exercise book that Louie needed for school. Since then Louie had passed on to an entirely original train of thought which was, in part, that Henny was perhaps not completely guilty towards Sam, that perhaps there was something to say on Henny’s side. Was she always a liar when she spoke of her pains and miseries, always trying to make a scene when she denounced Sam’s frippery flirtations and domestic crimes? Henny was gradually becoming not a half-mad tyrant, whose fits and maladies must be cared for by a stern, muscular nurse; not all a hysteric, the worthless, degenerate society girl whom Sam had hoped to reform despite vitiated blood and bad habits of cardplaying, alcohol, and tobacco; but she was becoming a creature of flesh and blood, nearer to Louisa because, like the little girl, she was guilty, rebellious, and got chastised. Louie had actually once or twice had moments when she could listen to Henny’s scoldings and (although she trembled and cried bitterly) could recognize that they came from some illness, her neuralgias, or cold hands and feet, or the accumulation of bills, or from Sam’s noisy joys with the children, and perennial humanitarian orations.
Although Louisa was on the way to twelve and almost a woman, Sam had not suspected this veering. He went on confiding in her and laying the head of his trouble on her small breasts. But Henny, creature of wonderful instinct and old campaigner, had divined almost instantly. No, it was deeper. Henny was one of those women who secretly sympathize with all women against all men; life was a rotten deal, with men holding all the aces. The stepmother did nothing extraordinary to bring out Louisa’s sympathy, because she had left too much behind her and gone too far along her road to care about the notions of even the flesh of her own flesh, but this irresistible call of sex seemed now to hang in the air of the house. It was like an invisible animal, which could be nosed, though, lying in wait in one of the corners of this house that was steeped in hidden as well as spoken drama. Sam adored Darwin but was no good at invisible animals. Against him, the intuitions of stepmother and stepdaughter came together and procreated, began to put on carnality, feel blood and form bone, and a heart and brain were coming to the offspring. This creature that was forming against the gay-hearted, generous, eloquent, goodfellow was bristly, foul, a hyena, hate of woman the house-jailed and child-chained against the keycarrier, childnamer, and riothaver. Sometimes now an involuntary sly smile would appear on Henny’s face when she heard that dull brute, Sam’s pigheaded child, oppose to his quicksilver her immovable obstinacy, a mulishness beyond rhyme and reason. Sam had his remedies, but Henny smiled in pity at his remedies. He would take Louie out, often in view of the street, in order to give his “lesson a social point” and say, in that splendid head tone of his,
“You see, I am not angry: I am not punishing you out of pique. I am just. You know why I am punishing you. Why is it?”
“For no reason.”
He would give her a gentle flip, “Don’t be obstinate! You know why!”
He would keep it up, till she began to bawl, yielded, “Yes, I know.”
Then he would make her hold out her hands, and would beat her, “You will understand why I have to do this when you get a little older.”
“I will never understand.”
“You will understand and thank me!”—and in what a contented tone!
“I will never understand and never forgive you!”
“Looloo-girl!” this, yearning.
“I will never forgive you!”
He laughed. Henny, half indignant, half interested, behind the curtain, would think, “Wait, wait, wait: only wait, you devil!” Henny had begun to beat Louisa less; and Louie had not been wrong in seeing a distorted sympathy for her in Henny’s pretense of strangling her the night before.
CHAPTER TWO
1 In the morning by the bright light.
L OUIE, PASSING HER
Although Louisa was on the way to twelve and almost a woman, Sam had not suspected this veering. He went on confiding in her and laying the head of his trouble on her small breasts. But Henny, creature of wonderful instinct and old campaigner, had divined almost instantly. No, it was deeper. Henny was one of those women who secretly sympathize with all women against all men; life was a rotten deal, with men holding all the aces. The stepmother did nothing extraordinary to bring out Louisa’s sympathy, because she had left too much behind her and gone too far along her road to care about the notions of even the flesh of her own flesh, but this irresistible call of sex seemed now to hang in the air of the house. It was like an invisible animal, which could be nosed, though, lying in wait in one of the corners of this house that was steeped in hidden as well as spoken drama. Sam adored Darwin but was no good at invisible animals. Against him, the intuitions of stepmother and stepdaughter came together and procreated, began to put on carnality, feel blood and form bone, and a heart and brain were coming to the offspring. This creature that was forming against the gay-hearted, generous, eloquent, goodfellow was bristly, foul, a hyena, hate of woman the house-jailed and child-chained against the keycarrier, childnamer, and riothaver. Sometimes now an involuntary sly smile would appear on Henny’s face when she heard that dull brute, Sam’s pigheaded child, oppose to his quicksilver her immovable obstinacy, a mulishness beyond rhyme and reason. Sam had his remedies, but Henny smiled in pity at his remedies. He would take Louie out, often in view of the street, in order to give his “lesson a social point” and say, in that splendid head tone of his,
“You see, I am not angry: I am not punishing you out of pique. I am just. You know why I am punishing you. Why is it?”
“For no reason.”
He would give her a gentle flip, “Don’t be obstinate! You know why!”
He would keep it up, till she began to bawl, yielded, “Yes, I know.”
Then he would make her hold out her hands, and would beat her, “You will understand why I have to do this when you get a little older.”
“I will never understand.”
“You will understand and thank me!”—and in what a contented tone!
“I will never understand and never forgive you!”
“Looloo-girl!” this, yearning.
“I will never forgive you!”
He laughed. Henny, half indignant, half interested, behind the curtain, would think, “Wait, wait, wait: only wait, you devil!” Henny had begun to beat Louisa less; and Louie had not been wrong in seeing a distorted sympathy for her in Henny’s pretense of strangling her the night before.
CHAPTER TWO
1 In the morning by the bright light.
L OUIE, PASSING HER
Similar Books
