A Death in the Family - James Agee [78]
When they were gone she continued to look up and down the street as far as she could see. There was the strong carbon light at the corner, and there was the glow of an unseen light at a more distant corner to the west; and of another, still more distant, to the east. There was no sound, and there were no lights on in any of the houses. The air moved mildly on her forehead. She turned, and saw that her aunt was watching her, and looked into her eyes.
“Time to sleep,” she said.
She closed the door; they continued to look at each other.
“It was just about this time last night,” she said.
Hannah sighed, very low; after a moment she touched Mary’s hand. Still they stood and looked at each other.
“Yes, just about,” Mary whispered strangely.
Through the silence they began to hear the kitchen clock.
“Let’s not even try to talk now,” Mary said. “We’re both worn out.”
“Let me fix you a good hot toddy,” Hannah said, as they turned towards the living room. “Help you sleep.”
“I honestly don’t think I’ll need it, Aunt Hannah.”
I’ll make one and you take it or not as you like, Hannah wanted to say; suddenly she realized: I’m only trying to think I’m useful. She said nothing.
There was an odd kind of shyness or constraint between them, which neither could understand. They stood still again, just inside the living room; the silence was somewhat painful for both of them, each on the other’s account. Does she really want me to stay, Hannah wondered; what earthly use am I! Does she think I don’t want her to stay, Mary wondered, just because I can’t talk? No, she’s no talker.
“I just can’t talk just now,” she said.
“Of course you can’t, child.”
Hannah felt that she probably ought to take charge of everything, but she felt still more acutely that she should be at the service of Mary’s wishes, or lack of them for that matter, she told herself.
I can’t stand to send her to bed, Mary thought.
“It’s all ready,” she said abruptly and, she feared, rather ruthlessly, and walked quickly across to the downstairs bedroom door and opened it. “See?” She walked in and turned on the light and faced her aunt. “I got it ready in case Jay,” she said, and absently smoothed the pillow. “Just as well I did.”
“You go straight to bed, Mary,” Hannah said. “Let me help if I...”
Mary went into the kitchen; then Hannah could hear her in the hall; after a moment she came back. “Here’s a clean nightgown,” she said, “and a wrapper,” putting them across her aunt’s embarrassed hands. “It’ll be big, I’m afraid, the wrapper, it‘s—was—it’s Jay’s, but if you’ll turn up the sleeves it’ll do in a pinch, I guess.” She went past Hannah into the living room.
“I’ll see to that, Mary,” Hannah hurried after her; she was already gathering tumblers towards the tray.
“Great—goodness!” Mary exclaimed. She lifted the bottle. “Do you mean to say I drank all that?” It was three-quarters empty.
“No. Andrew had some, so did I, so did J—your father.”
“But—just one apiece, Aunt Hannah. I must have. Nearly all of it.”
“It hasn’t had any effect.”
“How on earth!” She held the low whiskey close to her eyes and looked at it as if she were threading a needle. “Well I most certainly don’t need a hot toddy,” she said.
“I never heard of such a thing!” she exclaimed quietly.
“Aspirin, perhaps.”
“Aspirin?”
“You might wake up with a headache.”
“It must just, Papa, Papa says, he said it sometimes doesn’t, in a state of shock or things ... Aunt Hannah?” She called more loudly. “Aunt Hannah?” Mustn’t wake them, she remembered. She waited. Her aunt came in from the hall with a glass of water and two aspirins.
“Here,” she said, “you take these.”
“But I...”
“Just swallow them. You don’t want to wake up with a headache and they’ll help you sleep, too.”
She took them docilely; Hannah loaded and lifted the tray.
Chapter 13
ALONG LAUREL, it was much darker; heavy leaves obscured the one near street lamp. Andrew could hear only their footsteps; his father and