Bliss - Katherine Mansfield (paper ebook reader TXT) š
- Author: Katherine Mansfield
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I stooped down and picked up the paper and would you believe itāso ingrained is my Parisian sense of comme il faut ā I murmured āpardonā before I read it.
āMOUSE, MY LITTLE MOUSE,
Itās no good. Itās impossible. I canāt see it through. Oh, I do love you. I do love you, Mouse, but I canāt hurt her. People have been hurting her all her life. I simply dare not give her this final blow. You see, though sheās stronger than both of us, sheās so frail and proud. It would kill herākill her, Mouse. And, oh God, I canāt kill my mother! Not even for you. Not even for us. You do see thatādonāt you.
It all seemed so possible when we talked and planned, but the very moment the train started it was all over. I felt her drag me back to herā calling. I can hear her now as I write. And sheās alone and she doesnāt know. A man would have to be a devil to tell her and Iām not a devil, Mouse. She mustnāt know. Oh, Mouse, somewhere, somewhere in you donāt you agree? Itās all so unspeakably awful that I donāt know if I want to go or not. Do I? Or is Mother just dragging me? I donāt know. My head is too tired. Mouse, Mouseāwhat will you do? But I canāt think of that, either. I dare not. Iād break down. And I must not break down. All Iāve got to do isājust to tell you this and go. I couldnāt have gone off without telling you. Youād have been frightened. And you must not be frightened. You wonātāwill you? I canāt bearābut no more of that. And donāt write. I should not have the courage to answer your letters and the sight of your spidery handwritingā
Forgive me. Donāt love me any more. Yes. Love me. Love me. Dick.ā
What do you think of that? Wasnāt that a rare find? My relief at his not having shot himself was mixed with a wonderful sense of elation. I was evenāmore than even with my āthatās very curious and interestingā Englishmanā¦.
She wept so strangely. With her eyes shut, with her face quite calm except for the quivering eyelids. The tears pearled down her cheeks and she let them fall.
But feeling my glance upon her she opened her eyes and saw me holding the letter.
āYouāve read it?ā
Her voice was quite calm, but it was not her voice any more. It was like the voice you might imagine coming out of a tiny, cold sea-shell swept high and dry at last by the salt tideā¦.
I nodded, quite overcome, you understand, and laid the letter down.
āItās incredible! incredible! ā I whispered.
At that she got up from the floor, walked over to the washstand, dipped her handkerchief into the jug, and sponged her eyes, saying: āOh, no. Itās not incredible at all.ā And still pressing the wet ball to her eyes she came back to me, to her chair with the lace tabs, and sank into it.
āI knew all along, of course,ā said the cold, salty little voice. āFrom the very moment that we started. I felt it all through me, but I still went on hopingāāand here she took the handkerchief down and gave me a final glimmerāāas one so stupidly does, you know.ā
āAs one does.ā
Silence.
āBut what will you do? Youāll go back? Youāll see him?ā
That made her sit right up and stare across at me.
āWhat an extraordinary idea!ā she said, more coldly than ever. āOf course I shall not dream of seeing him. As for going backāthat is quite out of the question. I canāt go back.ā
āButā¦ā
āItās impossible. For one thing all my friends think I am married.ā
I put out my handāāAh, my poor little friend.ā
But she shrank away. (False move.)
Of course there was one question that had been at the back of my mind all this time. I hated it.
āHave you any money?ā
āYes, I have twenty poundsāhere,ā and she put her hand on her breast. I bowed. It was a great deal more than I had expected.
āAnd what are your plans?ā
Yes, I know. My question was the most clumsy, the most idiotic one I could have put. She had been so tame, so confiding, letting me, at any rate spiritually speaking, hold her tiny quivering body in one hand and stroke her furry headāand now, Iād thrown her away. Oh, I could have kicked myself.
She stood up. āI have no plans. Butāitās very late. You must go now, please.ā
How could I get her back? I wanted her back. I swear I was not acting then.
āDo you feel that I am your friend,ā I cried. āYou will let me come tomorrow, early? You will let me look after you a littleātake care of you a little? Youāll use me just as you think fit?ā
I succeeded. She came out of her hole ā¦ timid ā¦ but she came out.
āYes, youāre very kind. Yes. Do come tomorrow. I shall be glad. It makes things rather difficult becauseāāand again I clasped her boyish handāāje ne parle pas francais. ā
Not until I was half-way down the boulevard did it come over meāthe full force of it.
Why, they were sufferingā¦ those two ā¦ really suffering. I have seen two people suffer as I donāt suppose I ever shall againā¦.
Of course you know what to expect. You anticipate, fully, what I am going to write. It wouldnāt be me, otherwise.
I never went near the place again.
Yes, I still owe that considerable amount for lunches and dinners, but thatās beside the mark. Itās vulgar to mention it in the same breath with the fact that I never saw Mouse again.
