Chris and I shared all our thoughts, our
aspirations, our doubts, and our fears. If I had small problems, he was my doctor. Fortunately, my problems were never of much consequence, only those monthly cramps, and that womanly time never showed up on schedule, which he, my amateur doctor, said was only to be expected. Since I was of a quixotic nature, all my internal machinery would follow suit.
So I can write now of Chris and what happened one September night when I was in the attic, and he had gone stealing, just as if I were there, for later, when the shock of something totally unexpected had died down a bit, he told me in great detail of this particular trip to Momma's grand suite of luxurious rooms.
He told me it was that book in the nightstand drawer that drew him always; it lured him, beckoned to him, was to shipwreck him later, and me too. As soon as he found his quota of money-- enough, but not too much--he drifted over to the bed and that table as if magnetized.
And I thought to myself, even as he told me: Why did he have to keep on looking, when each of those photographs was forever engraved on my brain?
"And there I was, reading the text, a few pages at a time," he said, "and thinking about right and wrong, and wondering about nature and all its strange exhilarating calls, and thinking about the
circumstances of our lives. I thought about you and me, that these should be blossoming years for us, and I had to feel guilty and ashamed to be growing up, and wanting what other boys my age could take from girls who were willing.
"And, as I stood there, leafing through those pages, burning inside with so many frustrations, and wishing in a way you hadn't ever found that damned book that never drew my attention with its dull title, I heard voices approaching in the hall. You know who it was--it was our mother, and her husband, returning. Quickly I shoved the book back into the drawer and tossed in the two paperbacks which no one was ever going to finish reading, for the bookmarks were always in the same place. Next I dashed into Momma's closet--that big one, you know, the one nearest her bed--and way back near the shoe shelves I crouched down on the floor beneath her long formal gowns. I thought if she came in, she wouldn't see me and I doubt she would have. But no sooner did I feel this security, then I realized I'd forgotten to close the door.
"That's when I heard our mother's voice. 'Really, Bart,' she said as she came into the room and switched on a lamp, 'it's just plain carelessness for you to forget your wallet so often.'
"He answered, 'I can't help but forget it when it's never in the same place I put it down.' I heard him moving things about, opening and closing drawers and so forth. Then he explained, 'I'm certain I left it in this pair of trousers. . . . and damned if I'm going anywhere without my driver's license.'
"'The way you drive, I can't say I blame you,' said our mother, 'but this is going to make us late again. No matter how fast you drive, we'll still miss the first act.'
"'Hey!' exclaimed her husband, and I heard surprise in his voice, and inwardly I groaned, remembering what I'd done. 'Here's my wallet, on the dresser. Darned if I recall leaving it there. I could swear I put it in these trousers.'
"He really had hidden it in his chest of drawers," Chris explained, "under his shirts, and when I found it, I took out a few small bills, I just laid it down and went on to look at that book. And Momma, she said, 'Really, Bart!' as if she was out of patience with him
"And then he said, 'Corrine, let's move out of this place. I believe those maids are stealing from us. You keep missing money, and so do I. For instance, I know I had four fives, and now I have only three.'
"I groaned again. I thought he had so much he never counted. And the fact that Momma knew what cash she carried in her purse really came as a shock.
" 'Just what difference does a five make?' questioned our mother, and that sounded like her, to be indifferent about money, just as she had been with Daddy. And then she went on to say the servants were underpaid, and she didn't blame them for taking what they could when it was left so opportunely before them, 'actually inviting them to steal.'
"And he answered, 'My dear wife, money may come easily to you, but I've always had to work hard to earn a buck, and don't want ten cents stolen from me. Besides, I can't say my day starts out right when I have your mother's grim face across the table from me every morning.' You know, I'd never given that any thought, how he felt about that old witch ironface.
"Apparently he feels just as we do, and Momma, she grew kind of irritated, and said, 'Let's not go through all that again.' And her voice had a hard edge to it; she didn't even sound like herself, Cathy. It never occurred to me before that she talked one way to us, and another way to other people. And then she said, `You know I can't leave this house, not yet, so if we're going, come on, let's go--we're late already.'
"And that's when our stepfather said he didn't want to go if they'd already missed the first act, for that spoiled the whole show for him, and besides, he thought they could find something more entertaining to do than sit in an audience. And, of course, I guessed he meant they could go to bed and do a little lovemaking, and if you don't think that didn't make me feel sick, then you don't know me very well-- darned if I wanted to be there when that was going on.
"However, our mother can be very strong-willed, and that surprised me. She's changed, Cathy, from the way she was with Daddy. It's like she is the boss now, and no man is going to tell her what to do. And she said to him then, 'Like last time? Now, that was really embarrassing, Bart! You came back to get your wallet, swearing to me you'd only be gone a few minutes and what did you do but fall asleep--and there I was at that party without an escort!'
"Now our stepfather sounded somewhat irritated, both by her words, and her tone, if I judged him correctly, and there's a lot you can read into voices even when you don't see facial expressions. 'Oh, how you must have suffered!' he replied, sounding sarcastic. But that didn't last long, for he must be basically a jovial fellow. 'As for me, I had the sweetest dream, and I'd come back every time if I knew that for certain, a lovely young girl with the long, golden hair would steal into the room and kiss me while I dozed. Oh, she was pretty, and she looked at me so lo
ngingly, yet, when I opened my eyes she was gone, and I thought she must have been a dream.'
"What he said made me gasp, Cathy--it was you, wasn't it How could you be so bold, so indiscreet? I got so damned mad with you I felt ready to explode if just one more little thing happened to set me off. You think you're the only one wound up, right? You think you're the only one with frustrations, with doubts, suspicions, and fears. Well, take comfort from knowing I have them too--you've seen to that. And, boy, was I mad at you, madder than I've ever been before.
"And then Momma said sharply to her husband, 'God, I am sick of hearing about the girl and her kiss--why, to hear you tell it, you've never been kissed before!' And I thought that then and there they might have an argument. But Momma changed her voice, and sounded sweet and loving, like she used to sound with Daddy. But it proved she was more determined to leave this house than a would-be lover who would use the swan bed then and there, for Momma said, 'Come along, Bart, we'll stay overnight in a hotel, and then you won't have to see my mother's face in the morning.' And that solved my concern about how I was going to escape that room before they used that swan bed--for damned if I would stay and listen, or spy."
This was all happening while I was up in the attic, sitting on a windowsill, waiting for Chris to reappear. I was thinking of the silver music box Daddy had given me, and wishing I had it back. I didn't know then that the episode in Momma's room was to have its repercussions.
Something creaked behind me! A soft step on rotting wood! I jumped, startled, scared, and turned, expecting to see--God knows what! Then I sighed, for it was only Chris standing in the gloom, silently staring at me. Why? Did I look prettier than usual? Was it the moonlight, shining through my airy clothes?
All random doubts were cleared when he said in a voice gritty and low, "You look beautiful sitting there like that." He cleared the frog in his throat. "The moonlight is etching you with silver-blue, and I can see the shape of your body through your clothes."
Then, bewilderingly, he seized me by the shoulders, digging in his fingers, hard! They hurt. "Damn you, Cathy! You kissed that man! He could have awakened and seen you, and demanded to know who you were! And not thought you only a part of his dream!"
Scary the way he acted, the fright I felt for no reason at all. "How do you know what I did? You weren't there; you were sick that night."
He shook me, glaring his eyes, and again I thought he seemed a stranger. "He saw you, Cathy--he wasn't soundly asleep!"