Read Online When We Argued All Night by Alice Mattison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alice Mattison
Tags: Historical
Ads: Link
it.
âI donât like it when you shout, Evelyn said, elaborately stepping around his cone on the sidewalk, continuing to lick hers. She always bought maple walnut.
âWhoâs shouting? said Artie. Iâm not shouting.
âYouâve been shouting for twenty minutes, said Evelyn. Iâm not your supervisor.
âAnd itâs a good thing, too, Artie said.
She stood still and then turned toward him, suddenly looking younger. Now that her cone was gone, she stopped to lick her fingers, one at a time, between sentences, but it made what she said, for some reason, more serious. Iâm tired of you and your yelling. Iâm tired of you and your banging on tables.
âWhat tables? He was frightened. Was she tired of him, himself?
âAnywhere thereâs a table, you bang on it. You banged on the table in my house last week. My father thought you were yelling at me. He almost threw you out.
âFor Christâs sake, I wasnât yelling at you! Artie said. Heâs got nothing to do but listen to us?
âIâm his daughter, Evelyn said. She was quiet and Artie whistled. They walked.
âSo youâre tired of me, is that it? he said then. You want me to stop showing up? Is that what you have in mind?
âIâm not tired of you, Evelyn said. Iâm tired of spending my time deciding whether the head of the WPA is the stupidest man in the world, or somebody in Washington, or the editor who wouldnât buy your pictures.
âHe should have taken them! said Artie. Iâve never heard anything so stupid in my life.
Evelyn stopped walking. She said slowly, Yes, I guess that editor is the stupidest. Heâs been the stupidest man in the world three times in the last two weeks. That has to mean something.
Artie stood under a street lamp and looked at her. He looked down at the sidewalk and began to whistle. Come on, he said then. He stopped to pick up something he caught sight of in the dark. It glinted. It was a key, an old key, and he slipped it into his pocket, in case he wanted to take a picture of a key. When she started walking again, he put an arm on her shoulders, not squeezing but resting it there for a moment. She shook him off. She meant it. Other times when Evelyn had yelled like this and laughed at him, he had stopped calling or coming by for a while, and maybe heâd do that again. He didnât need her.
5
M yra Thorsten grew tired of Henry James after making it all the way through The Wings of the Dove , annoyed when the loversâwho had deceived a rich, dying woman so sheâd leave them her moneyâdidnât marry at the end. They did wrong, Myra said, but it wonât help to waste the rest of their lives feeling bad.
âDo you think they go to bed? Harold asked. James had included a scene that didnât quite say it.
âOf course. It was the summer of 1938, and they were sitting on a park bench outside the Central Park Zoo, having a rare outdoor meeting.
He tried to argue that the betrothed couple couldnât marry, explaining that for Henry James, moral questions took on life, that characters might spend their lives in response to what had happened earlier, living with an absence.
âYou mean James thinks not doing something is something to do? said Myra. Just being good?
âKnowing whatâs true, more than being good, I think, Harold said.
âWell, I donât agree, Myra said. He was beginning to wonder, himself, whether knowing whatâs true was something to do. Henry James would have been astonished to discover that Harold Abramovitz compared his own membership in the Communist Party to Lambert Stretherâs renunciation of marriage and happiness at the end of The Ambassadors . The party had begun to seem like something required of him. He was quiet at meetings, though he argued vociferously for communism among his friends and relatives, who dismissed him with the same gesture: they flopped
âI donât like it when you shout, Evelyn said, elaborately stepping around his cone on the sidewalk, continuing to lick hers. She always bought maple walnut.
âWhoâs shouting? said Artie. Iâm not shouting.
âYouâve been shouting for twenty minutes, said Evelyn. Iâm not your supervisor.
âAnd itâs a good thing, too, Artie said.
She stood still and then turned toward him, suddenly looking younger. Now that her cone was gone, she stopped to lick her fingers, one at a time, between sentences, but it made what she said, for some reason, more serious. Iâm tired of you and your yelling. Iâm tired of you and your banging on tables.
âWhat tables? He was frightened. Was she tired of him, himself?
âAnywhere thereâs a table, you bang on it. You banged on the table in my house last week. My father thought you were yelling at me. He almost threw you out.
âFor Christâs sake, I wasnât yelling at you! Artie said. Heâs got nothing to do but listen to us?
âIâm his daughter, Evelyn said. She was quiet and Artie whistled. They walked.
âSo youâre tired of me, is that it? he said then. You want me to stop showing up? Is that what you have in mind?
âIâm not tired of you, Evelyn said. Iâm tired of spending my time deciding whether the head of the WPA is the stupidest man in the world, or somebody in Washington, or the editor who wouldnât buy your pictures.
âHe should have taken them! said Artie. Iâve never heard anything so stupid in my life.
Evelyn stopped walking. She said slowly, Yes, I guess that editor is the stupidest. Heâs been the stupidest man in the world three times in the last two weeks. That has to mean something.
Artie stood under a street lamp and looked at her. He looked down at the sidewalk and began to whistle. Come on, he said then. He stopped to pick up something he caught sight of in the dark. It glinted. It was a key, an old key, and he slipped it into his pocket, in case he wanted to take a picture of a key. When she started walking again, he put an arm on her shoulders, not squeezing but resting it there for a moment. She shook him off. She meant it. Other times when Evelyn had yelled like this and laughed at him, he had stopped calling or coming by for a while, and maybe heâd do that again. He didnât need her.
5
M yra Thorsten grew tired of Henry James after making it all the way through The Wings of the Dove , annoyed when the loversâwho had deceived a rich, dying woman so sheâd leave them her moneyâdidnât marry at the end. They did wrong, Myra said, but it wonât help to waste the rest of their lives feeling bad.
âDo you think they go to bed? Harold asked. James had included a scene that didnât quite say it.
âOf course. It was the summer of 1938, and they were sitting on a park bench outside the Central Park Zoo, having a rare outdoor meeting.
He tried to argue that the betrothed couple couldnât marry, explaining that for Henry James, moral questions took on life, that characters might spend their lives in response to what had happened earlier, living with an absence.
âYou mean James thinks not doing something is something to do? said Myra. Just being good?
âKnowing whatâs true, more than being good, I think, Harold said.
âWell, I donât agree, Myra said. He was beginning to wonder, himself, whether knowing whatâs true was something to do. Henry James would have been astonished to discover that Harold Abramovitz compared his own membership in the Communist Party to Lambert Stretherâs renunciation of marriage and happiness at the end of The Ambassadors . The party had begun to seem like something required of him. He was quiet at meetings, though he argued vociferously for communism among his friends and relatives, who dismissed him with the same gesture: they flopped
Similar Books
