“No.”
“I’ve lost most of my pupils to her. Isn’t that funny? She’s the queen of kvetch—” She broke off and started to laugh.
Brand said, “What’s the matter, Mamma?”
“It’s too funny. I haven’t thought of that word for years.”
“Why did you think of it now?” Brand asked.
“I knew someone once who used it a lot.”
“Who?” Brand didn’t sound really interested, but she couldn’t seem to stop talking.
“Oh—someone,” Ilsa said.
I remembered who it was but I didn’t say anything.
Ilsa went on. “It’s perfect. Miss Corinne Waley. I hate people who play with buttery fingers and backs. I could hear her fingers and back being buttery.”
Making her own fingers and back very buttery she went to the piano and started to play a pseudo-oriental dance, breaking off in disgust.
“I thought you hated teaching,” Brand said.
“I do. But I have a conscience. Not a sense of duty, though, thank God. You have a sense of duty, don’t you, Brand?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder where you get it from? Certainly not your father.”
“Why do you always call him my father?”
“He was, wasn’t he?”
“He was your husband, too.”
Ilsa played the Wedding March with one finger. “You’d like to marry, wouldn’t you, Brand?”
“Of course.”
“Just legally or really?”
“I think you’re acting very strangely in front of Uncle Henry,” Brand said.
“Nonsense. Henny’s family.”
“Are you angry with Brand?” I asked.
“Yes,” Ilsa said. “Because I love her.”
“I don’t understand you, Mamma,” Brand said.
“Children aren’t supposed to understand their mothers. Mothers are supposed to understand their children. And that’s just as silly.”
“Why are you being so funny today, Mamma?” Brand asked.
“Am I being funny?”
“You know you are.”
“Maybe,” Ilsa said slowly, “it’s because someone—funny—has been on my mind all day. Isn’t it strange how you can suddenly begin to think of someone you haven’t seen in years—and he just won’t go out of your mind?… Usually when I feel people like this it means they’re near. But he couldn’t be.”
Lorenzo came in with Médor, who flung herself frantically at Ilsa, whimpering and sobbing. She never acted like the old dog she was. Ilsa said it was because she didn’t have enough brains to realize she was old, so she’d always be a puppy.
“I guess she thought she was lost,” Lorenzo said. “She was down at the corner sitting on the curb and shrieking to high heaven. She was awful glad to see me.”
“Thank you, Lorenzo. You’re a darling.” Ilsa was still stroking and soothing the quivering old dog who slowly quieted down.
“I’d like to have enough money to air-condition the house,” Brand said inconsequentially.
“If we had that much money we wouldn’t be here.” Ilsa pulled out the threadbare silk handkerchief that had belonged to Werner, and wiped her face.
“Why not?”
“Maybe you would, my child. I wouldn’t.”
“This would be a good night to go to the movies,” Brand said, sighing again.
“Why don’t you go?” Ilsa asked.
“I don’t want to go by myself.”
Lorenzo said quietly, “I’ll go with you.”
“You were going to finish your harpsichord,” Brand said.
“But if you want to go to the movies …”
“No, Lorenzo. I don’t really want to go. I’ll go to bed and read.”
Valdosta, Mattie Belle’s inadequate helper, shuffled in without knocking. “Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Silverton is here, Miz Woolf,” she whined, and shuffled out, wiping her nose on a corner of her apron. I was thankful Ilsa couldn’t see this.
“Why must Violetta come to call!” Ilsa cried. “Really, it’s too much, in weather like this!”
“Sh,” Brand warned, as they came in.
“I won’t ‘sh,’” Ilsa muttered.
“It’s so hot I knew you’d be home,” Violetta cried, trotting over to Ilsa and kissing her, then embracing Brand. I had to be kissed, too. Dolph cleared his throat and patted Ilsa on the shoulder.
“How nice to see you,” Brand said politely. “You haven’t been over in ages.”
“Little Brand!” Violetta let out a fulsome sigh and smoothed the skirt of her white linen suit. It was a very good and a very expensive suit, but it made her look like a not too amiable sea cow who had suddenly taken it into its head to have too many permanent waves. “Little Brand! You’re really a woman now, aren’t you? I said to your Uncle Randolph as we were coming up the path, ‘Brand’s really a woman, now, really a woman,’ didn’t I, Dolph?”
