Читать книгу Mrs. Bridge - Evan S. Connell - Страница 23

17 • GOOD-BY ALICE

Alice Jones was now appearing every month or so, though her father came to work at the neighbors’ each Saturday as usual. On those occasions when she accompanied him she would spend the morning with Carolyn, but then, about noon, she would get on the streetcar and go home by herself. During the morning she and Carolyn would have a confidential talk, usually in Carolyn’s room, that is, in the room that Carolyn and Ruth shared. Ruth was seldom at home on Saturday; nobody in the family knew where she went. So Alice Jones and Carolyn would shut the door to the room and converse in low tones or in whispers about school and clothes and friends and boys and how they intended to raise their children.

“How many are you going to have?” asked Carolyn.

“Eleven,” Alice said firmly.

“Heavens!” said Carolyn. “That’s certainly telling.”

“What kind of talk is that?” Alice wanted to know. “How many are you going to have?”

“Two, I believe. That makes a nice family.”

One Saturday at lunch time, shortly after Alice had started to the streetcar line, Carolyn said that Alice had invited her to come to a party next Saturday afternoon.

“Well, that was nice of Alice, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Bridge replied, and with a tiny silver fork she ate a slice of banana from her fruit salad, and then a piece of lettuce.

“Where is the party to be?”

“At her house.”

“Where does Alice live?”

“Thirteenth and Prospect.”

Mrs. Bridge took up a little silver knife and began to cut a slice of peach which was rather too large to be eaten in one bite. She knew where Thirteenth and Prospect was, although she had never stopped there. It was a mixed neighborhood.

“Can I go?”

Mrs. Bridge smiled affectionately at Carolyn. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”