The Albatross

by Charlotte Armstrong

  “I was wondering,” said Esther with boldness. “Maybe the Widow Caldwell doesn’t feel quite so lone and lorn as we’ve been thinking.”

  He turned, shocked.

  “What I mean—well, she could be a little bit relieved too. I mean …” Esther faltered. She wasn’t putting it the right way. She had meant to point out the saintly and forgiving attitude might be slightly tarnished if it was not costing much. “I guess I’m just trying to make you feel better,” she blurted.

  But Tom said sharply, “I killed a man, Esther. What’s going to make me feel better about it?”

  “You have to,” said Esther, pleadingly, “some time …”

  Tom said tensely, “If he was the worst rat the world ever saw, still I had no business hitting as hard as I did, so thoughtlessly. And he’s dead and he didn’t want to be dead. The law can forgive me and you can forgive me and even Audrey can forgive me—but I don’t feel a lot better.”

  He whipped off his tie and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Esther sat on her bed. Well, there it was. It will take time, she thought. Meanwhile he has got to keep helping Audrey, since it’s all he can do, and that means having her here until she finds the right apartment. He’s all knotted up about the—accident. She doesn’t mean anything to him as a woman. It’s silly of me to be jealous.

  Tom came out. “Also—” (he seemed to go right on with what he had been saying)—“just because Audrey had the good taste and the consideration not to weep in front of us—or even to talk about it—that doesn’t mean she’s not sad.”

  “I guess not,” said Esther humbly.

  Audrey went out house-hunting the next afternoon. Esther said to Joan, “Audrey has so many pretty black dresses. Has she always worn a lot of black?”

  “No,” said Joan.

  “Then she must have had to buy a lot …” began Esther, looking innocent; but the fury on Joan’s face stopped her.

  “She hadn’t anything to wear,” Joan snarled. “She wants to wear black for a year. She can’t wear one dress for a year, can she?”

  “Of course not,” said Esther soothingly. She felt a little shocked. Joan’s reaction was so intense. Joan’s eyes were so fierce. Joan’s sinewy hands were so clenched upon the driving-wheels of her chair. “But black for a year,” Esther murmured in a moment. “That’s unusual, these days.”

  “Audrey happens to be a lady,” snarled Joan.

  Esther was mending and she bit the thread. “Audrey’s still young,” she murmured. “Will she ever marry again, do you think, Joan?” She looked at the cloth in her hands.

  Joan said, surprisingly, all her fierceness gone. “I don’t think so.”

  Esther looked up.

  “She’s very happy here,” Joan said in a kind of croon. “Audrey’s always had to bear everything. Here she feels secure.”

  “Oh?” Esther reached for a spool. “Well, I’m glad.” The smile she put on stretched the skin of her face uncomfortably.

  Nothing could keep Esther from wondering how long Audrey proposed to stay happily on, a kind of second wife in this house, a woman leaning on a man. Or how long Tom proposed to keep her. Keep her, too. For three weeks now, Esther had endured without asking this. But on the fourth Wednesday, before Tom went off to work, she asked.

  Tom said patiently, “They’ve got to have a place to go, honey.”

  “They’re not finding it, Tom,” she said soberly.

  “I don’t know what we can do about that.” He didn’t want to talk. He’d woken up cheerful. “It’s quite a problem.”

  “Shall I—shall I ask them how long?” Esther pressed him.

  He said, “I know it’s taking more time than any of us expected, but Esther honey, how can they know? We can’t very well ask them to hurry up.”

  “Maybe I could.” Her eyes searched his face. “I don’t mind being the villain.”

  “They’ll find a place,” he said hastily, not answering directly but answering, nevertheless. “It was bound to take time. Audrey’s not too robust. She can’t fly around like crazy. She—moves slowly.”

  “Yes. She does,” said Esther.

  “Meantime we’re getting used to them. You don’t mind too much, do you?”

  Eshter took in breath and held it.

  “I guess it is kinda hard on you,” Tom said with that strained look, as if her look had shocked him. “I’ll go out with Audrey this Saturday and I’ll find a place.” He patted her. But his jaw looked tense. His eyes reproached her for putting him on this spot.

