Complete Works of Kate Chopin

by Kate Chopin

  “No! Oh, no!”

  “Then don’t put it off a day longer, Melitte. Such rudeness! W’at will yo’ Uncle Gervais an’ yo’ cousins think!”

  Even the babies that loved her were bitten with this feverish ambition for Melitte’s worldly advancement. “‘Taint you, ti tante, that’s goin’ to wear a sunbonnet any mo’, or calico dresses, or an apron, or feed the chickens!”

  “Then you want ti tante to go away an’ leave you all?”

  They were not ready to answer, but hung their heads in meditative silence, which lasted until the full meaning of ti tante’s question had penetrated the inner consciousness of the little man, whereupon he began to howl, loud and deep and long.

  Even the curé, happy to see the end of a family estrangement, took Melitte’s acceptance wholly for granted. He visited her and discoursed at length and with vivid imagination upon the perils and fascinations of “the city’s” life, presenting impartially, however, its advantages, which he hoped she would use to the betterment of her moral and intellectual faculties. He recommended to her a confessor at the cathedral who had travelled with him from France so many years ago.

  “It’s time you were dismissing an’ closing up that school of yo’s, Melitte,” advised her sister-in-law, puzzled and disturbed, as Melitte was preparing to leave for the schoolhouse.

  She did not answer. She seemed to have been growing sullen and ill-humored since her great piece of good luck; but perhaps she did not hear, with the pink sunbonnet covering her pink ears.

  Melitte was sensible of a strong attachment for the things about her — the dear, familiar things. She did not fully realize that her surroundings were poor and pinched. The thought of entering upon a different existence troubled her.

  Why was every one, with single voice, telling her to “go”? Was it that no one cared? She did not believe this, but chose to nourish the fancy. It furnished her a pretext for tears.

  Why should she not go, and live in ease, free from responsibility and care? Why should she stay where no soul had said, “I can’t bear to have you go, Melitte?”

  If they had only said, “I shall miss you, Melitte,” it would have been something — but no! Even Aunt Lympy, who had nursed her as a baby, and in whose affection she had always trusted — even she had made her appearance and spent a whole day upon the scene, radiant, dispensing compliments, self-satisfied, as one who feels that all things are going well in her royal possessions.

  “Oh, I’ll go! I will go!” Melitte was saying a little hysterically to herself as she walked. The familiar road was a brown and green blur, for the tears in her eyes.

  Victor Annibelle was not mending his fence that morning; but there he was, leaning over it as Melitte came along. He had hardly expected she would come, and at that hour he should have been back in the swamp with the men who were hired to cut timber; but the timber could wait, and the men could wait, and so could the work. It did not matter. There would be days enough to work when Melitte was gone.

  She did not look at him; her head was down and she walked steadily on, carrying her bag of books. In a moment he was over the fence; he did not take the time to walk around to the gate; and with a few long strides he had joined her.

  “Good morning, Melitte.” She gave a little start, for she had not heard him approaching.

  “Oh — good morning. How is it you are not at work this morning?”

  “I’m going a little later. An’ how is it you are at work, Melitte? I didn’t expect to see you passing by again.”

  “Then you were going to let me leave without coming to say good-by?” she returned with an attempt at sprightliness.

  And he, after a long moment’s hesitation, “Yes, I believe I was. W’en do you go?”

  “When do you go! When do you go!” There it was again! Even he was urging her. It was the last straw.

  “Who said I was going?” She spoke with quick exasperation. It was warm, and he would have lingered beneath the trees that here and there flung a pleasant shade, but she led him a pace through the sun.

  “Who said?” he repeated after her. “W’y, I don’t know — everybody. You are going, of co’se?”

  “Yes.”

  She walked slowly and then fast in her agitation, wondering why he did not leave her instead of remaining there at her side in silence.

  “Oh, I can’t bear to have you go, Melitte!”

  They were so near the school it seemed perfectly natural that she should hurry forward to join the little group that was there waiting for her under a tree. He made no effort to follow her. He expected no reply; the expression that had escaped him was so much a part of his unspoken thought, he was hardly conscious of having uttered it.

  But the few spoken words, trifling as they seemed, possessed a power to warm and brighten greater than that of the sun and the moon. What mattered now to Melitte if the hours were heavy and languid; if the children were slow and dull! Even when they asked, “W’en are you going, Miss Melitte?” she only laughed and said there was plenty of time to think of it. And were they so anxious to be rid of her? she wanted to know. She some way felt that it would not be so very hard to go now. In the afternoon, when she had dismissed the scholars, she lingered a while in the schoolroom. When she went to close the window, Victor Annibelle came up and stood outside with his elbows on the sill.

  “Oh!” she said, with a start, “why are you not working this hour of the day?” She was conscious of reiteration and a sad lack of imagination or invention to shape her utterances. But the question suited his intention well enough.

  “I haven’t worked all day,” he told her. “I haven’t gone twenty paces from this schoolhouse since you came into it this morning.” Every particle of diffidence that had hampered his intercourse with her during the past few months had vanished.

