My Sister's Hand in Mine

by Jane Bowles

  “I know it!” said Miss Gamelon. There was a sudden blast of wind which blew the kitchen door open. “Oh, I hate this,” said Miss Gamelon vehemently, getting up from her seat to fix the door.

  “Besides,” she continued, “who ever heard of a man living together with two ladies in a house which does not even contain one extra bedroom, so that he is obliged to sleep fully clothed on the couch! It is enough to take one’s appetite away, just to walk through the parlor and see him there at all hours of the day, eyes open or shut, with not a care in the world. Only a man who is a slob could be willing to live in such a way. He is even too lazy to court either of us, which is a most unnatural thing you must admit—if you have any conception at all of the male physical make-up. Of course he is not a man. He is an elephant.”

  “I don’t think,” said Miss Goering, “that he is as big as all that.”

  “Well, I told him to rest in my room because I couldn’t stand seeing him on the couch any more. And as for you,” she said to Miss Goering, “I think you are the most insensitive person that I have ever met in my life.”

  At the same time Miss Gamelon was really worried—although she scarcely admitted this to herself—that Miss Goering was losing her mind. Miss Goering seemed thinner and more nervous and she insisted on doing most of the housework all by herself. She was constantly cleaning the house and polishing the doorknobs and the silver; she tried in many small ways to make the house livable without buying any of the things which were needed to make it so; she had in these last few weeks suddenly developed an extreme avarice and drew only enough money from the bank to enable them to live in the simplest manner possible. At the same time she seemed to think nothing of paying for Arnold’s food, as he scarcely ever offered to contribute anything to the upkeep of the house. It was true that he went on paying his own share in his family’s apartment, which perhaps left him very little to pay for anything else. This made Miss Gamelon furious, because although she did not understand why it was necessary for Miss Goering to live on less than one tenth of her income, she had nevertheless adjusted herself to this tiny scale of living and was trying desperately to make the money stretch as far as possible.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Miss Gamelon was thinking seriously about all these things when suddenly a bottle broke against her head, inundating her with perfume and making quite a deep cut just above her forehead. She started to bleed profusely and sat for a moment with her hands over her eyes.

  “I didn’t actually mean to draw blood,” said Arnold leaning out of the window. “I just meant to give her a start.”

  Miss Goering, although she was beginning to regard Miss Gamelon more and more as the embodiment of evil, made a swift and compassionate gesture towards her friend.

  “Oh, my dear, let me get you something to disinfect the cut with.” She went into the house and passed Arnold in the hall. He was standing with his hand on the front door, unable to decide whether to stay in or go out. When Miss Goering came down again with the medicine, Arnold had disappeared.

  * * *

  It was near evening, and Miss Gamelon, with a bandaged head, was standing in front of the house. She could see the road between the trees, from where she was standing. Her face was very white and her eyes were swollen because she had been weeping bitterly. She was weeping because it was the first time in her life that anyone had ever struck her physically. The more she thought about it, the more serious it became in her mind, and while she stood in front of the house she was suddenly frightened for the first time in her life. How far she had traveled from her home! Twice she had begun to pack her bags and twice she had decided not to do so, only because she could not bring herself to leave Miss Goering, since in her own way, though she scarcely knew it herself, she was deeply attached to her. It was dark before Miss Gamelon went into the house.

  Miss Goering was terribly upset because Arnold had not yet returned, although she did not care for him very much more than she had in the beginning. She, too, stood outside in the dark for nearly an hour because her anxiety was so great that she was unable to remain in the house.

  While she was still outside, Miss Gamelon, seated in the parlor before an empty fireplace, felt that all of God’s wrath had descended upon her own head. The world and the people in it had suddenly slipped beyond her comprehension and she felt in great danger of losing the whole world once and for all—a feeling that is difficult to explain.

  Each time that she looked over her shoulder into the kitchen and saw Miss Goering’s dark shape still standing in front of the door, her heart failed her a little more. Finally Miss Goering came in.

