My Sister's Hand in Mine

by Jane Bowles

  TRUMAN CAPOTE

  July 1966

  Two Serious Ladies

  1

  Christina Goering’s father was an American industrialist of German parentage and her mother was a New York lady of a very distinguished family. Christina spent the first half of her life in a very beautiful house (not more than an hour from the city) which she had inherited from her mother. It was in this house that she had been brought up as a child with her sister Sophie.

  As a child Christina had been very much disliked by other children. She had never suffered particularly because of this, having led, even at a very early age, an active inner life that curtailed her observation of whatever went on around her, to such a degree that she never picked up the mannerisms then in vogue, and at the age of ten was called old-fashioned by other little girls. Even then she wore the look of certain fanatics who think of themselves as leaders without once having gained the respect of a single human being.

  Christina was troubled horribly by ideas which never would have occurred to her companions, and at the same time took for granted a position in society which any other child would have found unbearable. Every now and then a schoolmate would take pity on her and try to spend some time with her, but far from being grateful for this, Christina would instead try her best to convert her new friend to the cult of whatever she believed in at the time.

  Her sister Sophie, on the other hand, was very much admired by everyone in the school. She showed a marked talent for writing poetry and spent all her time with a quiet little girl called Mary, who was two years younger.

  When Christina was thirteen years old her hair was very red (when she grew up it remained almost as red), her cheeks were sloppy and pink, and her nose showed traces of nobility.

  That year Sophie brought Mary home with her nearly every day for luncheon. After they had finished eating she would take Mary for a walk through the woods, having provided a basket for each of them in which to carry back flowers. Christina was not permitted by Sophie to come along on these walks.

  “You must find something of your own to do,” Sophie would say to her. But it was hard for Christina to think of anything to do by herself that she enjoyed. She was in the habit of going through many mental struggles—generally of a religious nature—and she preferred to be with other people and organize games. These games, as a rule, were very moral, and often involved God. However, no one else enjoyed them and she was obliged to spend a great part of the day alone. She tried going to the woods once or twice by herself and bringing back flowers, in imitation of Mary and Sophie, but each time, fearing that she would not return with enough flowers to make a beautiful bouquet, she so encumbered herself with baskets that the walk seemed more of a hardship than a pleasure.

  It was Christina’s desire to have Mary to herself of an afternoon. One very sunny afternoon Sophie went inside for her piano lesson, and Mary remained seated on the grass. Christina, who had seen this from not far away, ran into the house, her heart beating with excitement. She took off her shoes and stockings and remained in a short white underslip. This was not a very pleasant sight to behold, because Christina at this time was very heavy and her legs were quite fat. (It was impossible to foresee that she would turn out to be a tall and elegant lady.) She ran out on the lawn and told Mary to watch her dance.

  “Now don’t take your eyes off me,” she said. “I’m going to do a dance of worship to the sun. Then I’m going to show that I’d rather have God and no sun than the sun and no God. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” said Mary. “Are you going to do it now?”

  “Yes, I’m going to do it right here.” She began the dance abruptly. It was a clumsy dance and her gestures were all undecided. When Sophie came out of the house, Christina was in the act of running backwards and forwards with her hands joined in prayer.

  “What is she doing?” Sophie asked Mary.

  “A dance to the sun, I think,” Mary said. “She told me to sit here and watch her.”

  Sophie walked over to where Christina was now twirling around and around and shaking her hands weakly in the air.

  “Sneak!” she said and suddenly she pushed Christina down on the grass.

  For a long time after that, Christina kept away from Sophie, and consequently from Mary. She had one more occasion to be with Mary, however, and this happened because Sophie developed a terrible toothache one morning, and her governess was obliged to take her to the dentist immediately. Mary, not having heard of this, came over in the afternoon, expecting to find Sophie at home. Christina was in the tower in which the children often gathered, and saw her coming up the walk.

  “Mary,” she screamed, “come on up here.” When Mary arrived in the tower, Christina asked her if she would not like to play a very special game with her. “It’s called ‘I forgive you for all your sins,’” said Christina. “You’ll have to take your dress off.”

  “Is it fun?” Mary asked.

  “It’s not for fun that we play it, but because it’s necessary to play it.”

  “All right,” said Mary, “I’ll play with you.” She took her dress off and Christina pulled an old burlap sack over Mary’s head. She cut two holes in the burlap for Mary to see through and then she tied a cord around her waist.

  “Come,” said Christina, “and you will be absolved for your sins. Keep repeating to yourself: ‘May the Lord forgive me for my sins.’”

  She hurried down the stairs with Mary and then out across the lawn towards the woods. Christina wasn’t yet sure what she was going to do, but she was very much excited. They came to a stream that skirted the woods. The banks of the stream were soft and muddy.

  “Come to the water,” said Christina; “I think that’s how we’ll wash away your sins. You’ll have to stand in the mud.”

