Читать книгу Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels - A to Z Classics - Страница 12

Katey watched by her husband for a long time till at last she cried herself to sleep. Her sleep was troubled by horrid dreams of care and sorrow, and nameless and formless horrors. She did not wake however. When we dream thus of awful things, and do not wake, the effect is much more wearing on the nervous system than if we did; and so in the morning when Katey woke she felt chilled and miserable. She started up, and in the half-light of the early morning found that she was alone. Jerry had waked early, and had hurriedly got up, struck with remorse when he remembered the previous evening, and not daring to meet the face of his wife. Katey was at once in deadly fear, for her woman’s weakness prompted thoughts of terrible possibilities. She got up quickly and went down into the street.

She looked right and left for any sign of him, and after wavering between them finally with an instinct, pitiful since it had such a genesis, took her way towards Grinnell’s, feeling that she would find her husband there.

Her instinct was not deceived. When she peeped in through the door of the public-house she saw Jerry standing by the bar with a glass in his hand, which Grinnell was filling. A man does not hold his glass in such a way unless it is being refilled, and this poor Katey knew by instinct. She shuddered as she looked — for she saw that Jerry was drinking to get drunk quickly.

Indeed it was a sorry and a pitiful picture — one which man or woman with a human heart in their bosom would shudder to see. In the grey light of the wintry morning the working man with clothing tossed, and hair unkempt — with feverous look and bloodshot eyes, drinking his rum at a draught, and taking it from the hand of one who, with soiled finery and unwashed face, might have stood for the picture of “Debauch.”

Grinnell’s sharp eyes saw Katey as she peeped, but he did not seem to notice. Presently he spoke loudly, so loudly that Katey could hear.

“Now, O’ Sullivan, that will freshen you, I hope, and make you think clearly, but I won’t give you any more, so don’t ask me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jerry, in amazement, for up to that moment Grinnell had been pressing him to drink.

“Never mind what I mean; only I won’t give you any more.”

“Are you jokin’?”

“I am not.”

Jerry looked at him angrily a moment, and then flattening his hat down on his head, said:

“Oh, very well — oh, very well. Then I’ll go somewhere else.”

Katey was afraid he would see her, so left the doorway and hurried down the street.

Jerry came home about breakfast-time in a frightfully bad humour. He had had just enough of liquor to make him wish for more, and having tried to get credit several places and been refused, felt a savage disappointment. The sight of Katey’s disfigured face in no wise tended to mollify him, and he spoke to her with a harshness that was almost savage:

“Why don’t you put somethin’ on your face?”

Katey did not know what to say, so remained silent.

“Put somethin’ on it, I tell you. Am I to be always made wretched by you?”

Katey could only murmur:

“Always, Jerry? Always?” and began to cry.

“Stop your cryin’, I tell you. Here — I’ll not stay here any longer. No wonder I have to keep away when I find nothin’ here but tears.”

“Jerry, dear, I won’t cry,” said Katey, in affright, lest he should go out. “I won’t cry, dear, and I’ll cover up my face — only don’t go out yet. Look, I am not cryin’ now. See, I’m laughin’.”

“Stop your laughin’, I say. There isn’t much to laugh at here.”

This was too much for Katey, and again she broke down. Jerry got up to go out; she went to the door, and standing before it, said:

“For God’s sake, Jerry, don’t go out yet.”

“Let me go, I say. Will you dare to stop me.”

“Oh, Jerry, for the sake of the children, don’t go out. For the sake of the love you used to have” —

“Out of the way, I say.”

“Oh, Jerry.”

“Let me go, I tell you. You won’t. Then take that,” and again he struck her. She cowered away with a low wail. As he left the room, Jerry said, with an effort at self-justification:

“I see the way to manage you, now. Take care that you don’t rouse the devil in me.”

Katey was sobbing still when Grinnell came to ask “how Jerry was this morning.” She felt glad to see him on account of his refusing to give Jerry drink, and shook him warmly by the hand.

Grinnell looked at her without speaking, but manifestly taking notice of her bruised face; then he turned away and seemed as if drying an unostentatious tear. Katey felt drawn towards him by the manifestation of sympathy; and so it was with an open heart that she commenced to thank him for his promise to assist in reclaiming Jerry.

