32
PARTISAN REVIEW
"the young one," as
if
the house had always been there for the two
of them. And over here his mother, perhaps, would begin to think
of grandchildren.
"I suppose Joan will be over today."
It was not a grandmotherly voice. He saw the lines spreading
fanwise from her eyes and one hair sprouting in a tough grey curl
from the mole on her cheek. He wished she would get rid of it.
"I don't know," he said.
"You don't know? Why, I should think.... "
He cut her off. "No, I don't know."
"Well, it's none of my business I suppose, but I should think
she'd want to let you alone for a little while now. You'll be seeing
plenty of each other" - she laughed, almost harshly, but there was a
downward note at the end ofit-"in the years to come." She turned
her back to
him
and began hauling Mrs. Aldington's sheets out onto
the floor. "One, two, three ... Goodness! Don't she use
anything
but
sheets?"
The sun was already high over the Episcopal steeple: time to
behave like a real somebody, time to be at work. He pushed the lace
curtains back and stared at the village, seeing it newly this morning,
as if he had lost his hearing or sense of touch. They were loading hay
on the hill opposite, very peacefully, he could hear them shouting at
the horses now and then and one man walked away from the wagon
and left his shirt under a tree. Above, in a peach orchard, a small boy
climbed a tree, the high branches looping under his weight, and felt
the fruit. Someone called from the house: he jumped down quickly,
ran a few yards, then fell into a sudden saunter, his hands in
his
pockets. At the corner on the state road one of the city spinsters came
trotting down her path, fussing with a sun-bonnet, and began a con–
versation with the gardener. She squatted cumbersomely to the
ground, her hand held out, slowly raised herself- as if expressing the
growth of a flower- shook her finger several times and pounced
back into the house. At the gas-stand next to Mark's new home a
dog twirled in zig-zags trying to bite its tail, finally gave it up and
sank disconsolately into a little ball in the sun.
"What? You still here? Are you crazy?"
"I'm going."
He went out, not saying goodbye or looking at his mother again,
feeling her brewing some kind of accusation against him in the steam
that rose up around her from the tubs. Now her face would be taking
on that scrubbing look, the comers of her mouth contracting with
each downward motion, fixing each time an expression almost of
hatred that relaxed again and re-formed with the thrust down of her
