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which somehow managed to break through the drawn halves of the heavy, blue velvet drapes and that
eerie blue light which a black-and-white television set puts forth. The only signs of life in that room, at
first, were those glimpsed from the non-life on the television screen: the movement of the actors, camera
changes, the tinny voices and the melodramatic background music that rose and fell like the sea.
Grandmother, Grandfather, I've brought company.
The volume on the television went down, though not off altogether, as someone with a re-mote
control device reacted to Kenneth's statement.
This is Sonya Carter, Kenneth said.
A lovely name. The voice had been that of a woman, but thin and weak, almost a whisper.
Thank you, Sonya replied.
By now, she had located the old couple. They sat in two ridiculously overstuffed chairs, about ten
feet from the television set, their feet propped up on ottomans, utility tables beside them, cock-tails set
out on the tables. Grotesquely, it seemed as if they were rooted to the spot, that they had not moved in
years. They would remain there, even as corpses, until they had rotted and turned to dust.
Bring her closer! Walter Blenwell snapped. The old man's voice was as brittle as his wife's was
soft. Let's see what manner of young lady you've got here! Though it seemed bo be meant kindly, each
thing he said sounded like an imperious com-mand made by a humorless potentate.
Hello, Mr. Blenwell, Sonya said, stepping into the light thrown by the television set.
Well, a pretty lady, Walter said.
Thank you.
Both the old man and the old woman were in their seventies, somewhat emaciated, their faces lined
so heavily that they reminded her of pieces of tablet paper crumpled in the fist and then clum-sily
straightened out again. The blue light from the television did nothing at all to make them look younger; the
unnatural color gave them the appearance of frozen bodies, touched by a coat of frost, eyes glittering
icily.
Kenneth had brought two chairs, one of which Sonya took, gratefully. With the television light framing
her, almost silhouetting her, she felt as if she were on display.
Tell Winnie that we'd like new refreshments, Lydia Blenwell said.
Will do, Kenneth said.
He departed, leaving Sonya alone with the old people.
Refreshments will be simple, Lydia said. Neither of us is up to real entertaining any more.
Speak for yourself, Walter snapped. I be-lieve I could still enjoy a good dance or two, a real
formal ball.
Yes, you might go to the ball in a carriage, Lydia told him, leaning forward in her chair, smil-ing,
but you'd have to come home in an ambu-lance.
Walter snorted.
Sonya thought the old couple were merely amusing each other, and that the jibes were not meant
seriously, but she could not be certain, and she felt out of place.
How do you happen to know Kenneth? Lydia asked.
She had once been a very pretty lady, Sonya could see, but now her eyes looked gray, flat and dull,
her hair wiry and unkempt. Her face was criss-crossed with wrinkles, and these were espe-cially
concentrated around the eyes and mouth, an unfortunate condition which gave her the look of a cunning
weasel and the pursed lips of an habit-ual gossiper. At one time, her question would have seemed like
only a polite conversational initiative, but now it sounded half-quarrelsome, nosey.
I met him on the beach, Sonya said.
Guadeloupe?
Well, not exactly, Sonya said.
Kenneth had come into the room again and taken his seat next to Sonya. He said, We met outside,
a couple of hundred yards from the house, just a half an hour ago.
What do you mean? Lydia asked, not com-prehending, her pursed mouth in a tight little bow.
She's working for the Doughertys, Kenneth explained.
Those people! Walter snapped.
I'm tutoring their children, Sonya said.
How do you stand to work for him? Lydia asked.
Mr. Dougherty, you mean?
Of course, him.
He treats his people well.
Walter snorted derisively. We haven't much in common with the Dougherty family.
You might even say that we're at odds with them, Lydia added.
The young lady can't help about that, Ken-neth said. We can hardly blame her for what the
Doughertys have done.
Neither of the old people said anything to that.
Sonya felt distinctly uncomfortable in that dar-kened room, as if the walls were drawing closer and
the air, despite its coolness, was pressing down on her like a sentient being; she imagined that she could
feel walls and air hard against her back, on her shoulders, weighting down on her scalp, crushing. Why
on earth had Kenneth Blen-well insisted on her coming to the house when he must have known she
would not be much appreci-ated by his grandparents?
At that moment, a woman in her sixties, dressed in a wrinkled maid's uniform, pushed a serving cart
into the drawing room. Cups and saucers rat-tled on it.
The maid a rather dumpy woman with a wounded look, wheeled the cart into the center of the
gathering, trundling it across one of Sonya's feet and nearly catching the other as well, offering no apology
and giving no sign that the incident had even transpired. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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