  Esther was contemplating another Saturday confined with Joan. She said urgently, “Do. I’m willing, Tom, but this isn’t Audrey’s home after all. I mean, this can’t go on for ever. Can it?”

  “No,” he said miserably.

  It struck Esther, afterwards, that it had been a long, long time since she and Tom had felt easy together or had been able to tease and joke and kid each other.

  Saturday came and went. No suitable dwelling turned up and Audrey said she was very tired and Tom apologized for having kept her out too long. His glance defied Esther to comment. She did not comment.

  Only twice since the advent of the sisters had the Gardners gone out of an evening. Their social life had been nearly paralysed. Esther hadn’t had friends in because it was a little difficult to say, “This is Mrs. Caldwell, whose husband Tom killed, remember?” Esther had been lying low, marking time, waiting it out. But now, she felt, the time had come when they must entertain. She’d override this interruption in their lives, have their own friends in, break the spell. So she invited three couples for that Sunday evening.

  Esther and Tom had always enjoyed barbecues, outdoor playtime, noisy evenings of jokes and games. But on this occasion, Joan’s disabilities rather prevented silly games, for it would have seemed rude to exhibit nimblness and suppleness. And Audrey’s gentle presence, in her black, put a damper on the amiable rowdiness. What would have seemed funny to the Gardners and their friends seemed rather vulgar in the light of Audrey’s puzzled smiles. Jokes were inhibited. Kidding fell flat. Things got a bit stilted.

  Also, since it was impossible to explain frankly to their friends who these women were, Esther could feel the question-marks or the guesses and the curiosity. The party was a flop.

  Esther, lying in bed with her head aching, said rebelliously, “I guess we won’t try that again.”

  Tom pulled the covers up and said defensively, “You think I’d go in for having them here if I didn’t feel I had to?”

  Her heart jumped. The old friends had done good. Tom had felt the difference. “Do we really have to,” she dared to say, “much longer?”

  “Oh, Esther, what’s the way out?” he groaned, turning to her as he had not turned in a long time. “I know you don’t like it. I know it’s work for you and it busts up your time and you get the worst of it. But how can I tell them to leave, tell them I’ve done about all I intend to do for them? How can I the same as say to Audrey, ‘Okay, I felt bad about killing your husband, about wrecking your whole life. That is, I felt bad for a little while. But now I’m tired of it, and you are just a bother to my wife’?”

  “Truth …” said Esther in a small voice.

  “Truth is, I feel terrible. I did and I do want to help her. I owe her that. And how sincere am I?” said Tom. “Am I so shallow that a few weeks’ inconvenience can wash out the whole obligation? Are we so shallow? Esther, you’ve got to understand.” He groaned. “Don’t put me in the middle.”

  He rolled over on the bed, away. She thought: Well, I guess I am that shallow. She blacked the flicker of pain out of her heart. She thought: But the truth is the truth, even if it is about yourself and even if you don’t like it. She thought: He’s fighting himself. He is ashamed of beginning to get over it. So she slipped her bare arm under his neck and turned his face into her shoulder. She would comfort him. “Remember,” she said dreamily, “the albatross? That old mariner who shot the albatross? Everybody reads it in schoo
l.”

  “And they hung it around his neck?” said Tom, muffled into her shoulder. “I see what you mean. Audrey’s a nice woman and, I guess, a brave one. Nobody could have been more—well, gracious about the whole lousy mess.”

  Esther felt the hard scepticism inside her heart but she kept quiet.

  “I guess she’s my albatross.” Tom said.

  And Esther laughed and clutched him and felt a great healing around her heart.

  The next morning, Audrey was pale and confessed that she felt a bit queasy. The barbecued food hadn’t quite agreed with her. She bore this bravely and insisted that the bacon and eggs be served with no regard to her sensibilities.

  Esther, heart-healed though she felt this morning, nevertheless was sharply aware of Audrey’s hard dry toast, and she found herself picking at the food. Why should her own healthy appetite seem gross and insensitive? It wasn’t. It was simply healthy. She looked at Tom’s plate. He had rested his fork. But Tom was big. He needed fuel.

