Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [64]
He asked where they were. They were standing in the hall just outside the study. They were not speaking to each other. Carolyn was sniffling. They were waiting to be admitted, each confident of vindication and looking forward to the other’s punishment.
Having ordered them brought into the study, he listened to two more accounts of the atrocity committed by Carolyn and the vengeance exacted by Ruth, after which he announced that he did not intend to punish either of them, because they had punished themselves. This thought had come to him while he was listening to their stories, and it pleased him. No doubt Solomon could have done better, but on the whole it was not bad. Not bad at all.
The girls gazed at him doubtfully. They had not expected this. Their case had been carried to the supreme authority in the expectation of a decision which they might accept, or which they might appeal. But the supreme authority had refused to accommodate them: he had returned their sins to them, and the contemplation thereof. They were not sure if they approved of this.
Mr. Bridge in his swivel chair, rocking back and forth while his fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin, regarding his truculent, unsatisfied daughters, experienced a moment of epiphany. He had supposed he was being no more than clever, he had thought he was merely extricating himself from an uncomfortable situation when he returned their wrongdoing to them. Instead, he had touched a truth half buried like a root in his path, stumbling over it—the futility of punishment. But at once his instant of enlightenment lay in ashes while logic reasserted itself, pointing out that from the beginning we have believed in punishment, we have ordained it, therefore this precept of society must be valid.
So the vision came but then was gone, and he found himself troubled by a problem far exceeding that of his quarreling daughters.
67 Moment Musicale
Most of the radio programs he enjoyed were conveniently scheduled on Saturday and Sunday evening: Jack Benny, George Burns and Gracie Allen, “Gang Busters,” “The Chase and Sanborn Hour” with Don Ameche and Edgar Bergen, “Amos ’n Andy,” “The Kraft Music Hall” with John Scott Trotter’s orchestra and Bing Crosby, and “The American Album of Familiar Music” starring Frank Munn. If he and Mrs. Bridge had been invited out, he felt mildly resentful because there was nothing he liked better than to relax in the living room after dinner while listening to this familiar and reassuring cycle of programs. Each week there were guest artists: Grace Moore, Deanna Durbin, James Melton, Dennis Day, Jessica Dragonette, Lanny Ross, Rosa Ponselle, John Charles Thomas, Lawrence Tibbett—and he enjoyed them all. They sang “Bendemeer’s Stream” and “Isle of Capri” and “Ave Maria” and selections from the famous operettas such as Blossom Time, The Desert Song, Naughty Marietta, The Chocolate Soldier, Roberta, The Vagabond King, and Sweethearts. And of all the programs the one he liked best was “The Bell Telephone Hour,” where he could usually count on hearing Nelson Eddy. He thought, and often remarked, that Nelson Eddy had the finest voice he had ever heard. Indeed, “The Bell Telephone Hour” was so gratifying that at times he had difficulty concealing the emotion he felt.
Slumped in his chair beside the fireplace, he listened without a word, eyes half shut, to the voices soaring from the substantial walnut console. Occasionally he considered writing a letter to let the people in New York know how much he appreciated their program; but the idea of identifying himself to strangers was unacceptable, so he did not write. In the chair, comfortably dressed, sometimes in pajamas and bathrobe and carpet slippers, surrounded by his family after a Sunday-night meal of cold chicken and beer,