  “Lucy!” she called. Her voice was very clear and a little higher than usual. “Lucy, let’s go and find Arnold.” She sat opposite Miss Gamelon, and her face looked extraordinarily bright.

  Miss Gamelon said: “Certainly not.”

  “Well, after all,” said Miss Goering, “he lives in my house.”

  “Yes, that he does,” said Miss Gamelon.

  “And it is only right,” said Miss Goering, “that people in the same house should look after each other. They always do, I think, don’t they?”

  “They’re more careful about who gets under the same roof with them,” said Miss Gamelon, coming to life again.

  “I don’t think so, really,” said Miss Goering. Miss Gamelon breathed a deep sigh and got up. “Never mind,” she said, “soon I’ll be in the midst of real human beings again.”

  They started through the woods along a path which was a short cut to the nearest town, about twenty minutes from their house on foot. Miss Goering screeched at every strange noise and clutched at Miss Gamelon’s sweater all the way. Miss Gamelon was sullen and suggested that they take the long way around on their way back.

  At last they came out of the woods and walked a short stretch along the highway. On either side of the road were restaurants which catered mainly to automobilists. In one of these Miss Goering saw Arnold seated at a table near the window, eating a sandwich.

  “There’s Arnold,” said Miss Goering. “Come along!” She took hold of Miss Gamelon’s hand and almost skipped in the direction of the restaurant.

  “It is really almost too good to be true,” said Miss Gamelon; “he is eating again.”

  It was terribly hot inside. They removed their sweaters and went to sit with Arnold at his table.

  “Good evening,” said Arnold. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” This he said to Miss Goering. He avoided looking in the direction of Miss Gamelon.

  “Well,” said Miss Gamelon, “are you going to explain yourself?”

  Arnold had just taken quite a large bite of his sandwich so that he was unable to answer her. But he did roll his eyes in her direction. It was impossible to tell with his cheeks so full whether or not he looked angry. Miss Gamelon was terribly annoyed at this, but Miss Goering sat smiling at them because she was glad to have them both with her again.

  Finally Arnold swallowed his food.

  “I don’t have to explain myself,” he said to Miss Gamelon, looking very grouchy indeed now that he had swallowed his food. “You owe a profound apology to me for hating me and telling Miss Goering about it.”

  “I have a perfect right to hate whom I please,” said Miss Gamelon, “and also, since we live in a free country, I can talk about it on the street corner if I want to.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to hate me. You’ve misjudged me anyway, which is enough to make any man furious, and I am furious.”

  “Well then, get out of the house. Nobody wants you there anyway.”

  “That’s incorrect; Miss Goering, I am sure, wants me there, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Arnold, of course,” said Miss Goering.

  “There is no justice,” said Miss Gamelon; “you are both outrageous.” She sat up very straight, and both Arnold and Miss Goering stared at her bandage.

  “Well,” said Arnold, wiping his mouth and pushing his plate away, “I am sure there is
some way whereby we can arrange it so we can both live in the house together.”

  “Why are you so attached to the house?” screamed Miss Gamelon. “All you ever do when you’re in it is to stretch out in the parlor and go to sleep.”

  “The house gives me a certain feeling of freedom.”

  Miss Gamelon looked at him.

  “You mean an opportunity to indulge your laziness.”

  “Now look,” said Arnold, “suppose that I am allowed to use the parlor after dinner and in the morning. Then you can use it the rest of the time.”

  “All right,” said Miss Gamelon, “I agree, but see that you don’t set your foot in it during the entire afternoon.”

  On the way home both Miss Gamelon and Arnold seemed quite contented because they had evolved a plan. Each one thought he had got the better of the bargain and Miss Gamelon was already outlining to herself several pleasant ways of spending an afternoon in the parlor.

  When they arrived home she went upstairs to bed almost immediately. Arnold lay on the couch, fully dressed, and pulled a knitted coverlet over him. Miss Goering was sitting in the kitchen. After a little while she heard someone sobbing in the parlor. She went inside and found Arnold crying into his sleeve.

