Читать книгу Mrs. Bridge - Evan S. Connell - Страница 26

20 • WHAT’S UP, SEÑORA BRIDGE?

Spanish was a subject she had long meant to study, and quite often she remarked to her friends that she wished she had studied it in school. The children had heard her say this, so for her birthday that year they gave her an album of phonograph records consisting of a lethargic dialogue between Señor Carreño of Madrid and an American visitor named Señora Brown. Along with the records came an attractive booklet of instructions and suggestions. Mrs. Bridge was delighted with the gift and made a joke about how she intended to begin her lessons the first thing “mañana.”

As it turned out, however, she was busy the following day, and the day after because of a PTA meeting at the school, and the day after. Somehow or other more than a month passed before she found time to begin, but there came a morning when she resolved to get at it, and so, after helping Harriet with the breakfast dishes, she found her reading glasses and sat down in the living room with the instruction booklet. The course did not sound at all difficult, and the more pages she read the more engrossing it became. The instructions were clear enough: she was simply to listen to each line of dialogue and then, in the pause that followed, to repeat the part of Señora Brown.

She put the first record on the phonograph, turning it low enough so that the mailman or any delivery boys would not overhear and think she had gone out of her mind. Seated on the sofa directly opposite the machine she waited, holding onto the booklet in case there should be an emergency.

“Buenas días, Señora Brown,” the record began, appropriately enough. “Cómo está usted?”

“Buenas días, Señor Carreño,” Señora Brown answered. “Muy bien, gracias. Y usted?”

The record waited for Mrs. Bridge who, however, was afraid it would begin before she had a chance to speak, and in consequence only leaned forward with her lips parted. She got up, walked across to the phonograph, and lifted the needle back to the beginning.

“Buenas días, Señora Brown. Cómo está usted?”

“Buenas días, Señor Carreño,” replied Señora Brown all over again. “Muy bien, gracias. Y usted?”

“Buenas días, Señor Carreño,” said Mrs. Bridge with increasing confidence. “Muy bien, gracias. Y usted?”

“Muy bien,” said Señor Carreño.

Just then Harriet appeared to say that Mrs. Arlen was on the telephone. Mrs. Bridge put the booklet on the sofa and went into the breakfast room, where the telephone was.

“Hello, Madge. I’ve been meaning to phone you about the Auxiliary luncheon next Friday. They’ve changed the time from twelve-thirty to one. Honestly, I wish they’d make up their minds.”

“Charlotte told me yesterday. You knew Grace Barron was ill with flu, didn’t you?”

“Oh, not really! She has the worst luck.”

“If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. She’s been down since day before yesterday. I’m running by with some lemonade and thought you might like to come along. I can only stay a split second. I’m due at the hairdresser at eleven.”

“Well, I’m in slacks. Are you going right away?”

“The instant the laundress gets here. That girl! She should have been here hours ago. Honestly, I’m at the end of my rope.”

“Don’t tell me you’re having that same trouble! I sometimes think they do it deliberately just to put people out. We’re trying a new one and she does do nice work, but she’s so independent.”

“Oh,” said Madge Arlen, as if her head were turned away from the phone, “here she comes. Lord, what next?”

“Well, I’ll dash right upstairs and change,” said Mrs. Bridge. “I suppose the garden can wait till tomorrow.” And after telling Harriet that she would be at Mrs. Barron’s if anyone called, she started toward the stairs.

“Qué tal, Señora Brown?” inquired the record.

Mrs. Bridge hurried into the living room, snapped off the phonograph, and went upstairs.