Reflections in a Golden Eye - Carson McCullers [14]
'I'll take the tray up,' said the Major, for he saw that, although there was nothing to eat involved, it was the sort of thing that would please his wife and he might get the credit for it.
Alison sat propped in her bed with a book. In her reading glasses her face seemed all nose and eyes, and there were sickly blue shadows about the corners of her mouth. She wore a white linen nightgown and a bed jacket of warm rose velvet. The room was very still and a fire burned on the hearth. There was little furniture, and the room, with its soft gray mg and cerise curtains, had a bare and very simple look. While Alison drank the broth, the Major, bored, sat in a chair by the bed and tried to think up something to say. Anacleto meddled lightly about the bed. He was Whistling a melody that was sprightly, sad and clear.
'Look, Madame Alison!' he said suddenly. 'Do you feel well enough to discuss a certain matter with me?'
She put down her cup and took off her glasses. 'Why, what is it?'
'This!' Anacleto brought a footstool to the side of the bed and eagerly drew from his pocket some little scraps of cloth. 'These samples I ordered for us to look over. And now think back to the time two years ago when we passed by the window of Peck and Peck in New York City and I pointed out a certain little suit to you.' He selected one of the samples and handed it to her. 'This material made exactly in that way.'
'But I don't need a suit, Anacleto,' she said.
'Oh, but you do! You have not bought a garment in more than a year. And the green frock is bien usee at the elbows and ready for the Salvation Army.'
When Anacleto brought out his French phrase he gave the Major a glance of the merriest malice. It always made the Major feel rather eerie to listen to them talking together in the quiet room. Their voices and enunciation were so precisely alike that they seemed to be softly echoing each other. The only difference was that Anacleto spoke in a chattering, breathless manner, while Alison's voice was measured and composed.
'How much is it?' she asked.
'It is costly. But one could not expect to get such a quality for anything less. And think of the years of service.'
Alison turned back to her book again. 'We'll see about it.'
'For God's sake, go ahead and buy the dress,' the Major said. It bothered him to hear Alison haggle.
'And while we're about it we might order an extra yard so that I can have a jacket,' Anacleto said.
'All right If I decide to get it.'
Anacleto poured Alison's medicine and made a face for her as she drank it. Then he put an electric pad behind her back and brushed her hair. But as he started out of the room, he could not quite get past the full length mirror on the closet door. He stopped and looked at himself, pointed his toe and cocked his head.
Then he turned back to Alison and began to whistle again. 'What is that? You and Lieutenant Weincheck were playing it last Thursday afternoon.'
'The opening bar of the Franck A Major Sonata.'
'Look!' said Anacleto excitedly. 'It has just this minute made me compose a ballet. Black velvet curtains and a glow like winter twilight. Very slowly, with the whole cast Then a spotlight for the solo like a flame very dashing, and with the waltz Mr. Sergei Rachmaninoff played. Then the finish goes back to the Franck, only this time ' He looked at Alison with his strange, bright eyes. 'Drunk!'
And with that he began to dance. He had been taken to the Russian ballet a year before and he had never got over it. Not a trick, not a gesture had escaped him. On the gray rug he moved about in a languid pantomime that slowed down until he stood quite still with his feet in their sandals crossed and his fingertips touched together in a meditative attitude. Then without warning he whirled lightly and began a furious little solo. It was apparent from his bright face that in his own mind he was out on an immense stage, the cynosure in a dazzling spectacle. Alison, also, was plainly enjoying herself. The Major looked from one to the other in disgusted