210
PARTISAN REVIEW
rooms and threw its
dim
orange glow on the black firescape beyond
the window. Gradually the girl who had been watching felt the day
seep into her. She observed the chipped white paint on her window
sill and the rust-covered chair cover. Having always been poor, she
did not reject the ugliness of everything about her, but, rather, found
in these furnished-room items a feeling of progress. Perhaps it was
the privacy, if nothing else. She had, at times, a feeling of holding
this room tightly as
if
it were a small and valued object.
She poured a cup of coffee. She smoked. Her mind seemed utter–
ly dead, as if it were an impenetrable blankness. Small things and
sensations appeared to be floating around before her, but they did
not have the power to enter her consciousness. At last she looked at
the clock and saw that it was eight. She was aware in some deep and
hidden part of her nature that this day was special. Yet she could not
bring herself to acknowledge fully its importance. Instead she felt that
she was only preparing to go to work. She could already have the
sensation of her hands in the dish water at the restaurant and see the
alcoholic faces she served. Her' voice, harsh and suggestive, went over
the counter without her being conscious of what she wished to say
harshly or what was worth suggesting. The roughness was like an
hereditary taint, something she took no willed part in. It was of the
same quality as the decay in her teeth, an expected, more or less au–
tomatic, thing. And then suddenly the idea struck her. This is the day.
I am going to be married.
The idea came fully into her mind, but without the power she
had imagined it would have. She had the feeling of holding some–
thing back, of cause and consequence being temporarily in abeyance.
If
it were eight, she might start to dress. He was coming at nine. Yet
she did not move, because she felt too relaxed and slow. She looked
forward to a rush of activity in which the day would begin on a note
fit for it. She thought of
him
now and remembered her high-heeled
black shoes hitting the pavement. There was the bar and her remem–
brance of being frightened of him and of his fear of her. He staggered
and held on to her and they laughed like very mature children. Her
legs were slightly crooked and her skirt fell to the point of her knee
cap. On the street comer, she remembered him saying, 'Man, that old
dog was mean.' Me and muh brother took him out hunting with us.
The sound of the shot gun got him crazy. He'd damned near eat
hisself up. When I was bad, the old man hit me over the head with
a skillet, but the time come when I hit him back.' And she told
him,
'My grandmother had dropsy. She was just like a balloon. But a
sweet, refined old lady.' (Oh, lie, lie. The terrifying grandmother
