The Albatross

by Charlotte Armstrong

  Joan, in the chair, was flying down the path straight towards her. Joan had her hands lifted in the air. She was either in panic, or knew that her hands could not stop the runaway wheels without damage or pain.

  But Joan was going to be hurt! She would capsize! Or she would hit the lower garden wall! Or she would hit Esther!

  Esther threw the basket aside and braced herself in the seconds she had available. She saw one of Joan’s hands grab for one wheel, and come away as if it had burned her.

  She herself went up the slope ten feet or so to meet the rolling chair.

  Esther kept her feet apart—for balance and for mobility. Her legs were strong. Her body was nimble.

  So she bent over and took the shock of the chair upon her hands with which she fended. Her palms struck Joan’s knees. Esther let herself walk backwards, at first fast, then stubbornly, slower and slower. She broke the speed of the chair by making herself into a cushion. She shifted her hands to the metal arms. She kept the chair from tottering.

  When the chair came to rest, Esther’s left foot was behind her and tight against the bottom wall. She was a little breathless. She was not hurt. Joan was not hurt either. Leaning down, braced, holding, Esther’s face was a foot from Joan’s. Their breaths mingled. Their eyes stared deep. In Joan’s eyes Esther saw only rage.

  Now Audrey came crying and staggering down the path. “Oh, Joan! Oh, dearest! Oh, Esther!”

  “No one was hurt,” said Esther calmly. She straightened and turned the chair. “Don’t you think,” she said, directly into Audrey’s face, “that we had better call a doctor?”

  But Audrey said, “Oh, Joan, thank Esther, dear. She saved you! How wonderful she was! How did she do it?”

  “Thanks,” Joan made a croak.

  Esther was tingling, now, from head to foot. “Shall I push you up the slope?” she said, rather distantly and indifferently.

  “No, no, I can do it!” cried Audrey. “Oh, what an escape! Oh, Esther, I will never …! How can I thank you?”

  Esther pushed on the chair handles; her strong leg muscles worked. Audrey kept fluttering and uttering little cries. The chair went up the slope, thumped over the terrace rim and was level upon the flagstones. Esther left them there and walked alone into her house.

  She went into her bedroom and then into her bathroom and, when she was within this sanctuary, she locked the door. She looked at herself in the glass. Was it possible? Could a wheel chair work up that much speed, on such a slope, of its own momentum? After all, it was no precipice. Couldn’t Joan have braked with her well-developed arms and shoulders? Her toughened palms? Had Joan just tried to attack? Had Joan risked injury expecting to injure? If Esther hadn’t turned her head so soon, if she’d been caught in that corner—madness to think …

  But why hadn’t Joan screamed, if only to warn her?

  Esther turned on the water and soaked a cloth and held it to her eyes and, behind that coolness, tried to make her brain work clearly.

  Give Joan the benefit of every doubt. Say that somehow she lost control of her chair. The wheels tipped over the terrace brink. It got started. Then she had been unable to brake it. Or steer it. Joan had been helpless, too frightened to scream. The chair had come at Esther by chance, or simply because Esther had been at the very lowest part of the yard, or at the end of the path.

  All right. But nobody screamed. Why hadn’t Audrey screamed, “Look out!”?

  Esther took away the cold cloth and looked at her own steady eyes. Suppose Joan was dangerous? She might not be as dangerous as Audrey was.

  When Tom came home that night, it wasn’t Esther who rushed to the door. She didn’t feel like competing. So it was Audrey who poured out the tale of near-disaster and Esther’s heroism. Audrey spread on the praise. “She did it so cleverly, Tom!” she gushed. “So coolly! She may have saved Joan’s very life. Thank God for Esther. Tom, you should be so proud!”

  Tom came to the kitchen. “What’s all this?” His eyes were aglow. “How’d it happen, Es?”

  “I don’t know,” said Esther rather wearily. “I turned and saw her coming. That’s all I know.”

  “So you just stopped her?”

  Esther nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Going fast, was she?”

  “Pretty darn fast.”

  “And she could have had a nasty smash-up?”

  “She sure could.”