  “What’s the matter, Arnold?”

  “I don’t know,” said Arnold, “it’s so disagreeable to have someone hate you. I really think I had perhaps better leave and go back to my house. But I dislike doing that more than anything in the world and I hate the real-estate business and I hate for her to be angry with me. Can’t you tell her it’s just a period of adjustment for me—to please wait a little bit?”

  “Certainly, Arnold, I shall tell her that the very first thing in the morning. Maybe if you went to business tomorrow, she might feel better about you.”

  “Do you think so?” asked Arnold, sitting bolt upright in his eagerness. “Then I will.” He got up and stood by the window with his feet wide apart. “I just can’t stand to have anyone hate me during this period of adjustment,” he said, “and then of course I’m devoted to you both.”

  The next evening, when Arnold came home with a box of chocolates apiece for Miss Goering and Miss Gamelon, he was surprised to find his father there. He was sitting in a straight-backed chair next to the fireplace, drinking a cup of tea, and he had on a motoring cap.

  “I came out to see, Arnold, how well you were providing for these young ladies. They seem to be living in a dung-heap here.”

  “I don’t see where you have any right to say such a thing as a guest, Father,” said Arnold, gravely handing a box of candy to each of the women.

  “Certainly, because of age, my dear son, I am allowed to say a great many things. Remember you are all my children to me, including Princess over here.” He hooked Miss Goering’s waist with the top of his cane and drew her over to him. She had never imagined she would see him in such a rollicking good humor. He looked to her smaller and thinner than on the night they had met.

  “Well, where do you crazy bugs eat?” he asked them.

  “We have a square table,” said Miss Gamelon, “in the kitchen. Sometimes we put it in front of the fireplace, but it’s never very adequate.”

  Arnold’s father cleared his throat and said nothing. He seemed to be annoyed that Miss Gamelon had spoken.

  “Well, you’re all crazy,” he said, looking at his son and at Miss Goering, and purposely excluding Miss Gamelon, “but I’m rooting for you.”

  “Where is your wife?” Miss Goering asked him.

  “She’s at home, I gather,” said Arnold’s father, “and as sour as a pickle and just as bitter to taste.”

  Miss Gamelon giggled at his remark. It was the kind of thing that she found amusing. Arnold was delighted to see that she was brightening up a bit.

  “Come out with me,” said Arnold’s father to Miss Goering, “into the wind and the sunshine, my love, or shall I say into the wind and the moonlight, never forgetting to add ‘my love.’”

  They left the room together and Arnold’s father led Miss Goering a little way into the field.

  “You see,” he said, “I’ve decided to go back to a number of my boyish tastes. For instance, I took a certain delight in nature when I was young. I can frankly say that I have decided to throw away some of my conventions and ideals and again get a kick out of nature—that is, of course if you are willing to be by my side. It all depends on that.”

  “Certainly,” said Miss Goering, “but what does this involve?”

  “It involves,” said Arnold’s father, “your being a true woman. Sympathetic and willing to defend all that I say and do. At the same time prone to scolding me just a little.” He put his ice-cold hand in hers.

  “Let’s go in,” said Miss Goering. “I want to go inside.” She began tugging at his arm, but he would not move. She realized that although he looked terribly old-fashioned and a little ridiculous in his motoring cap, he was still very strong. She wondered why he had seemed so much more distinguished the first night that they had met.

  She tugged at his arm even harder, half in play, half in earnest, and in so doing she quite unwittingly scratched the inside of his wrist with her nail. She drew a little blood, which seemed to upset Arnold’s father quite a lot, because he began stumbling through the field as quickly as he could towards the house.

  Later he announced to everyone his intention of staying the night in Miss Goering’s house. They had lighted a fire and they were all seated around it together. Twice Arnold had fallen asleep.

  “Mother would be terribly worried,” said Arnold.

