Part 3 (1/2)
”I--I let him sleep.”
”Too much sleep ain't any too healthful either. Don't you give him any medicine?”
”Y--yes.”
”Don't you wake him to take it?”
”Yes.”
”When does he take the next dose?”
”Not for--two hours--”
The lady looked disappointed. ”Well, if I was you I'd try giving it oftener. That's what I do with my folks.”
After that many faces seemed to press upon her. The pa.s.sengers were on their way to the dining-car, and she was conscious that as they pa.s.sed down the aisle they glanced curiously at the closed curtains. One lantern-jawed man with prominent eyes stood still and tried to shoot his projecting glance through the division between the folds. The freckled child, returning from breakfast, waylaid the pa.s.sers with a b.u.t.tery clutch, saying in a loud whisper, ”He's sick;” and once the conductor came by, asking for tickets. She shrank into her corner and looked out of the window at the flying trees and houses, meaningless hieroglyphs of an endlessly unrolled papyrus.
Now and then the train stopped, and the newcomers on entering the car stared in turn at the closed curtains. More and more people seemed to pa.s.s--their faces began to blend fantastically with the images surging in her brain....
Later in the day a fat man detached himself from the mist of faces. He had a creased stomach and soft pale lips. As he pressed himself into the seat facing her she noticed that he was dressed in black broadcloth, with a soiled white tie.
”Husband's pretty bad this morning, is he?”
”Yes.”
”Dear, dear! Now that's terribly distressing, ain't it?” An apostolic smile revealed his gold-filled teeth.
”Of course you know there's no sech thing as sickness. Ain't that a lovely thought? Death itself is but a deloosion of our grosser senses.
On'y lay yourself open to the influx of the sperrit, submit yourself pa.s.sively to the action of the divine force, and disease and dissolution will cease to exist for you. If you could indooce your husband to read this little pamphlet--”
The faces about her again grew indistinct. She had a vague recollection of hearing the motherly lady and the parent of the freckled child ardently disputing the relative advantages of trying several medicines at once, or of taking each in turn; the motherly lady maintaining that the compet.i.tive system saved time; the other objecting that you couldn't tell which remedy had effected the cure; their voices went on and on, like bell-buoys droning through a fog.... The porter came up now and then with questions that she did not understand, but that somehow she must have answered since he went away again without repeating them; every two hours the motherly lady reminded her that her husband ought to have his drops; people left the car and others replaced them...
Her head was spinning and she tried to steady herself by clutching at her thoughts as they swept by, but they slipped away from her like bushes on the side of a sheer precipice down which she seemed to be falling. Suddenly her mind grew clear again and she found herself vividly picturing what would happen when the train reached New York.
She shuddered as it occurred to her that he would be quite cold and that some one might perceive he had been dead since morning.
She thought hurriedly:--”If they see I am not surprised they will suspect something. They will ask questions, and if I tell them the truth they won't believe me--no one would believe me! It will be terrible”--and she kept repeating to herself:--”I must pretend I don't know. I must pretend I don't know. When they open the curtains I must go up to him quite naturally--and then I must scream.” ... She had an idea that the scream would be very hard to do.
Gradually new thoughts crowded upon her, vivid and urgent: she tried to separate and restrain them, but they beset her clamorously, like her school-children at the end of a hot day, when she was too tired to silence them. Her head grew confused, and she felt a sick fear of forgetting her part, of betraying herself by some unguarded word or look.
”I must pretend I don't know,” she went on murmuring. The words had lost their significance, but she repeated them mechanically, as though they had been a magic formula, until suddenly she heard herself saying: ”I can't remember, I can't remember!”
Her voice sounded very loud, and she looked about her in terror; but no one seemed to notice that she had spoken.
As she glanced down the car her eye caught the curtains of her husband's berth, and she began to examine the monotonous arabesques woven through their heavy folds. The pattern was intricate and difficult to trace; she gazed fixedly at the curtains and as she did so the thick stuff grew transparent and through it she saw her husband's face--his dead face.
She struggled to avert her look, but her eyes refused to move and her head seemed to be held in a vice. At last, with an effort that left her weak and shaking, she turned away; but it was of no use; close in front of her, small and smooth, was her husband's face. It seemed to be suspended in the air between her and the false braids of the woman who sat in front of her. With an uncontrollable gesture she stretched out her hand to push the face away, and suddenly she felt the touch of his smooth skin. She repressed a cry and half started from her seat. The woman with the false braids looked around, and feeling that she must justify her movement in some way she rose and lifted her travelling-bag from the opposite seat. She unlocked the bag and looked into it; but the first object her hand met was a small flask of her husband's, thrust there at the last moment, in the haste of departure. She locked the bag and closed her eyes ... his face was there again, hanging between her eye-b.a.l.l.s and lids like a waxen mask against a red curtain....
She roused herself with a s.h.i.+ver. Had she fainted or slept? Hours seemed to have elapsed; but it was still broad day, and the people about her were sitting in the same att.i.tudes as before.