  “Lucky you were there,” said Tom. He squeezed her shoulders. Then he went on, outdoors, where he inspected wheel marks on the terrace edge. Then he came back through, and Esther saw him go to kneel beside Joan and inspect the chair. Audrey was there, still gushing.

  He came into the kitchen once more and opened his tool drawer.

  “Anything wrong with the chair?” asked Esther a little drily.

  “Loose nut. Probably from the jolting. Wouldn’t have a thing to do with the wheel action.” He picked out a wrench. He said, “Es, what’s the matter?”

  Esther, who was cleaning some celery, dropped her hands and let her eyes close briefly. She shook her head. “I don’t know how to tell you,” she said in flat, cryptic honesty.

  “From what Audrey says, you really came through in a pinch, honey. She and Joan appreciate … they say you saved Joan’s life.”

  Esther felt the tears start under her lids. She opened her eyes and Tom’s face swam before her. Oh child, she thought, male child. Life doesn’t yield to simple courage. Life’s not so simple. There’s a twisting, winding evil in a female soul you don’t conceive of. You are being led. You are being handled. She’s told you to be proud.

  “Kind of a shock,” Tom said into her ear. His arm held her strongly. Esther rested her head.

  “Some other things happened,” she murmured.

  “What other things?”

  “Mr. Saunders called.”

  “Oh?”

  “He thinks he has an apartment.”

  “Did you tell Audrey?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you think you’d better tell her?” Tom was gentle but he was farther away.

  “The bill was from a doctor,” she said.

  “What bill?”

  “The bill that came. The one I wasn’t supposed to see.”

  “How can you know that?” Now he held her off. “I thought Audrey said—”

  “But I know,” said Esther.

  “You’re calling her a liar?”

  “Yes,” said Esther wearily.

  “Can you prove it?” His tone was sharpening.

  “No,” she said indifferently.

  “Honey …” His voice stuck in his throat a minute. He said, “Try to reason about these things, will you?”

  Esther said flatly, rather gently, “I think the doctor’s bill has to do with Joan. I think Joan is mentally unbalanced. I think Joan was trying to run me down this afternoon. I think I saved myself.” She waited for the reaction rather hopelessly.

  Tom let her go. She knew his eyes would be shocked and reproachful. She didn’t need to look. “Well,” he said lamely, “maybe they’ll like this apartment.”

  Esther kept her head down. “I hope so,” she said tiredly.

  “I better wash.” But he did not leave the kitchen. “Will you tell them about Saunders …?”

  “Yes.”

  Still he did not go. “What you just said about Joan.… If there’s anything to it … We’d better have a talk with Audrey.”

  “No.” Esther shook her head blindly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” said Esther.

  He stood there a moment. When he realized she was not going on with any more words, fumes of exasperation seemed to come out of him. “Oh, for the love of—”

  Then Tom was gone.

  Dinner and the evening were quiet. Audrey had stopped her gushes of praise but her eyes praised Esther silently. Joan seemed subdued; steam had gone out of her. She was quiet and morose. Audrey took her early to bed.

  Esther
had said nothing about the possible apartment in Arcadia. Tom said nothing to her about her having said nothing.

  The Gardners went quietly to their beds.

  The house was quiet but there was no peace in it.

  Tom’s morning face was a grim one. He said nothing to warn Esther of what he was going to do. At the breakfast table, he did it.

  “By the way, Audrey, I guess you don’t know that Esther went to Arcadia Monday and talked to your husband’s partner, this Mr. Saunders.”

  Audrey’s lips parted slowly. Joan’s fork stopped moving.

  “She tells me he phoned yesterday,” Tom went on. “He’s found an apartment over there that might suit you. If you’d like me to drive you over to look at it, I’m at your service tomorrow.”

  “An apartment?” said Audrey slowly, her eyes fixed on Tom. She looked stricken. “I see,” she said stiffly.

  Joan said eagerly, “Monday? Audrey, she went on Monday!”

  Audrey’s lids fluttered. She let her eyes slip sideways to Esther. “You went to see Mr. Saunders on Monday! Esther?” The sweetness in her voice was overdone. “And you knew she was going, Tom?”

  “No,” he said, neither defensively nor disapprovingly.

