Part 4

And so I got a room About two blocks away where I could see The children as they passed along to school. Sometimes I’d walk a little way with them, But when I couldn’t answer all their questions I’d think I’d better let ’em be, and so I’d only watch ’em from behind the blind. Well, Ma’am, I tried my best; I made a calendar To mark the days. I got a good promotion. The time went by, and all the while I thought Two years are only seven hundred days And thirty over! I can stick it out! And then one day I’ll dress myself up clean And meet the children and we’ll go back home. I’d marked the calendar six hundred off And eighty-six, and forty-four were left. The heat came on and took the starch all out Of everything. I didn’t care what happened. I thought she didn’t mean to keep her promise-- A week ago--oh, well, you know the rest. I don’t know where I’ve been. I’d like to die, Only I’ve been so lonesome in that room. I seem to be afraid to die alone!

THE WOMAN

I’m awful sorry, Mister, awful sorry. Seems like tonight most everybody’s luck Has all gone back on ’em. Thank you for tellin’!

THE STRANGER

There’s no use sitting here in silence, is there? We’ve got to find some way to help you both. I’d like to if I can, but anyhow, We’ve helped each other just by speaking out. If you’ll wait here I’ll get a cab and take You and the baby to the Sisters’ Home. Perhaps you’ll come to my office in the morning; I’d like to talk to you; I’m sure we’ll find There’s something we can plan. Here is the address. I sha’n’t be long, keep talking so’s to cheer her, It was a kindly thought of yours to tell Your story after hers. We’ll find some way.

THE WOMAN

What ’ud he mean? About the Sisters’ Home?

THE MAN

Some place where you an’ the kid can go, I s’pose.

THE WOMAN

It’s queer how everybody’s good to you ’Ceptin’ the only one you want to be.

THE MAN

He said it wasn’t any use to sit Here silent; that you’d better speak it out; It always helped. He said he’d find a way. Do you believe there’s anything ahead For you or me? I wonder if there is.

THE WOMAN

I’m done with wonderin’ long ago, I know! I want to die! God, how I want to die! But here’s the kid, he didn’t ask to come, And he’s so little, what ’ud become of him?

THE MAN

Do you believe there’s anything--over there?

THE WOMAN

There’s rest.

THE MAN

I know there’s rest, but when I’ve sat All by myself there in that little room Thinking things out, sometimes it seemed there must Be something more. I’d mighty well like to know.

THE WOMAN

If I could find someone to take the kid I’d like to rest, just rest, I wouldn’t want Much of anything more. There isn’t anything. I wish I wasn’t scared to die alone.

THE MAN

You said that once before. Do you mean it, really?

THE WOMAN

What are you thinkin’ about? Say it out, say it out!

THE MAN

What if we went together, you and I? There ain’t any use of livin’ any more. We’d find out something, anyhow.

THE WOMAN

You mean--

THE MAN

I mean I’m sick o’ livin’, so are you. Put the kid down there by the evergreens. He’ll come and find it--he said he’d get a cab; He’ll take it to the Sisters. Oh, I’m crazy! Don’t put it there! Take it up again, I say! A little kid like that! Don’t listen to me.

THE WOMAN

He’s sleeping now; he’ll never know what’s happened.

THE MAN

You’re goin’ to? Well, come along then fast Or he’ll come back. We’re both of us crazy now, But what’s the sense of livin’ any more? Maybe there’s something better--over there.

THE WOMAN

Wait till I fix him comfortable. Say, Mister, I was lookin’ at the river, by the pier, Only I was afraid. Will you stay beside me?

THE MAN

Yes, that’s the place, come quickly, ’twon’t take long.

THE WOMAN

Maybe we could find a piece of iron Or something heavy, so’s they wouldn’t find us; There’s lots around the pier.

THE MAN

I’ll tell you what: I’ll tie our hands together to the iron So the waves won’t--

_THE SISTERS_

We four Live here together My three old sisters and I In a white cottage With flowers on each side of the path up to the door. It is here we eat together, At eight, one, and seven, All the year round, It is here we sew together On garments for the Church sewing society Here,--behind our fresh white dimity curtains That I’ll soon have to do up and darn again. It is this cottage we mean When we use the word Home. Is it not here we lie down and sleep Each night all near together?

