Читать книгу The Erratic Flame - Ysabel De Teresa - Страница 8

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It was a six mile drive to the station. Cleaving to the lip of the precipice, the road wound into the cup of the valley, where toy-like houses gleamed white from out checkered fields, and the serpentine river writhed sinuously.

Heedless of stones and ruts, Claire’s taxi swayed recklessly onward. Wan, drawn, she huddled in the back seat, clinging mechanically whenever a bump threatened to precipitate her into the ravine below. Clinging mechanically and instinctively only, for lurking destruction held no terror now. Indeed, had she been conscious of the dangerous opportunity, she would probably have permitted herself to be flung to death several hundred feet below.

But she was as impervious to her peril as to the beauty about her. And every turn of the road revealed the valley in a new vista. Unseen hills and forests emerged magically, casting gorgeous patches of purple shadow before them. Incense of balsam and fir rose to the heavens in heady draughts like distilled sunshine. But Claire, swathed in her garment of misery, saw, felt nothing.

With Alexis lost to her forever, life offered a terrifying nothingness. She realized perhaps for the first time what he had meant to her ever since she could remember. Without him, existence would be a nightmare of emptiness, and yet with every revolution of the wheels she was leaving him further and further behind, progressing into the wintry region of exile where lay her bleak future. And her days and years had been so filled with his presence that it was almost impossible for her to believe that this could be so. It was as if some vital organ had been torn out of her living body and she was expected to go on without it. It was humanly impossible! In another moment she must speak to the driver, tell him to turn back up the mountain before it was too late. Back to Alexis and the beautiful, hateful woman, whom he had grown to love—this superior goddess, this Brunhilde of burnished tresses, who would have it all her own way on her mountain top, above the clouds, while she herself rode down into the dark valley.

But she could not bring herself to utter the necessary word. And she knew that it would never be spoken, trifle as she might with the illusion. The unalterable had occurred. She would make no further effort to mend the shattered pieces.

But how to face the lacerated future? To resume a negative existence with a contemptuous aunt who had never loved her and whom she had failed, would be beyond bearing. To accept her charity and Alexis’ had not been difficult before because she had made herself indispensable, and she knew that she had more than earned her keep. Besides, she had been Alexis’ only companion in his leisure moments and he had depended upon her more than anyone realized. But everything was changed. To continue to eat his bread and salt would be unspeakable now that he loved another woman. She had not only failed miserably as a wife, but he loved another woman.

Looking blindly into the forest on either side, Claire repeated the words to herself below her breath. “He loves another woman.” They dinned into her soul with a persistency that maddened, with the relentless monotony of the drop of water which tortures the Chinese criminal. She crouched further back into the seat and covered her ears. If the repetition continued much longer, she would surely go mad, if she had not done so already. The wheels took up the rhythm and creaked it mockingly. As they rattled over the wooden bridge and entered the village it rose to a hoarse shout. Then with a jerk, stopped as suddenly and ominously as it had commenced.

Claire looked up startled, and saw they were at the station. The New York train was already there, snorting impatiently. She came to her senses with a bound, paid her driver, got aboard the Pullman and in less than a minute was leaving the country station and Alexis, as she told herself, forever.

Numbed by fatigue and suffering, the trip soon became a nightmare of swift darkness. Heavy stupor descended upon her. It was not until hours later, when skirting along the shores of the Hudson, that she emerged to full consciousness. Night had already fallen and the river heaved black and silver, like a huge snake beneath the pale light of the stars. They were stopping at a station near the water’s edge, and as Claire peered out of the window, there came to her a violent temptation to run down the corridor and leap out into the inky, rippleless, depths. Why not? It would be the best thing that could happen for everybody as well as for herself.

Life was hateful, bitter, terrifying. Here was, if not rest and peace, at least cessation of agony. Her aunt would hardly feel the difference and as for Alexis? He would be free to marry again, and this time not blunderingly, like a dazed unhappy child, but with his senses awakened, and for love. A lump stabbed her in the throat like a dagger-thrust. She staggered to her feet and started to lurch out into the aisle. There came a sudden roaring as of a high wind and darkness fell upon her.

When consciousness returned, the train was entering the Grand Central station. Life still clung heavily upon her weary soul, but she was too torn, too utterly distraught to think of any new means of self-destruction. She took a taxi to the apartment in 59th Street and with the connivance of Ito gained her room without her aunt’s knowledge. Welcomed rapturously by the disconsolate Bébé, she fell upon the bed fully clothed, and into the deep, dreamless, sleep of utter exhaustion.

She awakened towards morning, shocked into consciousness by the upward surge of a hitherto suppressed and unbelievable fear. Could it be possible that the uneasy suspicion which had vaguely disturbed her for weeks, and which she had entirely forgotten in the last twenty-four hours, was to be realized after all? That would indeed be the climax of irony. But it seemed to be the only explanation of the physical state through which she was struggling. Nerves and anxiety might account for general malaise and headaches. Fatigue and an empty stomach for the faint on the train, but that was not the first time she had lost consciousness in the last three months, and she had other reasons besides to fear the worst. The worst! To think that it should have to be called that, when it should have proved so beautiful. To be the mother of Alexis’ child, and to have to look forward to the fact with shrinking and with shame. What could be more bitterly ridiculous than that? And what would become of the baby if it lived? Unwanted, unloved, it would probably lead the same negative existence as she herself with all its joy dependent upon one being, who would undoubtedly betray it in the end. The thought brought scalding tears. Claire beat her pillow with tiny fists. It was too much! She refused to give birth to such ignominy.

With a bound, she sprang from the bed and ran across the room to the open window. Crouching upon the window seat, she gazed down, wide-eyed and trembling, to where, eleven stories below yawned the cavernous street. Her stomach turned at the sight. But creeping flesh commanded by indomitable spirit, she stumbled to her feet and stood upon the sill. However, as soon as she did so, she realized her mistake. To jump out, she would have to bend over almost double, as the opening was not sufficiently high. It would be necessary to sit and dangle her feet into the chasm. Somehow, the idea seemed terrifying. Once more mastering her shrinking body, she crumpled down upon the sill and thrust one foot and leg through the aperture. With a long shudder she closed her eyes and cautiously lowered the other leg.

For an endless moment she sat suspended between heaven and earth.

There came a feeble tug at her skirt from behind, a plaintive cry. And Claire’s swooning senses were aware of interruption. With a flash of lucidity she realized that Bébé had awakened and was trying in dumb fashion to attract her attention. A new fear seized her. Suppose the little dog were to see her fall and jump out after her? She leaned back into the room perilously, and tried to push him from her. But as if he realized her purpose, he only whined more loudly and crawling up her skirts, crept around into her lap. Claire found herself gazing into the eyes of the only being who had ever loved her. Horror in her heart, she clutched the little creature to her breast. For a nightmare moment, they rocked on the rim of annihilation. Then with a groan of relinquishment, she fell back into the room.

As soon as her trembling limbs would permit, she crawled back on to the bed and lay sleepless until morning.

But the sun, although brilliant and mocking, brought counsel.

She arose and tidied herself. It was not a long process, as she had gone to bed fully dressed. Ringing for Ito, she ordered coffee and a taxi. Then in the face of his obvious disapproval, she gulped down a few swallows, ate a roll, and patting Bébé lingeringly, left the apartment.