization that he did not, nor would he ever, match up to the people gathered around the long table. A circle, like a fence, surrounded the
Once, when he had arrived a little too early for his lesson, she had invited him in and asked him to wait on the couch in the den. He had heard voices, hers and another voice, lower, that of a man, he thought, and then the front door had opened and then closed and she had appeared and asked him to come, please. That day she had worn a yellow skirt and a white blouse with black swirls. Her legs had been bare and her feet were bare. This was the first time he had seen her feet and he could not stop himself from glancing at her toes and ankles.
For hours during the day, Everett read. Both Harris and the Doctor had collections of books that were kept in the Hall, though most of these books were strange and unapproachable, especially the Doctor’s. Lewis called them philosophical and theological tomes, and not very good ones at that. Everett discovered several short novels by John Steinbeck and he also read The Old Man and the Sea. He found a slim book on knots and so now he knew all about knots. He had not read any of Harris’s novels, though they were available; it was too strange to think of reading Harris’s words while the man was living next door.
Down by the pond, in the afternoons, Lizzy and Harris talked while Everett lay nearby and listened. Harris spoke of his life as a writer and he spoke of trips he had taken by himself and trips he had taken with Emma. One time he spoke of a month that he had spent in the south of Italy, and he said that if he were a wealthier man, and if Emma would follow him, he would live out his life in that place, close to the cliffs that fell down to the Mediterranean Sea. Everett, listening, but pretending not to, imagined a world of villas and late-evening meals with the sound of laughter and the ocean crashing on the rocks below. He recognized, perhaps for the first time in a real way, that the family he had been born into was poor and not very sophisticated and he wished that it weren’t so. Lately, he had been aware of his parents’ battles, of quarrels that upset his father more than his mother. His mother seemed to slip around the fights; she would smile and turn her back on Mr. Byrd, or later in the Hall she would be leaning in towards the Doctor and enjoying herself as if everything was normal and good.
One time, he had been asked to join some members of the Retreat as they drove into town to gather stale food – day-old bread and cast-off cinnamon buns – from the Dumpsters behind the Safeway. This was a regular event but Everett, curious at first, quickly found that he did not like the smell of the garbage. He was also uncomfortable with behaving in this way. He went once, and then decided to stay back at the camp and read, or to go down to the pond, where he lay, chest down, chin resting on his hands, conscious of Harris’s faint voice offering stories of lives that had been lived in other places.
Visitors often passed through, staying at the Retreat for several days, and the Doctor entertained these people, sitting with them in the Hall and talking to them. The room was full of light and smelled of cooking. Everett sometimes went back to the Hall in the late morning after breakfast, or on several occasions after lunch, when the conversation had carried through the meal and into the long afternoon, and he stood and listened to the adults talking, aware of a tightness in his throat, the cause of which he could not locate. When he heard the Doctor speak on some topic – one time he had been talking about space and time, and he kept using the name Hider – Everett felt a twinge of excitement, and then loneliness. He felt the possibility that he might grasp in a small way what was being said, followed by the realization that he did not, nor would he ever, match up to the people gathered around the long table. A circle, like a fence, surrounded the
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