  “Audrey,” said Esther involuntarily, “I’m very sorry, but we must do things our way occasionally.”

  Audrey’s purple eyes only widened. “My dear, I want you to do everything your way. Haven’t I just begged you not to mind my—foolishness?” She gazed at Esther meltingly. “Please don’t.”

  You couldn’t be cross with Audrey, Esther realized too late. If you lost your temper she did not, and you were, at once, defeated.

  Tom made the judgment. “Look, Audrey can hardly digest a sparerib just to please, Es,” he said lightly. “That’s asking too much. Well, goodbye, girls.”

  He got up to go. He put his hand on Esther’s dark head, the old rumpling caress that used to say, I’m only kidding. Esther wasn’t so sure he was kidding.

  “Forgive me, Audrey,” she heard herself say. “I didn’t mean to be cross. Maybe I’m not digesting as well as I think I am.”

  “Oh, Esther, you are so wonderfully strong!” sighed Audrey. She seemed to have taken no offence at all.

  Tom left. Joan hadn’t said a word and did not. Joan’s eyeballs moved sideways, as a rumpling of her pale lids betrayed.

  Esther twiddled a spoon. Strong like a jelly fish, said Esther to Esther rebelliously. She got up. “Excuse me.”

  Tom had already backed his car out of the garage when she ran out. He stopped it and waited.

  “I’m sorry,” said Esther. “I don’t know what made me—Tom, I shouldn’t have been rude. It’s just …”

  “You apologized,” he said.

  “Tom?” Esther yearned for something more.

  He hit the steering wheel with his fist three times. “All right. It’s a mess. You don’t like it and if you don’t like it how can I like it? O.K. If you can think of anything constructive to do about it,” he said clearly, “why don’t you do it?”

  “I … would if I could. I wish I could help you.” As she spoke Esther felt a sick sliding of her insides. Wasn’t she sounding like Audrey?

  Tom leaned and kissed her quickly. “You going downtown?” he asked easily. “I’ll let you take my cheque to the bank.”

  “I’m not sure what Audrey’s plans are …”

  Tom said hastily. “Never mind. I’ll mail it.” And he turned to look behind and backed away.

  Esther went in, her mind churning heavily. Everything she said seemed to reproach him with Audrey’s presence. Yet she understood that he had only been trying to do what was right.

  It wasn’t Tom’s fault. Is it me? thought Esther. No, it isn’t. The fact is, two women—let alone three—cannot live with one man. And I am Tom’s wife. I wish I’d said I’d go to the bank. Dear Audrey could have had the kindness to wait for me. How come she sounds so self-sacrificing, but when the chips are down we are always doing the sacrificing? I could have taken Tom’s cheque to the bank for him. Our money. Dear Audrey won’t take our money. But she does, thought Esther in a burst of light. Of course she does! Every day!

  Slowly she began to work out what seemed to her to be a constructive idea.

  She finished the dishes. She made up her beds. She ran the dust mop over the floors. She got into a tailored cotton.

  By this time, Audrey had spread up Joan’s bed although not yet her own.

  “Audrey?” Esther put her head in at their door, Joan was putting away her hypodermic needle that she used for her insulin and she looked up suspiciously. Esther felt like an intruder upon their privacy. “You won’t be going out, will you,” said Esther cheerily, “especially since you don’t feel well? I thought I’d take off.”

  “Oh?” said Audrey. “Well, of course, dear.” She looked a little surprised.

  “You can manage lunch? You know what’s here. I might not make it back in time.”

  “Of course I can,” said Audrey. “You mustn’t worry about it at all. Please, go ahead,” said Audrey, her eyes glistening with indulgence. “You need to get away.”

  “Thanks,” said Esther. “Have fun.”

  Joan croaked, “You, too.” There was a sting in it.

  Esther bit her lips on her way to her car.

  Give them the whole place and everything in it. They still managed to make her feel selfish.

  Esther got into her coupe and roared away.

  Esther believed that money was the clue.

