Death In The Family, A - James Agee [67]
Her mother patted her knee and took her hand. “Very appropriate, dear,” she said.
“I think so,” Mary said; she wished she had not spoken of it.
“It is, Mary,” Andrew assured her.
“Why didn’t you answer when I asked you?”
“I was just thinking about him.”
There was a silence; Catherine who had still held her trumpet hopefully extended, turned away.
“He was thirty-six,” Mary said. “Just exactly a month and a day ago.”
Nobody spoke.
“And last night—great goodness it was only last night! Just think of that. Less than twenty-four hours ago, that awful phone ringing and we sat in the kitchen together—thinking of his father! We both thought it was his father who was at death’s door. That’s why he went up there. That’s why it happened! And that miserable Ralph was so drunk he couldn’t even be sure of the need. He just had to go in case. Oh, it’s just beyond words!”
She finished her drink and stood up to get more.
“I’ll get it,” Andrew said quickly, and took her glass.
“Not quite so strong,” she said. “Thank you.”
“It’s like a checkerboard,” her father said.
“What is?”
“What you were saying. You think everything bears on one person’s dying, and b’God it’s another who does. One instant you see the black squares against the red and the next you see the red against the black.”
“Yes,” Mary said, somewhat in her mother’s uncertain tone.
“None of us know what we’re doing, any given moment.”
How you manage not to have religious faith, Hannah wanted to tell him, is beyond me. She held her tongue.
“A tale told by an idiot ... signifying nothing.”
“Signifying something,” Andrew said, “but we don’t know what.”
“Just as likely. Choice between rattlesnake and skunk.”
“Jay knows what; now,” Mary said.
“I certainly won’t swear he doesn’t,” her father said.
“He does, Mary,” her aunt said.
“Of course he does,” Mary said.
Child, you’d better believe it, her aunt thought, disturbed by the “of course.”
“I wonder,” Catherine said; everyone turned towards her. “Mary’s suggestion—for—an epitaph—is very lovely and appropriate, but I wonder, whether people will quite—understand it.”
“Agh,” Joel growled.
“What if they don’t?” Andrew said.
Mary leaned across her. “Yes, Mama! What if they don’t! We understand it. Jay understands it. What do we care if they don’t!”
She was surprised and somewhat hurt by the violence of this attack. “It was merely something to be considered,” she said with dignity. “After all, it will be in a public place. Many people will see it besides ourselves. I’ve always supposed, it was the business of words—to communicate— clearly.”
“Oh Mama, don’t be mad,” Mary cried. “I understand. I appreciate the suggestion. I just can’t see that in a—that in this particular case, it’s anything to be seriously concerned about. It’s Jay we’re thinking of. Not other people.”
“I see; perhaps you’re right. Praps I shouldn’t have me ...”
“We’re very glad you mentioned it, Mama. We appreciate you mentioning it. It hadn’t even occurred to me and it ought to. Only now that it does, now that you’ve told me, why, well, I just still think it’s all right as it is. That’s all.”
“Let it go, Catherine, for God’s sake let it go!” Joel was saying in a low voice; but now she nodded and became quiet.
“I hate to hurt Mama’s feelings,” Mary said, “but really!”
“It’s all right, Mary,” Andrew said.
“Let it go, Poll,” her father said.
“I am,” Mary said; she took a drink.
“We’ve got to let them know,” she said. “His mother. We’ll have to phone Ralph. Andrew, will you do that?”
“Of course I will.” He got up.
“Just tell them I’m sorry, I couldn’t come to the phone. Will you, Andrew? I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“Of course they will.”
“Just tell them—how it happened. Tell Ralph I send his mother all my love.