Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [69]
Suddenly one night, as though she knew how he felt, she asked if he would read the part of Romeo, and without hesitation he agreed. Carolyn groaned, Mrs. Bridge began applauding, and Douglas, who had been reading Model Airplane News, promptly fell out of his chair and sprawled on the carpet clutching at his heart.
After a lengthy conference between the principals as to which speeches were to be read and which omitted, they took their places, facing each other in front of the fireplace, Harriet was invited in from the kitchen, and Mrs. Bridge snapped off the overhead light.
Mr. Bridge adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. With Four Tragedies opened at page forty-two he began to read, running his index finger along the lines: “He jests at scars that never felt a wound. What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief, that thou her maid are far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off. It is my lady. O, it is my love.”
“Aye me!” Ruth cried, stepping forward.
“She speaks,” Mr. Bridge said. “O, speak again, bright angel. Now,” he continued in the same tone, “am I to read the remainder of this passage or not?”
“No,” Ruth said. “That’s another place where Mr. Billis decided to cut. It’s supposed to be marked. Let me see.”
He handed the book to her. They consulted again. The reading resumed.
“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father! And refuse thy name, or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love! I’ll no longer be a Capulet!”
“Shall I hear more?” Mr. Bridge inquired. “Or shall I speak at this?” He cupped one hand behind his ear.
Ruth moaned and swayed. “O ’tis but thy name that is my enemy! O, be some other name!”
“I take thee at thy word.”
She stepped away from him. She tossed her hair and sighed. “My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of thy tongue’s uttering! Yet I know the sound! Art thou not Romeo? A Montague? How earnest thou hither? And wherefore? The orchard walls are hard to climb!”
Mr. Bridge frowned at the next lines. “With love’s light wings did I over-perch these walls.”
Douglas made a strangling noise; Mrs. Bridge reached down and tapped him on the shoulder.
“By whose direction found’st thou out this place?”
“By love, that first did prompt me to inquire. He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.”
“Dost thou love me? O, gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully.”
“Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops.”
“O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her cycled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.”
“According to my copy, that word is ‘circled’ rather than ‘cycled.’ ”
“Go on!” cried Ruth. “Oh, go on! Go on!”
“All right. Let me see, now,” Mr. Bridge said, hunting for his place. “Ah, here we are. After ‘likewise variable’ Romeo speaks again: What shall I swear by?”
“Do not swear at all! Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry! And I’ll believe thee.”
“If my heart’s dear love—”
“Well, do not swear. Good night. Good night! I hear some noise within.” She leaned toward the fireplace as though listening, then straightened up with an agonized expression and said, “Stay but a little while. I will come again.”
“Ruth, that was awfully nice,” Mrs. Bridge said.
Ruth said desperately, “Mother, it’s not over!” and brushing the hair out of her eyes she pretended to be staring down from the balcony. “Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed! If that thy bent of love be honorable,