  “If she went on Monday,” Joan said, “it wasn’t my fault. I told you. I said—”

  “Hush,” said Audrey. “Joan has felt,” she said, lifting her chin, “for some time, that you were anxious for us to go.” Her eyes closed. Her face lost all the life of them. “I didn’t believe her,” Audrey said, softly. “I assumed too much. Forgive me. I am so sorry.…”

  Tom sat in the middle. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t say: It wasn’t I, it was Esther. Nor could he say: Yes, Audrey, we’re tired of you. We are anxious to get you out of here. He was suffering, in the middle.

  So Esther took in a great breath.

  “I was trying to be a help,” she said in a gush of sweetness. (Two could play.) “It just came to me. I remembered Mr. Saunders. It just seemed to me that he, knowing you as he does, would be the very man to find you something you would really like. The agents hereabouts are strangers, Audrey. They don’t understand.”

  Audrey had opened her eyes.

  “And then, too,” Esther went on with that desperate sweetness, “all your stuff is stored there in Arcadia and that might save you some expense.” Esther was able to smile. “And of course, over there, you will be nearer your own friends.”

  Tom was looking at her with a certain stillness.

  “And your own doctor, too,” said Esther.

  “Why didn’t you say anything about it?” Joan asked. “If you went on Monday …”

  “Oh, but you see, Mr. Saunders was so doubtful,” Esther said. “I didn’t want to get you all excited for nothing. You’ve had so many disappointments, Audrey. I thought I’d just wait and keep it for a surprise. But though you’ve been most gracious guests, I know of course that you and Joan must be a little tired of having to do things my way.”

  I can do this inverted stuff too, she thought to herself. Tom’s silence was shouting at her.

  “Why, Esther, dear,” said Audrey. “I hope we know how to be as gracious as our hostess is.”

  War.

  Tom made the legs of his chair scrape on the floor. His face was grim.

  “I’m at your service tomorrow, Audrey,” he said curtly, “unless you would rather not consider moving back to Arcadia at all. That’s up to you.”

  Audrey tilted her head.

  “But of course it’s up to Audrey,” Esther pressed.

  Now Audrey’s eyes became moist and shining. “I love Arcadia,” she said, “and it was thoughtful of Esther. Why didn’t it occur to me to ask Ted Saunders?”

  “I wondered,” said Esther.

  War. The knives were out.

  “He’s not very sensitive,” said Joan. “His wife’s a big snob.”

  “Ah Joan, that’s too harsh,” said Audrey, back in her groove of sweetness. “Ted Saunders does his very best, I’m sure. Perhaps Elinor Saunders just hasn’t too much sympathy with anyone who is handicapped. Some people don’t feel it at all, you know.” Audrey was smooth as cream. “People who have never been weak or ill themselves—they seem to think the weak are weak just to annoy. I understand Elinor. I know she can’t help it.”

  Tom said tensely, “About tomorrow, then?”

  “Of course. Tom. You are so good to offer to take me. It’s a date, then,” said Audrey smiling. “Shall I phone Ted Saunders?”

  “Fine. Do that,” he said gruffly and got up and swung away.

  Esther sat still. Her nerves tingled.

  Audrey was playing with her cup. “Ted Saunders has found something adequate, I’m sure,” she said, gently, “but did he tell you what the rent would be?”

  Esther thought: No, you don’t slide out of it that way.

  She said easily, “It really doesn’t matter too much, Audrey. Surely, after all this time, we’ve become so close, Tom and I can cover any little margin for you.”

  Audrey’s eyes were cloudy. “You are too good. I don’t like taking money.”

  “Money,” said Esther, airily, “is only a medium of exchange. It only buys things.” She rose, her hand reached for the butter dish. “Such as butter,” she said. She was smiling.

  Audrey’s head went down. Joan’s eyes were hostile slits.

  Esther went towards her refrigerator.

  All she could think of was that she would soon be all alone in this house with these women.

  Absurd to feel fear. Of Joan? A poor cripple, a prisoner in a chair. Of Audrey? Such a little thing and frail. Why, Esther could knock her down with one elbow. Ridiculous to be physically afraid of them.