“Don’t distress yourself,” he said after some talk, “you see the influence I have over him, not only personally, but from my position, is ever great. He owes me money” — Katey winced, he noticed it, and kept harping on that string — “he owes me, I may say, a good deal of money, not that I want him to pay me yet, or that I ever mean to press him for it, but owing me a good deal of money, you know, I can put the screw on him any time I like. For instance, if he did anything to offend me, or if anyone belonging to him got in my way, and I wished it, I could put my thumb on him and crush him like a fly.”

Katey laid her hand on his arm and asked him pleadingly —

“Oh, don’t talk like that, it seems so dreadful to me that it frightens me.”

“There, there, my dear,” he answered, patting her shoulder, “don’t fret, I do not mean to crush him like a fly. I only mention it to show you what I could do if I had occasion to. You see when a man is down the hill the best thing for him is to have some determined friend who can crack the whip over his head.”

Katey began to get frightened, she did not know why. She was without knowing from what cause getting a repulsion and fear for the man before her. It might be, she thought, when she asked herself the question, from his hideous aspect, which was enough to alarm anyone. The thought of Jerry being in the power of anyone was a bitter one to her, but that of Jerry being in the power of this man was too dreadful to be realised.

Grinnell, who was watching her closely, saw that some idea of the kind was in her mind, and tried with all his might to banish it. He made kind promises, he offered to do generous acts, he spoke kindly and tenderly to Katey, using every means to rule her reason. But still that instinct which is above all reason spoke in her, and whispered her even not to trust to him. Grinnell saw that he was not making way in her good graces, and took his leave shortly, showing by his manner that he was hurt, though not offended.

Katey was so glad to get rid of him that she was not as kind in her manner as usual. When the door closed behind him she sank with a sigh of relief on one of the two chairs which still remained to them. The children, who had hidden in affright behind the bed as Grinnell had entered, scared by his frightful face, now came forward and hid their little heads in her lap, and began to cuddle her in their pretty way.

After Grinnell had departed, Katey began to take herself to task for not feeling more kindly towards him. The natural justice of her disposition told her that so far as she knew he had acted kindly, and intended to act more kindly still. But then in her heart arose the counterpleading — “so far as she knew” — and she still continued to mistrust.

Jerry remained out all that day; Katey was almost afraid to go look for him — partly lest she should arouse his anger towards her for following him, and so widen the breach between them, and partly because with womanly delicacy she feared that the sight of her swollen face might tend to lower him amongst his companions.

It was not till the time for closing the public houses came that she ventured in desperation to go in search of him; she tried Grinnell’s expecting to find him there. There was no one in the place except the proprietor; and Katey, after some hesitation, pushed open the door and entered. Grinnell, with an exclamation, came from behind the bar, and shook her hand.

“I was just going to call up to see you,” he said.

“What for?”

“To tell you about Jerry.”

“About Jerry? What about him, sir?” asked Katey, in alarm

“Do not fret yourself, my dear. It will be all right.”

“What will? For God’s sake tell me if anything is wrong? Remember he is my husband?”

“Very well, then. He got into trouble to-day. He took too much to drink, and began fighting, and the police got hold of him.”

This was too much for Katey. She fainted.

When she recovered, Grinnell informed her “that Jerry was in the lock-up, where he would be detained all night, and that he would be brought before the magistrate in the morning.”

Katey never closed an eye that night. The greater part of the time she passed on her knees in prayer, in the rest she watched her children as they slept. In the morning early she was off to the pawnbrokers with some of the last of their goods to raise money to pay Jerry’s fine in case one should be imposed. She was at the police-court long before the time of commencing business, and having got into the court waited as patiently as she could till Jerry should be tried.

When business did commence she had still to wait for a good while, for there were a large number of cases to be tried, and as the time when he must appear grew closer and closer her heart beat faster and faster till she had to press her hand on her side from pain. At last Jerry’s case came on. It was a cruel blow to Katey to see her husband standing in the dock with his head hanging down, and a policeman standing beside him

The charge, although exactly similar to many that had preceded it, seemed a terrible one to poor Katey, so terrible that she could not see anything but the dire punishment of imprisonment before Jerry, for her wifely fears multiplied everything many fold.