We never meet My three old sisters and I. We never look into each others’ eyes We never look into each others’ souls, Or if we do for a moment We quickly begin to talk about the jam How much sugar to put in and when. We run away and hide, like mice before the light; We are afraid to look into each others’ souls So we keep on sewing, sewing.

My three old sisters are old Very old. It is not such a great while since they were born Yet they are old. I think it is because they will not look and see. I am not old But pretty soon I will be. I was thinking of that when I went to him Where he was waiting.

My sisters had been talking together all the long afternoon While I sat sewing and silent, Clacking, clacking away while the lilac scent came in at the window And the branches beckoned and sighed. This is what they said-- “How did that paper come into our house?” “Fit to be burnt, don’t you think?” Then the third, “It’s a shameless sheet To print such a sensual thing.” The paper lay on the table there, between my three sisters With my poem in it,-- My little happy poem without any name. I had been with him when I wrote it and I wanted him again. The words arose in my heart clamouring for birth-- And there they were, between my three sisters. Each read it in turn Holding the paper far off with the tips of her fingers. Then they hustled it into the fire Giving it an extra poke with the tongs, a vicious poke. Then each sister settled back to her sewing With a satisfied air. I looked at them and I wondered. I looked at each one, And I went to him that night-- Where he was waiting.

My three old sisters are dying Though they do not know it. They are not dying serenely After life is over, They are just getting dryer and dryer And sharper and sharper; Soon there will not be any more of them at all.

I am not like them I cannot be For I have a reason for living. While they were picking their little pale odourless blossoms I gathered my great red flower And oh I am glad, glad, For now when the time comes I can die serenely, I can die after living. But first what is to come? I am going to give my three old sisters a shock Then what a rumpus there will be! They will upbraid and reproach And then they will whisper to each other, nodding slowly and sadly Telling each other it is not theirs to judge. So they will become kind and pitiful Affirming that I am their sister And that they will stick by and see me through. But underneath they will be touching me with the lifted tips of their fingers. They would like to hustle me into the fire With an extra poke of the tongs.

Perhaps I will pretend to hang my head, Perhaps I will to please them, I am very obliging-- But in my heart I shall be laughing with a great laughter, A great exaltation.

Yes they will upbraid and reproach In grave and sisterly accents And mourn over me, One who has fallen; Yet I suspect As each one goes to her cold little room, Deep in her breast she will envy With a terrible envy The child that is mine And the night The incredible night When the sun and the moon and the stars Bent down And gave me their secrets.

_REASON_

Doctor! Doctor! I want you to come in. Doctor! Don’t you hear me? Don’t go by! That’s right, come in here now and shut the door. Sit down there in that chair And listen. Don’t sit there with that silly smile all over you. I’m going to make you listen.

You know when I first came they wanted me to talk. I could see them trying, with little tricks and questions. Well, now I will,-- I’ll tell you if you’ll let me out. Will you, Doctor? Will you? Those bars there at the window make me sick, And the screaming all around. You have to holler too, to keep from hearing! The nurse said I’d be in the padded room If I kept on-- Say, Doctor, will you let me out After I’ve told you everything there is? Will you? Will you? Will you?

Oh very well, You can open the door then now. I don’t want you any more; I’ll never tell-- Say, Doctor, don’t go yet awhile; Turn round, don’t go, I want to talk to you. There, please sit down again, I’ll promise not to holler. I’ll tell you all about it and then you’ll see-- You’ll let me go, I know you will. I tell you I’ve got to go and find ’em, Find ’em all--Father and Grandfather, All that made me go back home, That made me do it-- But you don’t know, I’ll have to find some place to start at.

The first night that he tried to get at me, and he like that, I cried, Soon as he saw me crying he went off And got a quilt And made a bed out in the sitting-room. He got up early so I didn’t see him. I thought all day, And I kissed him when he came at supper time.

That night he seemed just like he was at first, I mean when we were married first, I thought he wouldn’t do it ever again-- Say, Doctor, don’t you tell, But somebody came when I was out And fixed his food up so’s he’d want the stuff, I know who it was, but I won’t tell, Not till I’m out of here.

