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第12章

cw.imarriedadeadman-第12章

小说: cw.imarriedadeadman 字数: 每页4000字

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e seat That would be the kind of school she'd want…
 She didn't speak; but her own voice was loud in her ears。 〃Help me; somebody; I don't know what to do!〃
 The wheels were dying; as though they'd run out of lubrication。 Or like a phonograph record that runs down。
 
 〃Cli…ck; cla…ck;
 Cli…i…ck; cla…a…a…ck。〃
 
 Each revolution seemed about to be the last。
 Suddenly a long shed started up; just outside the windows; running along parallel to them; and then a white sign suspended from it started to go by; letter by letter in reverse。
 
 〃D…L…E…I…〃
 
 It got to the F and it stuck。 It wouldn't budge。 She all but screamed。 The train had stopped。
 A knock sounded right behind her back; the vibration of it seeming to go through her chest。
 〃Caulfield; ma'm。〃
 Then someone tried the knob。
 〃Help you with yo' things?〃
 Her clenched fist tightened around the seventeen cents; until the knuckles showed white and livid with the pressure。
 She ran to the seat and picked up the blue blanket and what it held。
 There were people out there; just on the other side of the window。 Their heads were low; but she could see them; and they could see her。 There was a woman looking right at her。
 Their eyes met; their eyes locked; held fast。 She couldn't turn her head away; she couldn't withdraw deeper into the partment。 It was as though those eyes riveted her where she stood。
 The woman pointed to her。 She called out in jubilation; for the benefit of someone else; unseen。 〃There she is! I've found her! Here; this car up here!〃
 She raised her hand and she waved。 She waved to the little somnolent; blinking head coifed in the blue blanket; looking solemnly out the window。 Made her fingers flutter in that special wave you give to very small babies。
 The look on her face couldn't have been described。 It was as when life begins all over again; after an interruption; a hiatus。 It was as when the sun peers through again at the end; at the end of a bleak wintry day。
 The girl holding the baby put her head down close to his; almost as if averting it from the window。 Or as if they were muning together; exchanging some confidence in secret; to the exclusion of everyone else。
 She was。
 〃For you;〃 she breathed。 〃For you。 And God forgive me。〃 Then she carried him over to the door with her; and turned the latch to let the harassed porter in。
 
 
 14
 
 Sometimes there is a dividing…line running across life。 Sharp; almost actual; like the black stroke of a paintbrush or the white gash of a chalk…mark。 Sometimes; but not often。
 For her there was。 It lay somewhere along those few yards of carpassage; between the partment…window and the car…steps; where for a moment or two she was out of sight of those standing waiting outside。 One girl left the window。 Another girl came down the steps。 A world ended; and another world began。
 She wasn't the girl who had been holding her baby by the partment…window just now。
 Patrice Hazzard came down those car…steps。
 Frightened; tremulous; very white in the face; but Patrice Hazzard。
 She was aware of things; but only indirectly; she only had eyes for those other eyes looking into hers from a distance of a few inches away。 All else was background。 Behind her back the train glided on。 Bearing with it its hundreds of living passengers。 And; all unknown; in an empty partment; a ghost 。 。 。 Two ghosts; a large one and a very small one。
 Forever homeless now; never to be retrieved。
 The hazel eyes came in even closer to hers。 They were kind; they smiled around the edges; they were gentle; tender。 They hurt a little。 They were trustful。
 She was in her fifties; their owner。 Her hair was softly graying; and only underneath had the process been delayed。 She was as tall as Patrice; and as slim; and she shouldn't have been; for it wasn't; the slimness of fashionable effort or artifice; and something about her clothes revealed it to be recent; only the past few months。
 But even these details about her were background; and the man of her own age standing just past her shoulder was background too。 It was only her face that was immediate; and the eyes in her face; so close now。 Saying so much without a sound。
 She placed her hands lightly upon Patrice's cheeks; one on each; framing her face between them in a sort of accolade; a sacramental benison。
 Then she kissed her on the lips; in silence; and there was a lifetime in the kiss; the girl could sense it。 The lifetime of a man。 The many years it takes to raise a man; from childhood; through boyhood; into a grown son。 There was bitter loss in the kiss; the loss of all that at a single blow。 The end for a time of all hope; and weeks of cruel grief。 But then too there was the reparation of loss; the finding of a daughter; the starting over with another; a smaller son。 No; with the same son; the same blood; the same flesh。 Only going back and starting again from the beginning; in sweeter sadder sponsorship this time; forewarned by loss。 And there was the burgeoning of hope anew。
 There were all those things in it。 They were spoken in it; they were felt in it; and they were meant to be felt in it; they bad been put into it for that purpose。
 This was not a kiss under a railroad…station shed; it was a sacrament of adoption。
 Then she kissed the child。 And smiled as you do at your own。 And a little crystal drop that hadn't been there before was resting on its small pink cheek。
 The man came forward and kissed her on the forehead。
 〃I'm Father; Patrice。〃
 He stooped and straightened; and said; 〃I'll take your things over to the car。〃 A little glad to escape from an emotional moment; as men are apt to be。
 The woman hadn't said a word。 In all the moments she'd been standing before her; not a word had passed her lips。 She saw; perhaps; the pallor in her face; could read the shrinking; the uncertainty; in her eyes。
 She put her arms about her and drew her to her now; in a warmer; more mundane; more everyday greeting than the one that had passed before。 Drew the girl's head to rest upon her own shoulder for a moment。 And as she did so; she spoke for the first time; low in her ear; to give her courage; to give her peace。
 〃You're home; Patrice。 Wele home; dear。〃
 And in those few words; so simply said; so inalterably meant; Patrice Hazzard knew she had found at last all the goodness there is or ever can be in this world。
 
 
 15
 
 And so this was what it was like to be home; to be in a home of your own; in a room of your own。
 She had another dress on now; ready to go down to table。 She sat there in a wing chair waiting; very straight; looking a little small against its outspread back。 Her back was up against it very straight; her legs dropped down to the floor very straight and meticulously side by side。 She had her hand out resting on the crib; the crib they'd bought for him and that she'd found already here waiting when she first entered the room。 He was in it now。 They'd even thought of that。
 They'd left her alone; she would have had to be alone to savor it as fully as she was doing。 Still drinking it in; hours after; basking in it; inhaling the essence of it; there was no word for what it did to her。 Hours after; and her head every now and then would still give that slow; prehensive; marvelling sweep around from side to side; taking in all four walls of it。 And even up overhead; not forgetting the ceiling。 A roof over your head。 A roof to keep out rain and cold and loneliness…Not just the anonymous roof of a rented building; no; the roof of home。 Guarding you; sheltering you; keeping you; watching over you。
 And somewhere downstairs; dimly perceptible to her acutely attuned ears; the soothing bustle of an evening meal in preparation。 Carried to her in faint snatches now and then at the opening of a door; stilled again at its closing。 Footsteps busily crossing an uncarpeted strip of wooden floor; then ing back again。 An occasional faint clash of crockery or china。 Once even the voice of the colored housekeeper; for an instant of bugle…like clarity。 〃No; it ain't ready yet; Miz' Hazzard; need five mo' minutes。〃
 And the laughingly protesting admonition that followed; miraculously audible as wel

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