  “Near the mud?”

  “In the mud. Does your sin taste bitter in your mouth? It must.”

  “Yes,” said Mary hesitantly.

  “Then you want to be clean and pure as a flower is, don’t you?”

  Mary did not answer.

  “If you don’t lie down in the mud and let me pack the mud over you and then wash you in the stream, you’ll be forever condemned. Do you want to be forever condemned? This is your moment to decide.”

  Mary stood beneath her black hood without saying a word. Christina pushed her down on the ground and started to pack the burlap with mud.

  “The mud’s cold,” said Mary.

  “The hell fires are hot,” said Christina. “If you let me do this, you won’t go to hell.”

  “Don’t take too long,” said Mary.

  Christina was very much agitated. Her eyes were shining. She packed more and more mud on Mary and then she said to her:

  “Now you’re ready to be purified in the stream.”

  “Oh, please no, not the water—I hate to go into the water. I’m afraid of the water.”

  “Forget what you are afraid of. God’s watching you now and He has no sympathy for you yet.”

  She lifted Mary from the ground and walked into the stream, carrying her. She had forgotten to take off her own shoes and stockings. Her dress was completely covered with mud. Then she submerged Mary’s body in the water. Mary was looking at her through the holes in the burlap. It did not occur to her to struggle.

  “Three minutes will be enough,” said Christina. “I’m going to say a little prayer for you.”

  “Oh, don’t do that,” Mary pleaded.

  “Of course,” said Christina, lifting her eyes to the sky.

  “Dear God,” she said, “make this girl Mary pure as Jesus Your Son. Wash her sins away as the water is now washing the mud away. This black burlap proves to you that she thinks she is a sinner.”

  “Oh, stop,” whispered Mary. “He can hear you even if you just say it to yourself. You’re shouting so.”

  “The three minutes are over, I believe,” said Christina. “Come darling, now you can stand up.”

  “Let’s run to the
house,” said Mary. “I’m freezing to death.”

  They ran to the house and up the back stairway that led to the tower. It was hot in the tower room because all the windows had been shut. Christina suddenly felt very ill.

  “Go,” she said to Mary, “go into the bath and clean yourself off. I’m going to draw.” She was deeply troubled. “It’s over,” she said to herself, “the game is over. I’ll tell Mary to go home after she’s dried off. I’ll give her some colored pencils to take home with her.”

  Mary returned from the bath wrapped in a towel. She was still shivering. Her hair was wet and straight. Her face looked smaller than it did ordinarily.

  Christina looked away from her. “The game is over,” she said, “it took only a few minutes—you should be dried off—I’m going out.” She walked out of the room leaving Mary behind, pulling the towel closer around her shoulders.

  * * *

  As a grown woman Miss Goering was no better liked than she had been as a child. She was now living in her home outside New York, with her companion, Miss Gamelon.

  Three months ago Miss Goering had been sitting in the parlor, looking out at the leafless trees, when her maid announced a caller.

  “Is it a gentleman or a lady?” Miss Goering asked.

  “A lady.”

  “Show her in immediately,” said Miss Goering.

  The maid returned followed by the caller. Miss Goering rose from her seat. “How do you do?” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever laid eyes on you before this moment, but please sit down.”

  The lady visitor was small and stocky and appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. She wore dark, unfashionable clothing and, but for her large gray eyes, her face might on all occasions have passed unnoticed.

  “I’m your governess’s cousin,” she said to Miss Goering. “She was with you for many years. Do you remember her?”

  “I do,” said Miss Goering.

  “Well, my name is Lucie Gamelon. My cousin used to talk about you and about your sister Sophie all the time. I’ve been meaning to call on you for years now, but one thing and another always got in the way. But then, we never know it to fail.”

  Miss Gamelon reddened. She had not yet been relieved of her hat and coat.

  “You have a lovely home,” she said. “I guess you know it and appreciate it a lot.”

  By this time Miss Goering was filled with curiosity concerning Miss Gamelon. “What’s your business in life?” she asked her.

  “Not very much, I’m afraid. I’ve been typing manuscripts for famous authors all my life, but there doesn’t seem to be much demand for authors any more unless maybe they are doing their own typing.”

  Miss Goering, who was busy thinking, said nothing.

  Miss Gamelon looked around helplessly.

  “Do you stay here the greater portion of the time or do you travel mostly?” she asked Miss Goering unexpectedly.

  “I never thought of traveling,” said Miss Goering. “I don’t require travel.”

  “Coming from the family you come from,” said Miss Gamelon, “I guess you were born full of knowledge about everything. You wouldn’t need to travel. I had opportunity to travel two or three times with my authors. They were willing to pay all my expenses and my full salary besides, but I never did go except once, and that was to Canada.”

  “You don’t like to travel,” said Miss Goering, staring at her.