Some witnesses were called, and deposed to such things as fully supported the charge of assault. One of the attorneys who defend criminals in the police-courts spoke in favour of Jerry, and in the course of his remarks mentioned that it was a first offence, and that his client had up to the night before never struck a blow in his life. At this statement the complainant, who was standing by, laughed a loud ironical laugh, suddenly checked as he caught the magistrate’s eye fixed on him. The magistrate was a clever man and a very experienced one, and although he said nothing he kept his wits about him. Presently his eye wandered over the court, and he soon fixed on Katey’s anxious face. As he noticed the signs of ill-usage a look grew imperceptibly over his face, and the officers of the court who knew his looks felt that it boded ill for Jerry. He allowed the case to spin out a few minutes till he saw Jerry recognise his wife — he knew that she was his wife, and that to him was due her ill-treatment from the flush in his face. Then, when the case was concluded, instead of imposing a fine, as Jerry had anticipated, he ordered him a week’s imprisonment with hard labour. It was one of his resolves to put down wife-beating if he could.

Jerry covered his face with his hands: and Katey was just about to rush forward with a wild prayer of mercy on her lips when a policeman standing by pulled her back, saying in a kindly voice:

“No use, my girl. It would only get you into trouble, and could do no good. Best go home and take care of the children till he comes out.”

Katey felt the wisdom of the remark, and stayed still.

Before Jerry left the dock he dropped his hands from his face and looked round the court with a hard cold look of recklessness that made Katey shudder. He did not seem to notice her at first, but seemed to include her in the category of his enemies. As he passed her on his way out, however, he gave her a look which said to her as plainly as if he had used the words —

“This is your work. You couldn’t keep your cut face away for once. Very well, you’ll see that I’ll be even with you yet.”

Katey went home without crying. Despair is dry-eyed when it is most blank. It had seemed to her at each successive disaster that now at last had come the culmination of all that was most dreadful to be borne; but it was not till now that she knew the bitterness of despair. It was not even that Jerry no longer loved her, but that he hated her, and to her attributed a shame that she would have given her life to avert.

Grinnell called to her to try his powers of consolation. He told her most soothingly that a week was not long, and that the shock of the sentence would tend to sober Jerry; and, with many arguments of a like kind, tried to raise her spirits. He stayed a long time, and left her in a tranquil frame of mind.

He came again for a few minutes in the evening, and made some kindly offers of help, which, however, she did not accept.

Next day he came again; and every day that week — sometimes twice in the day. Katey did not like his coming so often, but he seemed so disinterested and kindly-disposed that she did not like to hurt his feelings by telling him so.

At last her eyes were opened to the fact that instinct may be stronger than reason.

She was working in the theatre, where she had got a job of cleaning to do, when she overheard some of the men talking. Katey was too honourable to voluntarily listen, and would never have done so in cold blood, but she heard her husband’s name mentioned, and the curiosity arising from her great love, which made her anxious to find how he stood in the opinions of his companions, made her pause and listen with bated breath.

She found what pained her much, and yet had in it a gleam of hope. The men seemed to think that Jerry was drifting into being a hopeless drunkard, and that if he continued to go on, as he had been going on, he would get an attack of delirium tremens. One of them remarked presently:

“That was a damnable trick of Grin’s.”

“What was that?” asked another.

“Don’t you know? or you? or you? Why, men, you’re as blind as bats. I saw it all long ago.”

“Saw what? Out with it, man.”

“Well, you see, Grinnell is sweet on the pretty little Irishwoman, and wanted to get the husband out of the way — What’s that?”

It was the stir Katey made as she rose from her knees, where she had been scrubbing and leaned against the wall, with her heart beating wildly and her face on fire.

“Well, but what was the trick?”

“Why, man, can’t you see? He put Dirty Dick up to make him pick a quarrel when he was full of drink, and then quietly sent the pot-boy to send round a policeman.”

“Oh, the blackguard. Tell you what, boys, we oughtn’t to stand that,” the voice was that of a man who had not yet spoken.

“Don’t make a blamed ass of yourself. What call is it of ours? Don’t you see that it would do no good? The woman is glad enough of it for all she takes on.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do I know it? Why, because I have eyes, and ears, and amn’t a fool. Sure he spends half the day with her, till all the neighbours are beginnin’ to talk.”

Katey felt as though she were going mad. The scales seemed to have fallen from her eyes, and, with the clear light of her present knowledge, she understood the villainy of Grinnell. She was afraid to hear more, and moved away and worked with such desperation, that presently her strength began to leave her.

When her work was over she tottered home, being scarcely able to walk steadily, and having arrived, shut the door behind her and locked it; and then she lay down on her bed in a state of mental and physical prostration, which was akin to death.

When Grinnell called he found the door locked, and, having knocked several times without getting any answer, went away without saying a word.