Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [55]
She was watching carefully. “I was meaning to tell you. Honestly I was, but Daddy at times you’re impossible.”
He wanted to pull his hand away, but he could not; so soon she would be grown. Soon she would belong to another man.
“Carolyn,” he said in a supplicating voice, “how could you do it?”
She withdrew her hand and refused to look at him, as though he were the one who had betrayed a trust.
57 Beefcake
Ruth had been pasting pictures of movie stars on the walls of her closet. Mrs. Bridge, discovering this, was greatly displeased on two accounts: first, because the closet would need to be repainted after the pictures were scraped off, and second, because all the pictures were of men. She was so displeased that before speaking to Ruth about the matter she consulted her husband. He did not care how Ruth decorated the closet. Mrs. Bridge mentioned the expense and the inconvenience of repainting. He was not sure this would be necessary. She invited him to have a look at the closet, the better to understand the problem, so he followed her to the girls’ room. Mrs. Bridge opened the closet door and began pushing aside the sweaters, blouses, slips, skirts, coats, and everything else Ruth had stuffed into the closet, and at last he observed that what she said was true: movie stars were peeking at him from everywhere. Some were in swimming trunks, some were on the golf course, some were pictured at home, others were merely beaming at the camera. There they were, dozens of them glued to the wall. He contemplated them. He was bemused by the rows of blinding white teeth, the rather benevolent and universal stupidity shining from the featureless faces of these totems. He said he could not see any reason to scrape them off the wall. Ruth would get tired of the pictures. In another year or so she would be sick of them and of her own accord would ask if the closet could be repainted, whereas now she would raise a fuss if the pictures were removed. Let her alone, he advised. After all, Ruth was the only one who had to look at them.
Mrs. Bridge, still very serious, at last agreed, but added that she felt it was setting a poor example for Carolyn.
So the collection remained, and gradually increased as though the handsome gentlemen were multiplying spontaneously.
58 The Fight
It was all over by the time Mr. Bridge came home, and he would never have learned about it except for the scratches on Carolyn’s cheek. She had made the mistake of calling her sister a slut—for what reason he did not ask—and the fight started immediately. Ruth had no marks on her face, and beyond this she wore the complacent air of the victor. Mr. Bridge was surprised. It had never occurred to him that in spite of their frequent arguments they would actually get into a fight; but they had, and he was further surprised by the result. Ruth was two years older and a little taller, but Carolyn was much sturdier, much more solid. Then, too, it was always Carolyn who had temper tantrums and broke things; Ruth folded herself up like a bat in a cave when she was angry. But on this occasion she had flown out of the cave and Carolyn ran away shrieking. At all events, it was over. Carolyn would carry the scars for several days as reminders of her bad judgment, otherwise the affair had a curiously remote quality, perhaps because he had not been a witness to it nor heard Carolyn’s screams. No serious injury had been sustained by either party, and since any sort of punishment would only revive the scene he let it pass without much comment. Thinking about it, he was secretly a little pleased. He could not bring himself to lay a hand on Carolyn when she became objectionable, but he suspected Ruth might have taught her a lesson. Whether or not it would have any permanent effect was something else.
59 In the Garden
Saturday morning he saw Ruth in the back yard getting ready for a sun bath. She had spread a beach towel on the grass near the rose trellis. She was as brown as a Mexican from