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Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [66]

By Root 1175 0
His daughter was still ignoring him, so he walked out of the living room and started up the steps. On the landing he paused to wind the grandfather clock, and while he was doing this the sonata ended. He heard his wife say, “Thank you, dear, it was lovely.” Then Ruth spoke, but too softly to be understood, and her mother replied, “I’d love to. Right now, though, I’d better sew a few buttons on your Dad’s shirts. You know how he is about loose buttons.” Ruth did not say anything else.

He continued to the upper hall, where he stopped to look out the window. The moon was shining through the leaves of the maple tree and the house was quiet.

68 Coppélia

Very seldom did a ballet troupe perform in Kansas City, a situation which Mr. Bridge regarded with profound indifference. He had never been to a ballet, he had never considered going to a ballet, and when he chanced to notice in the Star that a New York company had scheduled two nights in the municipal auditorium he reflected that they would probably lose money. Not enough people cared for this type of entertainment. He was bemused by the announcement. Whoever was responsible for booking the troupe knew very little about Kansas City.

Several days later it occurred to him that he was continuing to think about the ballet. He asked himself why he had not forgotten it, and he realized that he wanted to do something for Ruth. He did not think he had behaved badly by going to bed before she finished playing her records; even so it had been awkward, and he wanted to make it up to her. Probably she would enjoy seeing a ballet.

When he inquired if she would like to go she gave him a look which stirred him deeply. He felt again as he had felt when he saw her lying in the garden with the morning sun gleaming on her skin.

She would love to go, she told him. Her eyes were radiant. She asked if he would buy tickets for the second night so they could see Coppélia. Somewhat puzzled, he agreed. Obviously she had learned something about ballet; he could not imagine how, or when, because as far as he knew it had never been mentioned at home. Perhaps it was being discussed in one of her high school classes.

“What about your mother?” he asked. “Would she like to go with us?” But he saw the disappointment, and told her they would go by themselves.

The performance was not in the main arena as he assumed it would be, but in one of the small auditoriums ordinarily used for business conventions. The program was shorter than he expected and unlike anything he ever had seen, but he found it rather agreeable. The girls were graceful and attractive with their hair tied in a bun, the music was pleasant, and the costumes and the scenery were quite colorful. The male dancers, however, made him restless. He did not know what attitude to take toward them. They were altogether professional, yet whenever he watched them he felt dissatisfied.

On the way home she wanted to know what he thought of the ballet. He told her he liked it.

He never said anything further about the ballet, but he could not forget those muscular young men bounding around on the stage. Very often he realized that he was thinking about them, and each time this happened he discovered a frown on his face. For young girls to spend their lives dancing seemed perfectly natural, they were charming; and although he did not intend to go to another ballet he admitted that watching them dance around in time to the music had been a pleasure. But the male dancers puzzled him. No doubt they were necessary for the show, and he could not think of any specific reason the young men should not be dancing; all the same he did not quite like it.

69 Hair Shirt

Another thing he did not forget about that night at the ballet was the spectacle of Dr. Sauer wearing brilliant yellow socks. The psychiatrist had taken a seat in the middle of the first row; there he sat with his legs crossed, and the socks so bright they almost made a noise. They were not merely yellow, they were the yellowest possible yellow. Mr. Bridge, who invariably wore black silk

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