  Audrey, for all her scruples, was costing the Gardners money. Food, light, laundry, nothing that one did not absorb for a guest’s sake in glad hospitality. Yet these things were paid for out of Tom’s cheques. Very well. Audrey, who wouldn’t touch his cash, ought to have this pointed out to her. She was just the same as touching his cash. Therefore …

  Once upon a time, Audrey had lived in an apartment in Arcadia which had suited her sister Joan well enough. Why could not Audrey go back to that apartment, or perhaps another like it in the same building? If the price was too much for her resources, the Gardeners could pay the difference and discharge their obligations with cash, directly instead of indirectly. Why not? thought Esther. If Tom must help her still, he can with good conscience insist on this when he realizes what is going on now. Wasn’t this a constructive idea?

  So she drove East to Arcadia. She came to 311 Embassy Place and routed out the superintendent. Sorry, he said, looking very much pleased about it, but the place was full. He had no vacancy.

  And that was that. Esther stood on the doorstep, disappointed.

  Still, having come all this way, she thought that she could nevertheless house-hunt. By now she knew the requirements very well indeed. It would be a very good thing if the sisters were to move back here—far away. Among old friends, thought Esther a little cynically.

  And then she remembered that Caldwell himself had been in the real estate business. She found a phone book: his name still appeared. So Esther parked before the smallish white clapboard building with the sign on it, Saunders and Caldwell, and Esther entered.

  “I’m Ted Saunders,” said the tall horse-faced man extending the glad hand. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

  “Mr. Caldwell was your partner here?”

  “Why, yes, but unfortunately Mr Caldwell passed away some weeks ago.”

  “Yes, I know. My name is Esther Gardner.”

  The man’s long face became immediately both sympathetic and alert. “Now I remember where I saw you. It was at the inquest. That’s right. And Mrs. Caldwell and her sister went to stay with you, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, that’s w-why I came.” Esther stuttered a little, surprised by this man’s knowledge. “I’m trying to help find an apartment for them. I thought, since I presume you know them—”

  “Sure do,” said Saunders. “A ground floor apartment, eh?”

  “That’s right. They’ve had a great deal of trouble finding the right kind of place. Of course, they can’t pay—” Esther stopped that sentence. She would pay the difference. “We’d like to see them settled,” she trailed off lamely.

  Saunders nodded. His eyes were knowledgeable. “Don’t know of a thi
ng, offhand, that would suit them. But I sure can keep my eyes open and call you, Mrs. Gardner.”

  “Please do that.”

  “Lemme see, your address is 2021 Hazelwood—” The man began to write it down.

  “How do you know where we live?” asked Esther in surprise.

  “Looked it up just the other day,” the man said, smiling at her. “There was a bill came here to the office for Court. So I forwarded it. Got your address from their old landlord. Got it right, did I?”

  “Oh, yes,” Esther smiled back. She thought this man seemed very friendly and easy. One could ask him questions—providing one could think of what to ask.

  “That was a strange thing happened.” Saunders tilted back as if he sensed her need to talk. “Pretty rough on your husband, I guess. Where was all this business of his knocking Court down? Up north, eh?”

  “Yes. Had Mr. Caldwell been on vacation or what? I never really knew.”

  “You could call it a vacation. He used to have to get away for a few days from time to time. He had his problems at home. I mean—well, Court wasn’t the happiest man in the world.”

  “He—wasn’t?” Esther felt vaguely surprised and then, with a click, quite satisfied.

  “Oh, you know. The crippled sister. I guess Audrey Caldwell’s a good woman,” said Saunders. “But we never were so chummy out side of business. Me and my wife, that is, and the Caldwells. My wife said Audrey Caldwell made her feel stupid or something. She said she wasn’t stupid enough to go where somebody made her feel stupid.” The man chuckled.

  Esther’s lids squeezed tight in a gesture of exquisite relief. “I’d like to meet your wife,” she murmured.

  “Elinor’s back East right now,” the man said. But he knew exactly what Esther had felt. He went right on. “Yes, poor old Court, and with that Joan, too. She always made me think of a watchdog.”

  Esther’s eyes flew open. “Me too!” She was amazed. They looked each other in the eye. The man backed off this pinnacle of understanding first.

  “Of course, I guess you got to feel sorry for Joan. And Audrey is sure good to her.”

  “Yes,” said Esther quickly. “Yes, she is.”