  “It doesn’t agree with me. I tried it that once. My stomach was upset and I had nervous headaches all the time. That was enough. I had my warning.”

  “I understand perfectly,” said Miss Goering.

  “I always believe,” continued Miss Gamelon, “that you get your warning. Some people don’t heed their warnings. That’s when they come into conflict. I think that anything you feel strange or nervous about, you weren’t cut out to do.”

  “Go on,” said Miss Goering.

  “Well, I know, for instance, that I wasn’t cut out to be an aviator. I’ve always had dreams of crashing down to the earth. There are quite a few things that I won’t do, even if I am thought of as a stubborn mule. I won’t cross a big body of water, for instance. I could have everything I wanted if I would just cross the ocean and go over to England, but I never will.”

  “Well,” said Miss Goering, “let’s have some tea and some sandwiches.”

  Miss Gamelon ate voraciously and complimented Miss Goering on her good food.

  “I like good things to eat,” she said; “I don’t have so much good food any more. I did when I was working for the authors.”

  When they had finished tea, Miss Gamelon took leave of her hostess.

  “I’ve had a very sociable time,” she said. “I would like to stay longer, but tonight I have promised a niece of mine that I would watch over her children for her. She is going to attend a ball.”

  “You must be very depressed with the idea,” said Miss Goering.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Miss Gamelon replied.

  “Do return soon,” said Miss Goering.

  The following afternoon the maid announced to Miss Goering that she had a caller. “It’s the same lady that called here yesterday,” said the maid.

  “Well, well,” thought Miss Goering, “that’s good.”

  “How are you feeling today?” Miss Gamelon asked her, coming into the room. She spoke very naturally, not appearing to find it strange that she was returning so soon after her first visit. “I was thinking about you all last night,” she said. “It’s a funny thing. I always thought I should meet you. My cousin used to tell me how queer you were. I think, though, that you can make friends more quickly with queer people. Or else you don’t make friends with them at all—one way or the other. Many of my authors were very queer. In that way I’ve had an advantage of association that most people don’t have. I know something about what I call real honest-to-God maniacs, too.”

  Miss Goering invited Miss Gamelon to dine with her. She found her soothing and agreeable to be with. Miss Gamelon was very much impressed with the fact that Miss Goering was so nervous. Just as they were about to sit down, Miss Goering said that she couldn’t face eating in the dining-room and she asked the servant to lay the table in the parlor instead. She spent a great deal of time switching the lights off and on.

  “I know how you feel,” Miss Gamelon said to her.

  “I don’t particularly enjoy it,” said Miss Goering, “but I expect in the future to be under control.”

  Over wine at dinner Miss Gamelon told Miss Goering that it was only correct that she should be thus. “What do you expect, dear,” she said, “coming from the kind of family you come from? You’re all tuned high, all of you. You’ve got to allow yourself things that other people haven’t any right to allow themselves.”

  Miss Goering began to feel a little tipsy. She looked dreamily at Miss Gamelon, who was eating her second helping of chicken cooked in wine. There was a little spot of grease in the corner of her mouth.

  “I love to drink,” said Miss Gamelon, “but there isn’t much point to it when you have to work. It’s fine enough when you have plenty of leisure time. I have a lot of leisure time now.”

  “Have you a guardian angel?” asked Miss Goering.

  “Well, I have a dead aunt, maybe that’s what you mean; she might be watching over me.”

  “That is not what I mean—I mean something quite different.”

  “Well, of course…” said Miss Gamelon.

  “A guardian angel comes when you are very young, and gives you special dispensation.”

  “From what?”

  “From the world. Yours might be luck; mine is money. Most people have a guardian angel; that’s why they move slowly.”

  “That’s an imaginative way of talking about guardian angels. I guess my guardian angel is what I told you about heeding my warnings. I think maybe she could warn me about both of us. In that way I could keep you out of trouble. Of course, with your consent,” she added, looking a l
ittle confused.

  Miss Goering had a definite feeling at that moment that Miss Gamelon was not in the least a nice woman, but she refused to face this because she got too much enjoyment from the sensation of being nursed and pampered. She told herself that it would do no harm for a little while.

  “Miss Gamelon,” said Miss Goering, “I think it would be a very fine idea if you were to make this your home—for the time being, at least. I don’t think you have any pressing business that would oblige you to remain elsewhere, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t any business,” said Miss Gamelon. “I don’t see why I couldn’t stay here—I’d have to get my things at my sister’s house. Outside of that I don’t know of anything else.”

  “What things?” asked Miss Goering impatiently. “Don’t go back at all. We can get things at the stores.” She got up and walked quickly up and down the room.

  “Well,” said Miss Gamelon, “I think I had better get my things.”

  “But not tonight,” said Miss Goering, “tomorrow—tomorrow in the car.”

  “Tomorrow in the car,” repeated Miss Gamelon after her.