The Garden Party and Other Stories - Katherine Mansfield [40]
‘Why?’ snapped Josephine, feeling, as usual, much better now that she knew for certain chat Constantia was terrified. ‘It’s got to be done. But I do wish you wouldn’t whisper, Con.’
‘I didn’t know I was whispering,’ whispered Constantia.
‘And why do you keep on staring at the bed?’ said Josephine, raising her voice almost defiantly. ‘There’s nothing on the bed.’
‘Oh, Jug, don’t: say so!’ said poor Connie. ‘At any rate, not so loudly.’
Josephine felt herself that she had gone too far. She took a wide swerve over to the chest of drawers, put out her hand, but quickly drew it back again.
‘Connie!’ she gasped, and she wheeled round and leaned with her back against the chest of drawers.
‘Oh, Jug – what?’
Josephine could only glare. She had the most extraordinary feeling that she had just escaped something simply awful. But how could she explain to Constantia that father was in the chest of drawers? He was in the top drawer with his handkerchiefs and neckties, or in the next with his shirts and pyjamas, or in the lowest of all with his suits. He was watching there, hidden away – just behind the door-handle – ready to spring.
She pulled a funny old-fashioned face at Constantia, just as she used to in the old days when she was going to cry.
‘I can’t open,’ she nearly wailed.
‘No, don’t, Jug,’ whispered Constantia earnestly. ‘It’s much better not to. Don’t let’s open anything. At any rate, not for a long time.’
‘But – but it seems so weak,’ said Josephine, breaking down.
‘But why not be weak for once, Jug?’ argued Constantia, whispering quite fiercely. ‘If it is weak.’ And her pale stare flew from the locked writing-table – so safe – to the huge glittering wardrobe, and she began to breathe in a queer, panting way. ‘Why shouldn’t we be weak for once in our lives, Jug? It’s quite excusable. Let’s be weak – be weak, Jug. It’s much nicer to be weak than to be strong.’
And then she did one of those amazingly bold things that she’d done about twice before in their lives; she marched over to the wardrobe, turned the key, and took it out of the lock. Took it out of the lock and held it up to Josephine, showing Josephine by her extraordinary smile that she knew what she’d done, she’d risked deliberately father being in there among his overcoats.
If the huge wardrobe had lurched forward, had crashed down on Constantia, Josephine wouldn’t have been surprised. On the contrary, she would have thought it the only suitable thing to happen. But nothing happened. Only the room seemed quieter than ever, and bigger flakes of cold air fell on Josephine’s shoulders and knees. She began to shiver.
‘Come, Jug,’ said Constantia, still with that awful callous smile, and Josephine followed just as she had that last time, when Constantia had pushed Benny into the round pond.
VII
But the strain told on them when they were back in the dining-room. They sat down, very shaky, and looked at each other.
‘I don’t feel I can settle to anything,’ said Josephine, ‘until I’ve had something. Do you think we could ask Kate for two cups of hot water?’
‘I really don’t see why we shouldn’t,’ said Constantia carefully. She was quite normal again. ‘I won’t ring. I’ll go to the kitchen door and ask her.’
‘Yes, do,’ said Josephine, sinking down into a chair. ‘Tell her, just two cups, Con, nothing else – on a tray.’
‘She needn’t even put the jug on, need she?’ said Constantia, as though Kate might very well complain if the jug had been there.
‘Oh no, certainly not! The jug’s not at all necessary. She can pour it direct out of the kettle,’ cried Josephine, feeling that would be a labour-saving indeed.
Their cold lips quivered at the greenish brims. Josephine curved her small red hands round the cup; Constantia sat up and blew on the wavy steam, making it flutter from one side to the other.
‘Speaking of Benny,’ said Josephine.
And though Benny hadn’t been mentioned Constantia immediately looked as though he had.
‘He’ll expect us to send him something of father’s, of course. But it’s so difficult to know