Dolph cleared his throat. He looked more like a cadaver than ever in his wrinkled seersucker suit that seemed to hang like loose flesh on his bones and his yellowed parchment-like skin.
“I’ve got to go home now,” Lorenzo said. “Good-bye.”
When Lorenzo didn’t like anything he had a way of quietly walking out on it.
“Good-bye, Lorenzo.” Ilsa smiled at him.
“I’ll be over tomorrow, Brand,” he said.
“All right.” Brand nodded indifferently.
As soon as he was gone, Violetta cried, raising her hands with their blood-colored nails heavenward, “Now, why does that boy always run off like that when anyone comes around? He’s over here a lot, isn’t he, Brand? He must be interested in you. Uncle Randolph thinks so, too. I was telling Mrs. Jackson just this morning, not Beulah Jackson’s mother, but Mamie Jackson who lives across the river, ‘Lorenzo Moore must be interested in my little Brand.’ And then coming up the path I realized you aren’t a little girl any more. I guess I was sort of a long time realizing it because you’ve never been interested in boys like most girls are. I guess you take after your mother, though she married real young.” She moved her chair closer to the table and picked up a paper to fan herself with. “Though Mrs. Jackson did say to me the other day it’s because you’re with your mother so much. I think it’s right wonderful the way you give up so much to your mother. Poor Lorenzo Moore, I do declare. Fancy his being interested in my little Brand. And how is your mother feeling today?”
“I am neither deaf nor dumb nor a half-wit,” Ilsa said in her resonant voice.
Dolph cleared his throat.
“Oh, dear!” Violetta cried. “Now I’ve gone and hurt her feelings.”
“Would it be possible for you to address yourself directly to me?” Ilsa asked.
“Ilsa dear,” Violetta said, “please don’t misunderstand me! I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for anything in the world! I wouldn’t hurt a mouse! Have you been having trouble with ants? I’ve had to put my stockings in glass jars with the tops screwed on tight or the ants eat them, and I mean perfectly eat them! I’ve put ant poison all over the house, but they just seem to thrive on it. Have you been bothered with them? But maybe it’s just across the river they’re so bad. I love living across the river—you really feel so much more in the country. But you know, I do think there are more insects. Don’t you, Dolph?”
“Possibly,” Dolph said.
Violetta ran on like a brook running over stones and completely unaware of them. “And how are you feeling the heat, Ilsa?”
“I imagine I’m feeling it in about the same way that everyone else is, thank you, Violetta.”
“Well, it is real hot,” Violetta said. “I’ve just been over at the hospital visiting old Cousin Belle. She fell down the stairs the other day and broke her hip. Poor old Cousin Belle, I do declare. Why don’t you go see her, Brand? She’d adore to see you. But don’t take any flowers. You’ve never seen as many flowers as she’s had. I hope for her sake she doesn’t die with this
hip. People won’t feel like sending flowers so soon again. Mrs. Jackson took her some Pyrus japonica out of her hothouse, though how she gets it to grow even there this time of year is beyond me. Mrs. Jackson wanted someone to get her little boy from camp in North Carolina—you know, she’d pay the way and everything; she hates traveling. She thought maybe you might like to go, Brand, but I told her you never leave your mother. ‘Oh, no,’ I told her, ‘Brand wouldn’t leave her mother.’ How’re your piano lessons going, Ilsa?” When Violetta talked directly to Ilsa, which was rarely, she always raised her voice a little as though she expected her to have difficulty in hearing. It infuriated Ilsa. “Mrs. Bennet was going to send little Dorothy to you but then she decided to send her to Miss Corinne Waley. She wants little Dorothy to have the best. Not that you aren’t good, Ilsa, and I always advise anyone who asks me to send their children to you. But teaching must be so tiring for you and—”
Valdosta stuck her little head in the door and droned, “Miss Brand, Miss Beulah Jackson say she want to see you. Do I say come in?”
“Of course, Valdosta,” Brand said.
“Mattie Belle say I was to tell you Mr. Joshua Tisbury didn’t get clean linen this morning.”