  “I’m a selfish brute,” he blurted, “but I reckon it’s instinct fo’ a man to fight fo’ his happiness just as he would fight fo’ his life.”

  “I mus’ be going, Victor. Please move yo’ arms an’ let me close the window.”

  “No, I won’t move my arms till I say w’at I came here to say.” And seeing that she was about to withdraw, he seized her hand and held it. “If you go away, Melitte — if you go I — oh! I don’t want you to go. Since morning — I don’t know w’y — something you said — or some way, I have felt that maybe you cared a little; that you might stay if I begged you. Would you, Melitte — would you?”

  “I believe I would, Victor. Oh — never mind my hand; don’t you see I must shut the window?”

  So after all Melitte did not go to the city to become a grande dame. Why? Simply because Victor Annibelle asked her not to. The old people when they heard it shrugged their shoulders and tried to remember that they, too, had been young once; which is, sometimes, a very hard thing for old people to remember. Some of the younger ones thought she was right, and many of them believed she was wrong to sacrifice so brilliant an opportunity to shine and become a woman of fashion.

  Aunt Lympy was not altogether dissatisfied; she felt that her interference had not been wholly in vain.

  THE BLIND MAN

  A man carrying a small red box in one hand walked slowly down the street. His old straw hat and faded garments looked as if the rain had often beaten upon them, and the sun had as many times dried them upon his person. He was not old, but he seemed feeble; and he walked in the sun, along the blistering asphalt pavement. On the opposite side of the street there were trees that threw a thick and pleasant shade; people were all walking on that side. But the man did not know, for he was blind, and moreover he was stupid.

  In the red box were lead pencils, which he was endeavoring to sell. He carried no stick, but guided himself by trailing his foot along the stone copings or his hand along the iron railings. When he came to the steps of a house he would mount them. Sometimes, after reaching the door with great difficulty, he could not find the electric button, whereupon he would patiently descend and go his way. S
ome of the iron gates were locked — their owners being away for the summer — and he would consume much time in striving to open them, which made little difference, as he had all the time there was at his disposal.

  At times he succeeded in finding the electric button; but the man or maid who answered the bell needed no pencil, nor could they be induced to disturb the mistress of the house about so small a thing.

  The man had been out long and had walked very far, but had sold nothing. That morning some one who had finally grown tired of having him hanging around had equipped him with this box of pencils, and sent him out to make his living. Hunger, with sharp fangs, was gnawing at his stomach and a consuming thirst parched his mouth and tortured him. The sun was broiling. He wore too much clothing — a vest and coat over his shirt. He might have removed these and carried them on his arm or thrown them away; but he did not think of it. A kind-hearted woman who saw him from an upper window felt sorry for him, and wished that he would cross over into the shade.

  The man drifted into a side street, where there was a group of noisy, excited children at play. The color of the box which he carried attracted them and they wanted to know what was in it. One of them attempted to take it away from him. With the instinct to protect his own and his only means of sustenance, he resisted, shouted at the children and called them names. A policeman coming around the corner and seeing that he was the centre of a disturbance, jerked him violently around by the collar; but upon perceiving that he was blind, considerately refrained from clubbing him and sent him on his way. He walked on in the sun.

  During his aimless rambling he turned into a street where there were monster electric cars thundering up and down, clanging wild bells and literally shaking the ground beneath his feet with their terrific impetus. He started to cross the street.

  Then something happened — something horrible happened that made the women faint and the strongest men who saw it grow sick and dizzy. The motorman’s lips were as gray as his face, and that was ashen gray; and he shook and staggered from the superhuman effort he had put forth to stop his car.

  Where could the crowds have come from so suddenly, as if by magic? Boys on the run, men and women tearing up on their wheels to see the sickening sight; doctors dashing up in buggies as if directed by Providence.

  And the horror grew when the multitude recognized in the dead and mangled figure one of the wealthiest, most useful and most influential men of the town — a man noted for his prudence and foresight. How could such a terrible fate have overtaken him? He was hastening from his business house — for he was late — to join his family, who were to start in an hour or two for their summer home on the Atlantic coast. In his hurry he did not perceive the other car coming from the opposite direction, and the common, harrowing thing was repeated.

  The blind man did not know what the commotion was all about. He had crossed the street, and there he was, stumbling on in the sun, trailing his foot along the coping.

  A PAIR OF SILK STOCKINGS

  Little Mrs. Sommers one day found herself the unexpected possessor of fifteen dollars. It seemed to her a very large amount of money, and the way in which it stuffed and bulged her worn old porte-monnaie gave her a feeling of importance such as she had not enjoyed for years.

  The question of investment was one that occupied her greatly. For a day or two she walked about apparently in a dreamy state, but really absorbed in speculation and calculation. She did not wish to act hastily, to do anything she might afterward regret. But it was during the still hours of the night when she lay awake revolving plans in her mind that she seemed to see her way clearly toward a proper and judicious use of the money.

