Fay never wondering what might be occupying the silent thoughts of Patty.
The morning had been mercifully a little cooler; there was a fresh breeze, and even now as she left to go home Patty felt the sunshine to be more pleasant than oppressive. She jumped onto her tram with a light heart: not even a Saturday morning in Ladies’ Cocktail had quite obliterated the strange sensations which had possessed her body and her mind since the events of the night before. But mingled with this pleasant and even mysterious feeling of disorientation, of translation into another element, was a shiver of fear and even of foreboding.
Frank had never before behaved quite as he had done last night; not even on their honeymoon had he so behaved; never before had Patty experienced the sensations she now so strangely experienced; never before had she sat on a bench in the tram feeling that she had just been allowed to learn a secret—but a secret so rare that there were no words for it, so rare that it was never mentioned or even alluded to, so rare that it might be the sole property of her and Frank. And the thought that it might be their sole property was one of its fearsome aspects, for they had never shared a secret before: this secret placed them in a different relationship with each other.
Patty did not articulate all this to herself as fully as it has been articulated here, but it was nonetheless articulated at some level of apprehension effectively enough for her now to be able to feel, and with justification, that it would be fearful, as well as exciting, to see Frank again—Frank alert and conscious, Frank awakened once more from the deep sleep in which she had left him this morning to come in to work. What would he do, what would he say? This would be their first fresh encounter in this new secret-sharing world.
Patty walked home from the tram stop in a dizzy state of mingled desire and apprehension, and as she opened her front door she felt her heart beating loudly.
The house was possessed by a silence which seemed in the circumstances awesome, and for a terrible moment Patty expected Frank suddenly to spring at her like a monster from behind a piece of furniture. But where, at this time of all times, was he? Could he really have gone out now, could he really at this time of all times have left her to return to an empty house, to his entire absence, have left her to experience by herself this strangeness, this solitary possession of their shared secret? It could hardly be possible. She glanced into the bedroom: it too was empty; the bed was unmade.
She went slowly, still astounded and marvelling, into the kitchen; then she proceeded by ever slower steps to make a complete tour of the house. It shunned her with its silence; she and it were quite alone. She returned to the kitchen and sat, dully wondering, as the sensation of strange pleasure drained away from her, leaving only the sensation of fear, and when by the dinner hour Frank had not appeared, the sensation of fear began to take on vivid and dreadful life, and to create vivid and dreadful shapes in her imagination. By the time she went to bed she felt stunned, except that, busily in her mind, these vivid and dreadful shapes sported and played.
24
The water in the Harbour had turned dark blue by the time Magda returned to the fl at: the afternoon was dying, sweetly, gently, as it does at that latitude. Stefan offered to make some tea.
‘Did you have a nice walk?’ asked Rudi, who appeared to have settled in for the evening. ‘Shall we go to a concert? There is a chamber music recital at the Con.’
‘You and your culture,’ said Magda. ‘I feel like a film. Let us not decide now. I must telephone Lisa’s mother to tell her that her daughter is safely en route, our walk took us further than was planned, she may be anxious.’
She went into the bedroom to telephone and returned a few minutes later.
‘How strange,’ she said. ‘She does not seem to know the
The morning had been mercifully a little cooler; there was a fresh breeze, and even now as she left to go home Patty felt the sunshine to be more pleasant than oppressive. She jumped onto her tram with a light heart: not even a Saturday morning in Ladies’ Cocktail had quite obliterated the strange sensations which had possessed her body and her mind since the events of the night before. But mingled with this pleasant and even mysterious feeling of disorientation, of translation into another element, was a shiver of fear and even of foreboding.
Frank had never before behaved quite as he had done last night; not even on their honeymoon had he so behaved; never before had Patty experienced the sensations she now so strangely experienced; never before had she sat on a bench in the tram feeling that she had just been allowed to learn a secret—but a secret so rare that there were no words for it, so rare that it was never mentioned or even alluded to, so rare that it might be the sole property of her and Frank. And the thought that it might be their sole property was one of its fearsome aspects, for they had never shared a secret before: this secret placed them in a different relationship with each other.
Patty did not articulate all this to herself as fully as it has been articulated here, but it was nonetheless articulated at some level of apprehension effectively enough for her now to be able to feel, and with justification, that it would be fearful, as well as exciting, to see Frank again—Frank alert and conscious, Frank awakened once more from the deep sleep in which she had left him this morning to come in to work. What would he do, what would he say? This would be their first fresh encounter in this new secret-sharing world.
Patty walked home from the tram stop in a dizzy state of mingled desire and apprehension, and as she opened her front door she felt her heart beating loudly.
The house was possessed by a silence which seemed in the circumstances awesome, and for a terrible moment Patty expected Frank suddenly to spring at her like a monster from behind a piece of furniture. But where, at this time of all times, was he? Could he really have gone out now, could he really at this time of all times have left her to return to an empty house, to his entire absence, have left her to experience by herself this strangeness, this solitary possession of their shared secret? It could hardly be possible. She glanced into the bedroom: it too was empty; the bed was unmade.
She went slowly, still astounded and marvelling, into the kitchen; then she proceeded by ever slower steps to make a complete tour of the house. It shunned her with its silence; she and it were quite alone. She returned to the kitchen and sat, dully wondering, as the sensation of strange pleasure drained away from her, leaving only the sensation of fear, and when by the dinner hour Frank had not appeared, the sensation of fear began to take on vivid and dreadful life, and to create vivid and dreadful shapes in her imagination. By the time she went to bed she felt stunned, except that, busily in her mind, these vivid and dreadful shapes sported and played.
24
The water in the Harbour had turned dark blue by the time Magda returned to the fl at: the afternoon was dying, sweetly, gently, as it does at that latitude. Stefan offered to make some tea.
‘Did you have a nice walk?’ asked Rudi, who appeared to have settled in for the evening. ‘Shall we go to a concert? There is a chamber music recital at the Con.’
‘You and your culture,’ said Magda. ‘I feel like a film. Let us not decide now. I must telephone Lisa’s mother to tell her that her daughter is safely en route, our walk took us further than was planned, she may be anxious.’
She went into the bedroom to telephone and returned a few minutes later.
‘How strange,’ she said. ‘She does not seem to know the
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