“Oh—well, I forgot.”
“You never forget anyone else,” Ilsa said sharply.
“I’ll put it in his room later.”
“Mattie Belle, she done it. She say just don’t forget again.” Valdosta’s voice was like a little mosquito. “Come in, Miss Beulah,” she droned as she went out.
Beulah Jackson paused effectively in the doorway, then came in. I never cottoned to Beulah and I knew that Ilsa didn’t like her any more now than she did in the days when she wanted to forbid Brand to play with her.
“Hey, everybody,” Beulah said. “I’m not interrupting a family conference or anything, am I?”
“Of course not.” Brand got up, offered Beulah the bamboo chaise-longue, and sat down by Ilsa on the piano bench.
“Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Silverton,” Beulah said. “Haven’t seen you on our side of the river in a long time. Hey, Mr. Porcher.”
“We don’t come over often in the summer.” Violetta fanned herself briskly with the paper. “It’s really hotter over here. I was talking to your aunt about it just this morning.”
“Oh, Aunt Mamie! How she?”
“Well, I think she looks real pale from the heat, but she says she’s feeling all right.”
“How you feeling, Mrs. Woolf?” Beulah asked politely in her sweet honeyed little voice. I had to hand it to Beulah; she was a pretty girl with her yellow curls and frilly dresses, and she had a nice manner.
“Very well, thank you, Beulah,” Ilsa said.
“Brand”—Beulah smoothed down the skirts of her pale green percale dress—“I just ran over to see if you wanted to go to the movies tonight. I’m going with Bennet and I wondered if you’d like to go with Lee.”
“You’ve got a real handsome brother there, Beulah,” Violetta said.
After a moment’s hesitation Brand answered, “I’d love to, Beulah, but I can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve promised to go with Lorenzo.”
“Ah!” Violetta purred.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beulah said. One of the things I disliked about Beulah was that she always sounded so sincere and half the time I was sure she wasn’t. “Lee’ll be real disappointed. Maybe we’ll get to see you there, though. What you going to see?”
“We hadn’t thought. Where are you going?”
“To see Gary Cooper’s new picture. I hope you come see it, too. I’ve got to run along home now and tell Lee—he’ll be real sorry. Good-bye, everybody. I’ll just run across the lawn, if you don’t mind. Oh—how do you like my new dress? I made it.”
“Well, if you aren’t the clever one!” Violetta exclaimed, “I didn’t know you could sew like that. Girls don’t sew any more the way they used to. I’ll tell your aunt about it the next time I see her.”
“It’s awfully pretty,” Brand said wistfully. I knew she was comparing her own plain shirtwaist dress unfavorably with it.
“How do you like it, Mr. Silverton?” Beulah was dancing around, avid for praise.
“Very fine,” Dolph said.
“Mrs. Woolf?” Beulah asked, still twirling.
“Come let me feel it,” Ilsa said. “I’ll find out if you’re as good a seamstress as everybody thinks.”
“Oh—” Beulah stopped in confusion. “I forgot—I’m so sorry—gee, I’m sorry—”
“My dear, it doesn’t matter in the least.”
“I’ve got to run—” I must say for Beulah that she was crimson with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry you can’t come, Brand. Please forgive me, Mrs. Woolf. Good-bye Mr. Porcher. Good-bye, Mr. and Mrs. Silverton. I wish I could stay and chat, but Lee made me promise I’d hurry and he’ll be mad if I don’t. See you soon, Brand.” She ran out one of the long windows.
“Why wouldn’t you go with her, Brand?” Ilsa asked.
“She’s going out with Lorenzo Moore!” Violetta cried. “Didn’t I tell you our Brand was a woman, Dolph!”
“Would anyone like anything to drink?” Brand was obviously trying to change the subject. “I’m afraid we’ve finished the lemonade, but there’s lots of Coca-Cola and Dr. Pepper and ginger ale in the icebox.”
