for a moment. I
was getting a trifle posture-conscious and I sat up somewhat
straighter in my seat.
"You
seem quite intelligent for an American," my guest mused.
I
told her that was a pretty snobbish thing to say, if you thought
about it at all, and that I hoped it was unworthy of her.
She
blushed-automatically conferring on me the social poise I'd been
missing. "Well. Most of the Americans I've seen act like
animals. They're forever punching one another about, and insulting
everyone, and--You know what one of them did?"
I
shook my haad.
"One
of them threw an empty whiskey bottle through my aunt's window.
Fortunately, the window was open. But does that sound very
intelligent to you?"
It
didn't especially, but I didn't say so. I said that many soldiers,
all over the world, were a long way from home, and that few of them
had had many real advantages in life. I said I'd thought that most
people could figure that out for themselves.
"Possibly,"
said my guest, without conviction. She raised her hand to her wet
head again, picked at a few limp filaments of blond hair, trying to
cover her exposed ear rims. "My hair is soaking wet," she
said. "I look a fright." She looked over at me. "I
have quite wavy hair when it's dry."
"I
can see that, I can see you have."
"Not
actually curly, but quite wavy," she said. "Are you
married?"
I
said I was.
She
nodded. "Are you very deeply in love with your wife? Or am I
being too personal?"
I
said that when she was, I'd speak up.
She
put her hands and wrists farther forward on the table, and I remember
wanting to do something about that enormous-faced wristwatch she was
wearing--perhaps suggest that she try wearing it around her waist.
"Usually,
I'm not terribly gregarious," she said, and looked over at me to
see if I knew the meaning of the word. I didn't give her a sign,
though, one way or the other. "I purely came over because I
thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely sensitive
face."
I
said she was right, that I had been feeling lonely, and that I was
very glad she'd come over.
"I'm
training myself to be more compassionate. My aunt says I'm a terribly
cold person," she said and felt the top of her head again. "I
live with my aunt. She's an extremely kind person. Since the death of
my mother, she's done everything within her power to make Charles and
me feel adjusted."
"I'm
glad."
"Mother
was an extremely intelligent person. Quite sensuous, in many ways."
She looked at me with a kind of fresh acuteness. "Do you find me
terribly cold?"
I
told her absolutely not--very much to the contrary, in fact. I told
her my name and asked for hers. She hesitated. "My first name is
Esme. I don't think I shall tell you my full name, for the moment. I
have a title and you may just be impressed by titles. Americans are,
you know."
I
said I didn't think I would be, but that it might be a good idea, at
that, to hold on to the title for a while.
Just
then, I felt someone's warm breath on the back of my neck. I turned
around and just missed brushing noses with Esme's small brother.
Ignoring me, he addressed his sister in a piercing treble: "Miss
Megley said you must come and finish your tea!" His message
delivered, he retired to the chair between his sister and me, on my
right. I regarded him with high interest. He was looking very
splendid in brown Shetland shorts, a navy-blue jersey, white shirt,
and striped necktie. He gazed back at me with immense green eyes.
"Why do people in films kiss sideways?" he demanded.
"Sideways?"
I said. It was a problem that had baffled me in my childhood. I said
I guessed it was because actors' noses are too big for kissing anyone
head on.
"His
name is Charles," Esme said. "He's extremely brilliant for
his age."
"He
certainly has green eyes. Haven't you, Charles?" Charles gave me
the fishy look my question deserved, then wriggled downward and
forward in his chair till all of his body was under the table except
his head, which he left,
was getting a trifle posture-conscious and I sat up somewhat
straighter in my seat.
"You
seem quite intelligent for an American," my guest mused.
I
told her that was a pretty snobbish thing to say, if you thought
about it at all, and that I hoped it was unworthy of her.
She
blushed-automatically conferring on me the social poise I'd been
missing. "Well. Most of the Americans I've seen act like
animals. They're forever punching one another about, and insulting
everyone, and--You know what one of them did?"
I
shook my haad.
"One
of them threw an empty whiskey bottle through my aunt's window.
Fortunately, the window was open. But does that sound very
intelligent to you?"
It
didn't especially, but I didn't say so. I said that many soldiers,
all over the world, were a long way from home, and that few of them
had had many real advantages in life. I said I'd thought that most
people could figure that out for themselves.
"Possibly,"
said my guest, without conviction. She raised her hand to her wet
head again, picked at a few limp filaments of blond hair, trying to
cover her exposed ear rims. "My hair is soaking wet," she
said. "I look a fright." She looked over at me. "I
have quite wavy hair when it's dry."
"I
can see that, I can see you have."
"Not
actually curly, but quite wavy," she said. "Are you
married?"
I
said I was.
She
nodded. "Are you very deeply in love with your wife? Or am I
being too personal?"
I
said that when she was, I'd speak up.
She
put her hands and wrists farther forward on the table, and I remember
wanting to do something about that enormous-faced wristwatch she was
wearing--perhaps suggest that she try wearing it around her waist.
"Usually,
I'm not terribly gregarious," she said, and looked over at me to
see if I knew the meaning of the word. I didn't give her a sign,
though, one way or the other. "I purely came over because I
thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely sensitive
face."
I
said she was right, that I had been feeling lonely, and that I was
very glad she'd come over.
"I'm
training myself to be more compassionate. My aunt says I'm a terribly
cold person," she said and felt the top of her head again. "I
live with my aunt. She's an extremely kind person. Since the death of
my mother, she's done everything within her power to make Charles and
me feel adjusted."
"I'm
glad."
"Mother
was an extremely intelligent person. Quite sensuous, in many ways."
She looked at me with a kind of fresh acuteness. "Do you find me
terribly cold?"
I
told her absolutely not--very much to the contrary, in fact. I told
her my name and asked for hers. She hesitated. "My first name is
Esme. I don't think I shall tell you my full name, for the moment. I
have a title and you may just be impressed by titles. Americans are,
you know."
I
said I didn't think I would be, but that it might be a good idea, at
that, to hold on to the title for a while.
Just
then, I felt someone's warm breath on the back of my neck. I turned
around and just missed brushing noses with Esme's small brother.
Ignoring me, he addressed his sister in a piercing treble: "Miss
Megley said you must come and finish your tea!" His message
delivered, he retired to the chair between his sister and me, on my
right. I regarded him with high interest. He was looking very
splendid in brown Shetland shorts, a navy-blue jersey, white shirt,
and striped necktie. He gazed back at me with immense green eyes.
"Why do people in films kiss sideways?" he demanded.
"Sideways?"
I said. It was a problem that had baffled me in my childhood. I said
I guessed it was because actors' noses are too big for kissing anyone
head on.
"His
name is Charles," Esme said. "He's extremely brilliant for
his age."
"He
certainly has green eyes. Haven't you, Charles?" Charles gave me
the fishy look my question deserved, then wriggled downward and
forward in his chair till all of his body was under the table except
his head, which he left,
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