She did it out of spite, I know, I know-- Doctor, who is that hollerin’? Make her stop-- I guess you’d think it “mattered” some If you heard it all the time-- Well, finally I couldn’t keep him in the sitting-room, I had to let him in, he hammered so, And then--Oh, Doctor, stop her please! I don’t see what she’s hollerin’ for, Nobody got in her bed reeling drunk-- I couldn’t help him coming--I couldn’t, an’ I tried!

Next day I went around and did the dishes up, And cooked the dinner ready, and all the time I thought “Supposing it’s happened--what’ll the child be then? What’ll I have to bring into the world? Supposing it’s happened--”

Perhaps it was nearly supper time, I don’t know clearly, But I couldn’t stay, I couldn’t! I left a letter for him and went home. I walked around the corner of the house and there they were Sitting at supper, Father and Grandfather And Ma and little Ben. I stood and looked at them. It seemed such a little while since I was sitting there Not thinkin’ anything, Finally I went in and said “I’ve come home,--I’ve come away from Jim, I mean. Don’t everybody look at me like that-- I tell you I’ve come home.”

Then Ma got up and took me in her room And fixed the bed for me-- She said we’d talk it over in the morning.

I stayed pretty near two months at home, And all the while Father and Grandfather And even little Ben Were at me to go back, Father kept saying all he wanted was my happiness. And then they got the clergyman And he talked just the same. And then Jim came. They all were nice to him and Jim was dreadfully sorry. He hadn’t had a drop, he said, and if I’d come He’d never touch a single thing again-- Oh, Doctor, make her stop! Go make her stop, I say, what’s she got to holler for? Don’t forget you promised if I’d tell You’d let me out-- Do you want to hear the rest? I’m telling you straight enough, more’n I told the family-- I never told them anything, I mean what I thought might happen, And nobody ever had the sense to guess What I was afraid of, Nobody but Ma, And after the first she didn’t do anything but cry And say Father knew best.

The second time Jim came, I said I’d go, I was so tired of everybody talkin’ at me-- Oh I don’t want to tell you any more-- I’m crazy with her hollerin’. You know the rest--I squeezed his eyes out-- ’Cause he was lookin’ at me When I let him in--after his hammerin’-- Then they brought me here--

Doctor, I’ve told you everything. Doctor, let me out! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!

_HER SECRET_

My secret and I stand here in front of the glass. We are bedecking ourselves for an evening of gayety. We look down and make our lips smile-- We look up and make ourselves laugh, And then we turn and look into the glass again To see if others will believe that our eyes are smiling too.

How long will it last, the evening? It will be three hours at least, maybe four. There will be music and bright dresses and clinking and chattering And everybody will laugh; there will be a great deal of laughter. Everybody will go about with smiling lips, But if you stop and look You will see that everybody’s eyes are hungry.

None of them shall know my secret No one knows that-- Not any one in all the world.

There was one other knew But he is dead. I heard that he was dead just now--

A little while ago-- Just a few minutes ago by the clock. I was putting on my beautiful dress When I heard a list read out from the paper, many names, A long, long list. I went on fastening my embroidered slippers While they read and read-- It came while I was buttoning my gloves, my long gloves; There are a number of buttons. No one shall guess my secret.

There is a woman somewhere, I do not know where she is; But all her friends are hastening, Coming from all about To surround her with their melancholy faces.

Soon they will get for her a black dress and a long black veil. They will lead her faltering to a church, Her two wondering children held to her side, one by each hand. She will be very important. They will say beautiful things about him-- Beautiful sad things-- And all the time, hid by her long black veil, Her eyes will be smiling--smiling.

And what have I of him? What shall I take with me to the party? Only the memory of that last dawn When I gave him all and bade him go.

_A LITTLE GIRL_

I

I see a little girl sitting bent over On a white stone door-step. In the street are other children running about; The shadows of the waving trees flicker on their white dresses.

Some one opens the door of the house And speaks to the child on the steps. She looks up and asks an eager question. The figure shakes her head and shuts the door. The child covers up her face To hide her tears.

II

Three children are playing in a garden-- Two boys and an awe-struck little girl; They have plastered the summer-house with clay, Making it an unlovely object.

A grown-up person comes along the path. The little girl runs to her and stops, Asking the same question--“Where is my Mother?” The grown-up person does not make any answer. She looks at the summer-house and passes along the path.