“Oh, no, thank you, sugar,” Violetta said. “We’ve got to be getting back for supper. I said to your Uncle Randolph in the hospital when we left poor old Cousin Belle, ‘Why don’t we go see Ilsa, too?’ So we came right on over. You’d be surprised now many people I know in the hospital. I always enjoy visiting a hospital.” She stood up, pushing her chair still further away from its original position. “Dolph, come on, honey. We’ve sot to be getting home. Brand, if your mother feels equal to it, you must come over and have supper with us soon and see how much cooler it is across the river. I’ll ask little Beulah Jackson and Mamie, too. There’s a sweet child if there ever was one. How’re your boarders doing? I expect they bring you in quite a lot, don’t they? But then your mother mustn’t want for anything. Are you ready yet, Dolph?” She went over to Ilsa and kissed her. Ilsa immediately wiped her mouth. “Good-bye, Ilsa, honey, and we’ll come see you again real soon. Every time we see you I say to Dolph, we must see Ilsa again real soon, but I don’t know how the time slips by.”
“Come along, Violetta,” Dolph said. “Good-bye, Ilsa, Brand, Henry.”
“I’ll go out to the car with you,” Brand said.
Violetta tucked Brand’s arm under hers. “I wish you could see your little Brand, Ilsa. It would do your heart good. She looks more like her father every day. Come along out to the car, too, Henry. We never get to see you any more.”
I started to follow Violetta and Brand out, but paused as I saw Dolph walk over to Ilsa and bend close to her. “She may not be leaf or dumb, but she’s certainly a half-wit,” he whispered.
Ilsa squeezed his arm. “Oh, darling—” she said.
56
As I followed Dolph into the hall I saw Joshua Tisbury going up the stairs. He hailed me, and I went to him, glad to have an excuse to stay in the house instead of going out to the car for one of Violetta’s prolonged farewells.
“Are they going?” he asked. He was one of the nicest men I’d ever known, and one of the ugliest, even taller than I, with a huge bony nose that seemed to walk all over his face, and extraordinarily bushy eyebrows springing from his forehead.
I nodded.
“Thank God. I wanted to go talk to Ilsa for a bit. Coming?”
“Well, if you want to talk to her—”
“Oh, it’s nothing private. I just want to relax for a few minutes before I go back to my typewriter.”
“How’s the book coming?”
“Which one?” His smile was crooked and rather bitter.
“Oh, either.”
“Well, opus number one is still making the rounds of the publishing houses. I forget which one has it at the moment. It will probably come win
ging its way home in a month or so. God knows why they keep them so long. It’s been gone two months now. Opus number two is about halfway through. I read the new chapter to Ilsa last night.”
“What did she think of it?”
“I think she was too kind.”
“You know Ilsa well enough to know that she is never too kind. Especially about something like that,” I said.
In the drawing room we heard a crash as though Ilsa had walked into something, and I remembered that Violetta had moved her chair. We heard Ilsa swear, softly, but with horrible intensity. I don’t think she ever realized how that low voice of hers carried.
“God damn it to hell.”
Then, as we hurried downstairs, “Brand! Brand! The furniture has been moved.”
She was standing stock-still and tense as we came in.
“Ilsa, it’s Joshua and Henry,” the young man said. “What is it?”
“Somebody’s moved the furniture,” Ilsa answered, and I noticed that Beulah, too, had pulled a chair out of place so that it was directly in front of her. “It gives me the most frightened feeling to be lost in my own room—even though I hate it.”
“Where did you want to go?” Joshua asked as I set about putting the chairs back in their places.
“Upstairs to change.”
Joshua put his arm around her. “Don’t go up just yet. You’ve plenty of time.” His northern tones always sounded harsh and strange beside our gentler ones. “Sit down and talk to me.”
“All right. I think I’ll have a cigarette.”
“You and Myra Turnbull are going to burn the house down with all your smoking,” he said.
“Might be a good idea.”
Joshua went with her to the sofa and sat down by her, holding her hand—something, despite all the years, I would never have dared to do. I stretched out on the bamboo chaise longue.
“Brand thinks you should make me leave because I can’t pay the rent,” Joshua said. He spoke with no bitterness or resentment; it was simply a question that perhaps ought to come out in the open for discussion.
“She didn’t say that, did she?” Ilsa asked sharply.
“No. But it’s true.”
Ilsa Page 29
