Death In The Family, A - James Agee [70]
“It all just seems to wake me up.”
“Hot.”
“Maybe just some hot milk. No I won’t, either,” she cried out, with sudden tears; they looked at her and looked away; she soon had control of herself.
“One of the last things Jay did for me,” she explained, “way early in the morning before he—went away. He fixed me some hot milk to help me sleep.” She began to cry again. “Bless his heart,” she said. “Bless his dear heart.”
“You know almost the last thing he said to me?
“He asked me to think what I wanted for my birthday.
“ ‘Within reason,’ he said. He was just joking.
“And he said not to wait supper, but he’d—he’d try to be back before the children were asleep, for sure.”
She’d feel better later on if she’d kept a few of these things to herself, Joel thought.
Or would she. I would. But I’m not Poll.
“Rufus just—wouldn’t give up. He just wouldn’t go to sleep. He was so proud of that cap, Aunt Hannah. He wanted so much to show it to his father.”
Hannah came over to her and leaned to her, an arm around her shoulder.
“Talk if you want to, Mary,” she said. “If you think it does you good. But try not to harp on these things.”
“And I was so mad at him, only a few hours ago, for not phoning all day, and because of Rufus. I had such a good supper ready, and I did wait it, and ...”
“It wasn’t his fault it was good,” Hannah said.
“Of course it isn’t his fault and I had no business waiting it but I did, and I was so angry with him—why I even—I even ...”
But this she found she would not tell them. I even thought he was drunk, she said to herself. And if he was, why what in the world of it. Let’s hope if he was he really loved being, God bless him always. Always.
And then a terrifying thought occurred to her, and she looked at Andrew. No, she thought, he wouldn’t lie to me if it were so. No, I won’t even ask it. I won’t even imagine it. I just don’t see how I could bear to live if that were so.
But there he was, all that day, with Ralph. He must have. Well he probably did. That was no part of the promise. But not really drunk. Not so he couldn’t—navigate. Drive well.
No.
Oh, no.
No I won’t even dishonor his dear memory by asking. Not even Andrew in secret. No, I won’t.
And she thought with such exactness and with such love of her husband’s face, and of his voice, and of his hands, and of his way of smiling so warmly even though his eyes almost never lost their sadness, that she succeeded in driving the other thought from her mind.
“Hark!” Hannah whispered.
“What is it?”
“Ssh! Listen.”
“What’s up?” Joel asked.
“Be quiet, Joel, please. There’s something.”
They listened most intently.
“I can’t hear anything,” Andrew whispered.
“Well I do,” Hannah said, in a low voice. “Hear it or feel it. There’s something.”
And again in silence they listened.
It began to seem to Mary, as to Hannah, that there was someone in the house other than themselves. She thought of the children; they might have waked up. Yet listening as intently as she could, she was not at all sure that there was any sound; and whoever or whatever it might be, she became sure that it was no child, for she felt in it a terrible forcefulness, and concern, and restiveness, which were no part of any child.
“There is something,” Andrew whispered
Whatever it might be, it was never for an instant at rest in one place. It was in the next room; it was in the kitchen; it was in the dining room.
“I’m going out to see,” Andrew said; he got up.
“Wait, Andrew, don’t, not yet,” Mary whispered “No; no”; now it’s going upstairs, she thought; it’s along the—it’s in the children’s room. It’s in our room.
“Has somebody come into the house?” Catherine inquired in her clear voice.
Andrew felt the flesh go cold along his spine. He bent near her. “What made you think so, Mama?” he asked quietly.
“It’s right here in the room with us,” Mary said in a cold voice.
“Why, how very stupid of me, I thought I heard. Footsteps.” She gave her short, tinkling laugh. “I must be getting old and dippy.” She laughed