Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [3]
Only once had he shown her the contents of the box. Then he had pointed out an envelope containing five one-hundred-dollar bills to be used in case of emergency, and had unfolded a few certificates and gone over them with her so they would seem familiar; but he had minimized the total worth of the documents in the box. Women tended to behave curiously where money was concerned. She was not extravagant, at least she had not been extravagant so far; if anything she was quite the opposite, worrying mildly about the cost of almost everything. Still, change was in the nature of women and no good could come of letting her know his exact worth.
The fact that she knew so little about these securities apparently did not trouble her; since that day she had never inquired, or hinted, or shown the faintest sign of wanting more information. He was puzzled by this. He had expected her to ask a great many questions, but she had merely looked attentive. He suspected she had not understood everything he attempted to explain; he remembered her perfunctory smile and how she nodded each time he paused. But at least she did know of the existence of the box and she knew what was in it.
The children had not yet been informed, although he meant to show them, one at a time, as they grew older. It pleased him to anticipate the time when he could go over all of the securities with the children, pointing out what he had paid for each and comparing this price with the current market value.
So he meditated as he unfolded his certificates, absently gratified by the parchment quality of the paper, and checked them against the notations to make certain everything was in order, and studied the earnings reports, the forecasts, and the dividend news reported in the Journal. Sometimes he would read a market letter or a corporation analysis which he had brought along in his briefcase; but more often he spent these tranquil moments in the basement of the bank examining the handsomely engraved certificates and contemplating the satisfaction they would give after his death.
4 Two Women
He seldom spoke to his wife about what went on at the office or in court. Before they were married and for a while afterward she had inquired, doing her best to appear interested, trying to comprehend the life he lived apart from her; but he had answered briefly because he knew she did not really care, so that as time went by she asked less and less, and now it had been reduced to a ritual like a fragment excerpted from a play. She would greet him at the door, glance at the briefcase, and put on an expression of dismay or resignation, saying, “Now truthfully, Walter, couldn’t whatever it is wait till tomorrow?” By this she demonstrated her concern for his health and reminded him that he did not need to work such long hours for the family’s benefit. They had plenty of food, a nice house, and money enough to pay the bills. Then he would reply that he was only planning to work a little while after dinner or that he was going to finish a few things which should have been taken care of a week ago, or he might remark that it was Julia’s fault. Julia was to blame for saddling him like a burro with more than he could carry during the day. Then she answered that she was going to call Julia in the morning and tell her to cut down on the amount of work.
This familiar and lifeless scene was not as unnatural as it appeared; after all, he himself did not care what happened at the house during the day. There was no more reason for her to be curious about his work than for him to be concerned with groceries, laundry, getting the children to school, and whatever else she did. Yet it would seem rude, almost brutal, to drop the pretense and admit that neither particularly cared what the other was doing. A display of interest,