Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [70]
“My dear?”
“At what o’clock tomorrow shall I send to thee?”
“At the hour of nine.”
“I will not fail! Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good night till it be morrow!”
“Sleep dwell upon thy eyes, peace in thy breast,” Mr. Bridge recited, and closed the book. “Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.”
In the lamplight Ruth was gazing up at him, but he saw that she did not recognize him. Her eyes were luminous, her lips carried a sensual smile. She hardly seemed to breathe. He was alarmed, and wondered who she thought he was. He had listened to the alien words she spoke and he had responded to them, yet never believed their meaning; now she was possessed, in his image, by the soul of a man who lived four centuries ago.
72 Tijuana
Ruth asked to borrow two hundred and fifty dollars. She would not say why she wanted the money. He refused to consider giving it to her without first knowing why she wanted it. At last she said one of her girl friends was flying to Tijuana and needed company. He said he would not let her have the money. Then he inquired, jokingly, why her friend wished to go to Tijuana, and Ruth answered that her friend was going to have an abortion. Before he knew what he was about to do he jumped up from the behind the desk and slapped her across the mouth; then he sat down again as though nothing had happened, and Ruth walked out of the study. He noticed with astonishment that the hand which had slapped her was dancing around on the desk as if it was attached to a string. He seized it with his other hand and bowed his head. He could not believe he had struck her. His fingers burned at the memory. When she was a baby he had held her in his arms while she was falling asleep. There were nights when nothing more than the knowledge of her existence had been enough to waken him so that he had gotten out of bed and gone to the crib to watch over her.
73 Marijuana
Shortly before ten o’clock on Harriet’s night off the telephone rang. Moments later Mrs. Bridge entered the living room with a worried expression. “For you,” she said. “Somebody by the name of Lieutenant Adessi.”
Mr. Bridge abruptly lowered the newspaper. Adessi was on the narcotics squad.
“I believe that was the name,” she said, clasping her hands. “Don’t you know him?”
“Yes, I know him.”
“You seem surprised.”
He got up without answering and went to the telephone.
“Sorry to bother you,” the officer said.
Mr. Bridge waited.
“You employ a Miss Harriet Rodgers?”
“Go on.”
“She was picked up a short while ago.”
“I appreciate your calling me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
When he returned to the living room Mrs. Bridge remarked, “You just wonder why people telephone at this time of night.” But then she noticed his face. “Oh, dear, was it important?”
“I’ll be going out for a while,” he said, and went to the hall closet for his hat and coat.
Harriet had been crying. Her features were puffy, her make-up was smeared, and she resumed crying the instant she saw him. He ordered her to get control of herself, which she did, but she broke down again an hour later on the way home. Sniveling and choking with emotion, she continued to insist that she had been an innocent bystander, a victim of circumstances, it was all a terrible mistake, the whole affair was Couperin’s fault, and so on and so forth.
Mr. Bridge listened to as much of this as he cared to, and while they were driving out Pershing Road he told her there was no point in discussing it any further. “I do not want to hear any more,” he said. “I believe I can manage to get you out of this, so you may as well stop blubbering. But I am not going to bat for this man you chase around with. He will have to pay for his foolishness. I refuse to get myself involved any further. And I want you