The Blind Assassin - Margaret Atwood [50]
I’m kind, she says, trying to smile. I’m kind to you, at any rate.
If I thought that’s all it was – lukewarm milk-and-water kindness – I’d be gone. Midnight train, bat out of hell. I’d take my chances. I’m no charity case, I’m not looking for nooky handouts.
He’s in a savage mood. She wonders why. She hasn’t seen him for a week. Or it might be the rain.
Perhaps it isn’t kindness then, she says. Perhaps it’s selfishness. Perhaps I’m ruthlessly selfish.
I’d like that better, he says. I prefer you greedy. He stubs out his cigarette, reaches for another, thinks better of it. He’s still smoking ready-mades, a luxury for him. He must be rationing them. She wonders if he’s got enough money, but she can’t ask.
I don’t want you sitting across from me like this, you’re too far away.
I know, she says. But there’s nowhere else. It’s too wet.
I’ll find us a place. Somewhere out of the snow.
It isn’t snowing.
But it will, he says. The north wind will blow.
And we shall have snow. And what will the robbers do then, poor things? At least she’s made him grin, though it’s more like a wince. Where have you been sleeping? she says.
Never mind. You don’t need to know. That way, if they ever get hold of you and ask you any questions, you won’t have to lie.
I’m not such a bad liar, she says, trying to smile.
Maybe not for an amateur, he says. But the professionals, they’d find you out, all right. They’d open you up like a package.
They’re still looking for you? Haven’t they given up?
Not yet. That’s what I hear.
It’s awful, isn’t it, she says. It’s all so awful. Still, we’re lucky, aren’t we?
Why are we lucky? He’s back to his gloomy mood.
At least we’re both here, at least we have...
The waiter is standing beside the booth. He has his shirt sleeves rolled up, a full-length apron soft with old dirt, strands of hair arranged across his scalp like oily ribbon. His fingers are like toes.
Coffee?
Yes please, she says. Black. No sugar.
She waits until the waiter leaves. Is it safe?
The coffee? You mean does it have germs? It shouldn’t, it’s been boiled for hours. He’s sneering at her but she chooses not to understand him.
No, I mean, is it safe here.
He’s a friend of a friend. Anyway I’m keeping an eye on the door – I could make it out the back way. There’s an alley.
You didn’t do it, did you, she says.
I’ve told you. I could have though, I was there. Anyway it doesn’t matter, because I fill their bill just fine. They’d love to see me nailed to the wall. Me and my bad ideas.
You’ve got to get away, she says hopelessly. She thinks of the word clasp, how outworn it is. Yet this is what she wants – to clasp him in her arms.
Not yet, he says. I shouldn’t go yet. I shouldn’t take trains, I shouldn’t cross borders. Word has it that’s where they’re watching.
I worry about you, she says. I dream about it. I worry all the time.
Don’t worry, darling, he says. You’ll get thin, and then your lovely tits and ass will waste away to nothing. You’ll be no good to anybody then.
She puts her hand up to her cheek as if he’s slapped her. I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.
I know you do, he says. Girls with coats like yours do have those wishes.
The Port Ticonderoga Herald and Banner, March 16, 1933
CHASE SUPPORTS RELIEF EFFORT
BY ELWOOD R. MURRAY, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
In a public-spirited gesture such as this town has come to expect, Captain Norval Chase, President of Chase Industries Ltd., announced yesterday that Chase Industries will donate three boxcars of factory “seconds” to the relief efforts on behalf of those parts of the country most hard-hit by the Depression. Included will be baby blankets, children’s pullovers, and an assortment of practical undergarments for both men and women.
Captain Chase expressed to the Herald and Banner that in this time of national crisis, all must pitch in as was done in the War, especially those in Ontario which has been more fortunate than some. Attacked by his competitors most notably Mr. Richard Griffen of Royal Classic Knitwear in Toronto, who have accused him of dumping