  “Worried?” said Arnold’s father. “She will probably die of a heart attack before morning, but then, what is life but a puff of smoke or a leaf or a candle soon burned out anyway?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t take life seriously,” said Arnold, “and don’t pretend, just because there are women around, that you are light-hearted. You’re the grim, worrying type and you know it.”

  Arnold’s father coughed. He looked a little upset.

  “I don’t agree with you,” he said.

  Miss Goering took him upstairs to her own bedroom.

  “I hope you will sleep in peace,” she said to him. “You know that I’m delighted to have you in my house any time.”

  Arnold’s father pointed to the trees outside the window.

  “Oh, night!” he said. “Soft as a maiden’s cheek, and as mysterious as the brooding owl, the Orient, the turbaned sultan’s head. How long have I ignored thee underneath my reading lamp, occupied with various and sundry occupations which I have now decided to disregard in favor of thee. Accept my apology and let me be numbered among thy sons and daughters. You see,” he said to Miss Goering, “you see what a new leaf I have really turned over; I think we understand each other now. You mustn’t ever think people have only one nature. Everything I said to you the other night was wrong.”

  “Oh,” said Miss Goering, a little dismayed.

  “Yes, I am now interested in being an entirely new personality as different from my former self as A is from Z. This has been a very lovely beginning. It augurs well, as they say.”

  He stretched out on the bed, and while Miss Goering was looking at him he fell asleep. Soon he began to snore. She threw a cover over him and left the room, deeply perplexed.

  Downstairs she joined the others in front of the fire. They were drinking hot tea into which they had poured a bit of rum.

  Miss Gamelon was relaxing. “This is the best thing in the world for your nerves,” she said, “and also for softening the sharp angles of your life. Arnold has been telling me about his progress in his uncle’s office. How he started as a messenger and has now worked his way up to being one of the chief agents in the office. We’ve had an extremely pleasant time just sitting here. I think Arnold has been hiding from us a very excellent business sense.”

  Arnold looked a little distressed. He was still fearful of displeasing Miss Goering.

  “Miss Gamelon and
I are going to inquire tomorrow whether or not there is a golf course on the island. We have discovered a mutual interest in golf,” he said.

  Miss Goering could not understand Arnold’s sudden change of attitude. It was as though he had just arrived at a summer hotel and was anxious to plan a nice vacation. Miss Gamelon also surprised her somewhat, but she said nothing.

  “Golf would be wonderful for you,” said Miss Gamelon to Miss Goering; “probably would straighten you out in a week.”

  “Well,” said Arnold apologetically, “she might not like it.”

  “I don’t like sports,” said Miss Goering; “more than anything else, they give me a terrific feeling of sinning.”

  “On the contrary,” said Miss Gamelon, “that’s exactly what they never do.”

  “Don’t be rude, Lucy dear,” said Miss Goering. “After all, I have paid sufficient attention to what happens inside of me and I know better than you about my own feelings.”

  “Sports,” said Miss Gamelon, “can never give you a feeling of sinning, but what is more interesting is that you can never sit down for more than five minutes without introducing something weird into the conversation. I certainly think you have made a study of it.”

  * * *

  The next morning Arnold’s father came downstairs with his shirt collar open and without a vest. He had rumpled his hair up a bit so that now he looked like an old artist.

  “What on earth is Mother going to do?” Arnold asked him at breakfast.

  “Fiddlesticks!” said Arnold’s father. “You call yourself an artist and you don’t even know how to be irresponsible. The beauty of the artist lies in the childlike soul.” He touched Miss Goering’s hand with his own. She could not help thinking of the speech he had made the night he had come into her bedroom and how opposed it had been to everything he was now saying.

  “If your mother has a desire to live, she will live, providing she is willing to leave everything behind her as I have done,” he added.

  Miss Gamelon was slightly embarrassed by this elderly man who seemed to have just recently made some momentous change in his life. But she was not really curious about him.