Naturally, I intended to. Started outāgot to the doorāwrote and tore up lettersādid all those things. But I simply could not make the final effort.
Even now I donāt fully understand why. Of course I knew that I couldnāt have kept it up. That had a great deal to do with it. But you would have thought, putting it at its lowest, curiosity couldnāt have kept my fox-terrier nose away ā¦
Je ne parle pas francais. That was her swan song for me.
But how she makes me break my rule. Oh, youāve seen for yourself, but I could give you countless examples.
ā¦ Evenings, when I sit in some gloomy cafļæ½, and an automatic piano starts playing a āmouseā tune (there are dozens of tunes that evoke just her) I begin to dream things likeā¦
A little house on the edge of the sea, somewhere far, far away. A girl outside in a frock rather like Red Indian women wear, hailing a light, barefoot boy who runs up from the beach.
āWhat have you got?ā
āA fish.ā I smile and give it to her.
ā¦ The same girl, the same boy, different costumesāsitting at an open window, eating fruit and leaning out and laughing.
āAll the wild strawberries are for you, Mouse. I wonāt touch one.ā
ā¦ A wet night. They are going home together under an umbrella. They stop on the door to press their wet cheeks together.
And so on and so on until some dirty old gallant comes up to my table and sits opposite and begins to grimace and yap. Until I hear myself saying: āBut Iāve got the little girl for you, mon vieux. So littleā¦ so tiny.ā I kiss the tips of my fingers and lay them upon my heart. āI give you my word of honour as a gentleman, a writer, serious, young, and extremely interested in modern English literature.ā
I must go. I must go. I reach down my coat and hat. Madame knows me. āYou havenāt dined yet?ā she smiles.
āNo, not yet, Madame.ā
BLISS
ALTHOUGH Bertha Young was thirty she still had moments like this when she wanted to run instead of walk, to take dancing steps on and off the pavement, to bowl a hoop, to throw something up in the air and catch it again, or to stand still and laugh atānothingāat nothing, simply.
What can you do if you are thirty and, turning the corner of your own street, you are overcome, suddenly by a feeling of blissāabsolute bliss!āas though youād suddenly swallowed a bright piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom, sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle, into every finger and toe? ā¦
Oh, is there no way you can express it without being ādrunk and disorderlyā ? How idiotic civilisation is! Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle?
āNo, that about the fiddle is not quite what I mean,ā she thought, running up the steps and feeling in her bag for the keyāsheād forgotten it, as usualāand rattling the letter-box. āItās not what I mean, becauseāThank you, Maryāāshe went into the hall. āIs nurse back?ā
āYes, Mām.ā
āAnd has the fruit come?ā
āYes, Mām. Everythingās come.ā
āBring the fruit up to the dining-room, will you? Iāll arrange it before I go upstairs.ā
It was dusky in the dining-room and quite chilly. But all the same Bertha threw off her coat; she could not bear the tight clasp of it another moment, and the cold air fell on her arms.
But in her bosom there was still that bright glowing placeāthat shower of little sparks coming from it. It was almost unbearable. She hardly dared to breathe for fear of fanning it higher, and yet she breathed deeply, deeply. She hardly dared to look into the cold mirrorābut she did look, and it gave her back a woman, radiant, with smiling, trembling lips, with big, dark eyes and an air of listening, waiting for somethingā¦ divine to happen ā¦ that she knew must happen ā¦ infallibly.
Mary brought in the fruit on a tray and with it a glass bowl, and a blue dish, very lovely, with a strange sheen on it as though it had been dipped in milk.
āShall I turn on the light, Mām?ā
āNo, thank you. I can see quite well.ā
There were tangerines and apples stained with strawberry pink. Some yellow pears, smooth as silk, some white grapes covered with a silver bloom and a big cluster of purple ones. These last she had bought to tone in with the new dining-room carpet. Yes, that did sound rather far-fetched and absurd, but it was really why she had bought them. She had thought in the shop: āI must have some purple ones to bring the carpet up to the table.ā And it had seemed quite sense at the time.
When she had finished with them and had made two pyramids of these bright round shapes, she stood away from the table to get the effectāand it really was most curious. For the dark table seemed to melt into the dusky light and the glass dish and the blue bowl to float in the air. This, of course, in her present mood, was so incredibly beautifulā¦. She began to laugh.
āNo, no. Iām getting hysterical.ā And she seized her bag and coat and ran upstairs to the nursery.
Nurse sat at a low table giving Little B her supper after her bath. The baby had on a white flannel gown and a blue woollen jacket, and her dark, fine hair was brushed up into a funny little peak. She looked up when she saw her mother and began to jump.
āNow, my lovey, eat it up like a good girl,ā said nurse, setting her lips in a way that Bertha
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