The little girl goes slowly into the house And climbs the stairs.

III

The little girl is alone in the garden. A white-haired lady of whom she is afraid Comes to find her and tell her a joyful thing.

The little girl runs to the nursery. The young nurse is doing her hair in front of the glass. The little girl sees how white her neck is And her uplifted arms.

Tomorrow they will be gone--they will not be here-- They are going to find--Her. The young nurse turns and smiles And takes the little girl in her arms.

IV

The little girl is travelling on a railway train, Everything rushes by very fast,-- Houses, and children in front of them, Children who are just staying at home.

The train cannot go fast enough, The little girl is saying over and over again, “My Mother--My onliest Mother-- I am coming to you, coming very fast.”

V

The little girl looks up at a great red building With a great doorway. It opens and the little girl is led in, Looking all about her. A Lady in a white dress and white cap comes.

After a long time A man in a black coat comes in. He says “She is not well enough, I am afraid.” The little girl is led away. She always remembers the words The man in the black coat said.

VI

The little girl is waiting in the big hallway, In the house of the white-haired lady. At the end of the path she can see the summer-house With its queer grey cover.

The hall clock ticks very slowly. The hands must go all around again Before the mother will come.

Now it is night. The little girl is lying in her bed. There is a piano going somewhere downstairs. She is telling herself a story and waiting. Soon She will come in at the door.

There will be a swift shaft of light Across the floor. And She will come in with a rustling sound. She will lie down on the bed And the little girl will stroke her dress and crinkle it To make the sound again.

Pretty soon the mother will step slowly and softly to the door, And quietly turn the handle. The little girl will speak and stop her, Asking something she has asked many times before,--“My Father?” But the mother has never anything to answer.

VII

The mother and the little girl are sitting together sewing. Outside there is snow. A woman with a big white apron Comes to the door of the room and speaks.

The mother drops her work on the floor And runs down the stairs. The little girl stands at the head of the stairs And cries out “My Father!” but no one hears. They pass along the hall--

The little girl creeps down the stairs, But the door is closed.

VIII

The little girl is held and rocked, Held so tightly it hurts her. She moves herself free.

Then quickly she puts her face up close, And there is a taste of salt on her tongue.

IX

In a bed in an upper chamber, A bed with high curtains, A woman sits bowed over. Her hair streams over her shoulders, Her arms are about two children.

The older one is trying to say comforting things, The little girl wants to slip away,-- There are so many people at the foot of the bed--

Out of the window, across the yellow river There are houses climbing up the hillside. The little girl wonders if anything like this Is happening in any of those houses.

X

Many children and grown-up people Are standing behind their chairs around a bright table Waiting for the youngest child to say grace.

It is very troublesome for the youngest child To get the big words out properly. The little girl interrupts and says the grace quickly.

The white-haired lady of whom the little girl is afraid Is angry. The little girl breaks away and runs To the room of the bed with the high curtains.

She rushes in-- The room is empty. She comes back to the table, But she does not dare to ask the question. She remembers the great red building With the great doorway.

XI

The little girl is trying to read a fairy story. There is nobody in the garden. There is nobody in the house but the white-haired lady.

Someone comes to tell her her father is there-- She does not want to see him, She is afraid.

XII

The front door is open. There is rain, leaves are whirling about. A carriage with two horses And a coachman high up, holding a long whip, Stands waiting in front of the door.

The little girl is holding onto the banisters. They take away her hands from the banisters And lead her to the carriage in front of the door. Someone gets in behind her, The carriage door is shut, The little girl draws herself to the far corner. They drive away. The little girl looks back out of the window.

XIII

The little girl is in a strange house Where there are young men called uncles Who talk to her and laugh. A large lady sits by the table and knits and smiles, In her basket are different coloured balls of wool, Pretty colours, but not enough to make a pattern. There is a curly soft little black dog That hides under the table. The uncles pull him out, And he tries to hold onto the carpet with his claws. The little girl laughs-- But at the sound she turns away And goes up to her room and shuts the door. Pretty soon the large lady comes to her And takes her on her lap and rocks and sings.

* * * * *

XIV

The little girl has grown taller, She is fair and sweet and ready for love, But over her is a great fear As she remembers her mother’s weeping.

THE END