  Tom put his head in. “I’m off,” he said. “Goodbye, all.”

  “Goodbye, Tom.” Audrey said. “Have a good day.”

  Tom said, “Thank you.”

  Esther hadn’t even said goodbye.

  But she let out her breath. All right. Tomorrow, she thought; Yes. Now I can see the ending. If I insulted her, well, it’ll work and that’s fine. Audrey is going to take that apartment in Arcadia. They’ll move. They’ll be gone and we’ll have them out of our house.

  There was still today. But Esther thought, I can get out of here today.

  So she began to neaten her house in her own swift efficient way.

  A little after eleven o’clock, Esther stood on her front doorstep, poised to go. Her chores were done, house in order, herself dressed for town, in a blue cotton with straw flats on her feet and her straw bag swinging from a shoulder strap. She hesitated.

  They had been talking, talking, in their room. The sound of the voices had been murmuring in Esther’s ears. When she’d come out of her own room, dressed and ready, she’d found them in their favourite spot on the back terrace, Audrey wearing her wintry black sitting with placid hands in her black lap, and Joan in the ugly putty-coloured dress. Silent. Not talking any more.

  Audrey had turned and looked startled.

  “Where are you going, dear?”

  “Out,” said Esther.

  Now she could see that Joan had been weeping. Joan’s eyes were red and swollen. Joan’s eyes were fierce.

  Esther didn’t ask why she had been crying. Esther said she had errands, shopping. She asked them if there was anything she could bring home to them.

  Joan said sniffling, “My book ought to go back to the library.”

  “Do you want me to bring you another?” Esther said. Her conscience stung her. They seemed pathetic. After all, they were in a situation of adversity that Esther herself had never known. She was healthy and strong and solvent and lucky. And it was true, she perceived with a twinge of shame, that all the while they had been in her house they had been at her mercy.

  It was Audrey who answered. “That would be kind of you,” she said in her same old manner. “Joan loves a good murder. Is there anything I can do for you, dear, while you’re away? Dinner?”


  “I’ll be back to get dinner.” Esther’s feet were nervous and impatient. “Just relax.”

  “I am tired,” Audrey said with her sad grateful little smile. “What is it the young people say? Let’s us just goof off. Perhaps, in the morning, I can help you really clean the house.” She nodded, promising.

  Esther’s pity froze. Her house was clean! If she couldn’t tell what was malice and what was kindness, no matter any more. What did she care, any more, for the truth about them? Let them go. She was off into the sunny world. Why was she hesitating?

  Then she knew. She was waiting for Tom’s daily phone call. So she stepped back into the foyer and began to fuss with her hair.

  The phone rang. Esther took it in the living-room. The house had three telephones, an old California custom.

  “Tom? Hi!”

  “Hi. Everything okay?” He sounded tense.

  “Uh huh,” said Esther. She turned and walked with the long cord to look back through the kitchen. “I’m just going out. I’ve got errands and stuff.”

  “Oh?”

  She strained her ears to estimate his distress. She hadn’t thanked him for what he had done for her. She was a little afraid to thank him. “Tom,” she said, needing to give comfort, “I have a hunch. I’m pretty sure they’re going to take that apartment.”

  “Yes, I’m sure, too,” he said, “whether they like it or not.”

  “Oh, Tom.” The day dimmed for Esther.

  “We are throwing them out,” he said. “Oh, we’re being moderately tactful about it. You’re pretty sickening.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it phoney?” said Esther brightly. She thought: when I do it, then he hears that it’s phoney. “But I had to say something.”

  “I suppose so,” he said with disgust. “I suppose so.”

  “Can’t you be a little glad,” begged Esther, “that they’ll be settled?”

  “You’re glad, are you?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “The thing is,” Tom said, “I knocked the props out from under her whole world—and now I kick her out of my house.”

  “Tom, listen—” Esther said, “I killed her husband, too. But I can’t help that now. Life’s got to go on. It really—” Esther closed her eyes and her mouth. No help in a cliche.

  He said in a moment, sadly and patiently, “If you’d look ahead a little bit—I’ll have to be going over to see her. I’ll have to make sure she’s getting along all right. Are you going to—?”