  A dollar or two should be added to the price usually paid for Janie’s shoes, which would insure their lasting an appreciable time longer than they usually did. She would buy so and so many yards of percale for new shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag. She had intended to make the old ones do by skilful patching. Mag should have another gown. She had seen some beautiful patterns, veritable bargains in the shop windows. And still there would be left enough for new stockings — two pairs apiece — and what darning that would save for a while! She would get caps for the boys and sailor-hats for the girls. The vision of her little brood looking fresh and dainty and new for once in their lives excited her and made her restless and wakeful with anticipation.

  The neighbors sometimes talked of certain “better days” that little Mrs. Sommers had known before she had ever thought of being Mrs. Sommers. She herself indulged in no such morbid retrospection. She had no time — no second of time to devote to the past. The needs of the present absorbed her every faculty. A vision of the future like some dim, gaunt monster sometimes appalled her, but luckily to-morrow never comes.

  Mrs. Sommers was one who knew the value of bargains; who could stand for hours making her way inch by inch toward the desired object that was selling below cost. She could elbow her way if need be; she had learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it and stick to it with persistence and determination till her turn came to be served, no matter when it came.

  But that day she was a little faint and tired. She had swallowed a light luncheon — no! when she came to think of it, between getting the children fed and the place righted, and preparing herself for the shopping bout, she had actually forgotten to eat any luncheon at all!

  She sat herself upon a revolving stool before a counter that was comparatively deserted, trying to gather strength and courage to charge through an eager multitude that was besieging breast-works of shirting and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling had come over her and she rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter. She wore no gloves. By degrees she grew aware that her hand had encountered something very soothing, very pleasant to touch. She looked down to see that her hand lay upon a pile of silk stockings. A placard near by announced that they had been reduced in price from two dollars and fifty cents to one dollar and ninety-eight cents; and a young girl who stood behind the counter asked her if she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery. She smiled, just as if she had been asked to inspect a tiara of diamonds with the ultimate view of purchasing it. But she went on feeling the soft, sheeny luxurious things — with both hands now, holding them up to see them glisten, and to feel them glide serpent-like through her fingers.

  Two hectic blotches came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She looked up at the girl.

  “Do you think there are any eights-and-a-half among these?”

  There were any number of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there were more of that size than any other. Here was a light-blue pair; there were some lavender, some all black and various shades of tan and gray. Mrs. Sommers selected a black pair and looked at them very long and closely. She pretended to be examining their texture, which the clerk assured her was excellent.

  “A dollar and ninety-eight cents,” she mused aloud. “Well, I’ll take this pair.” She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and waited for her change and for her parcel. What a very small parcel it was! It seemed lost in the depths of her shabby old shopping-bag.

  Mrs. Sommers after that did not move in the direction of the bargain counter. She took the elevator, which carried her to an upper floor into the region of the ladies’ waiting-rooms. Here, in a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings for the new silk ones which she had just bought. She was not going through any acute mental process or reasoning with herself, nor was she striving to explain to her satisfaction the motive of her action. She was not thinking at all. She seemed for the time to be taking a rest from that laborious and fatiguing function and to have abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse that directed her actions and freed her of responsibility.

  How good was the touch of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt like lying back in the cushioned chair and reveling for a while in the luxury of it. She did for a little while. Then she replaced her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together and thrust them into her bag. After doing this she crossed straight o
ver to the shoe department and took her seat to be fitted.

  She was fastidious. The clerk could not make her out; he could not reconcile her shoes with her stockings, and she was not too easily pleased. She held back her skirts and turned her feet one way and her head another way as she glanced down at the polished, pointed-tipped boots. Her foot and ankle looked very pretty. She could not realize that they belonged to her and were a part of herself. She wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she told the young fellow who served her, and she did not mind the difference of a dollar or two more in the price so long as she got what she desired.

  It was a long time since Mrs. Sommers had been fitted with gloves. On rare occasions when she had bought a pair they were always “bargains,” so cheap that it would have been preposterous and unreasonable to have expected them to be fitted to the hand.

  Now she rested her elbow on the cushion of the glove counter, and a pretty, pleasant young creature, delicate and deft of touch, drew a long-wristed “kid” over Mrs. Sommer’s hand. She smoothed it down over the wrist and buttoned it neatly, and both lost themselves for a second or two in admiring contemplation of the little symmetrical gloved hand. But there were other places where money might be spent.

  There were books and magazines piled up in the window of a stall a few paces down the street. Mrs. Sommers bought two high-priced magazines such as she had been accustomed to read in the days when she had been accustomed to other pleasant things. She carried them without wrapping. As well as she could she lifted her skirts at the crossings. Her stockings and boots and well fitting gloves had worked marvels in her bearing — had given her a feeling of assurance, a sense of belonging to the well-dressed multitude.

  She was very hungry. Another time she would have stilled the cravings for food until reaching her own home, where she would have brewed herself a cup of tea and taken a snack of anything that was available. But the impulse that was guiding her would not suffer her to entertain any such thought.