My Sister's Hand in Mine

by Jane Bowles

Miss Goering made arrangements to give Miss Gamelon a room near her own, to which she led her shortly after dinner was over.

  “This room,” said Miss Goering, “has one of the finest views in the entire house.” She drew the curtains apart. “You’ve got your moon and your stars tonight, Miss Gamelon, and a very nice silhouette of trees against the sky.”

  Miss Gamelon was standing in semi-darkness near the dressing-table. She was fingering the brooch on her blouse. She wished that Miss Goering would leave so that she could think about the house and Miss Goering’s offer, in her own way.

  There was a sudden scrambling in the bushes below the window. Miss Goering jumped.

  “What’s that?” Her face was very white and she put her hand to her forehead. “My heart hurts so for such a long time afterwards whenever I’m frightened,” she said in a small voice.

  “I think I’d better go to bed now and go to sleep,” said Miss Gamelon. She was suddenly overcome by all the wine that she had drunk. Miss Goering took her leave reluctantly. She had been prepared to talk half the night. The following morning Miss Gamelon went home to collect her things and give her sister her new address.

  Three months later Miss Goering knew little more about Miss Gamelon’s ideas than she had on the first night that they had dined together. She had learned quite a lot about Miss Gamelon’s personal characteristics, however, through careful observation. When Miss Gamelon had first arrived she had spoken a great deal about her love of luxury and beautiful objects, but Miss Goering had since then taken her on innumerable shopping trips; and she had never seemed interested in anything more than the simplest necessities.

  She was quiet, even a little sullen, but she seemed to be fairly contented. She enjoyed dining out at large, expensive restaurants, particularly if dinner music accompanied the meal. She did not seem to like the theater. Very often Miss Goering would buy tickets for a play, and at the last moment Miss Gamelon would decline to go.

  “I feel so lazy,” she would say, “that bed seems to be the most beautiful thing in the world at this moment.”

  When she did go to the theater, she was easily bored. Whenever the action of the play was not swift, Miss Goering would catch her looking down into her lap and playing with her fingers.

  She seemed now to feel more violently about Miss Goering’s activities than she did about her own, although she did not listen so sympathetically to Miss Goering’s explanations of herself as she had in the beginning.

  On Wednesday afternoon Miss Gamelon and Miss Goering were sitting underneath the trees in front of the house. Miss Goering was drinking whisky and Miss Gamelon was reading. The maid came out and announced to Miss Goering that she was wanted on the telephone.

  The call was from Miss Goering’s old friend Anna, who invited her to a party the following night. Miss Goering came back out on the lawn, very excited.

  “I’m going to a party tomorrow night,” she said, “but I don’t see how I can wait until then—I look forward to going to parties so much and I am invited to so few that I scarcely know how to behave about them. What will we do to make the hours pass until then?” She took both Miss Gamelon’s hands in her own.

  It was getting a little chilly. Miss Goering shivered and smiled. “Do you enjoy our little life?” she asked Miss Gamelon.

  “I’m always content,” said Miss Gamelon, “because I know what to take and what to leave, but you are always at the mercy.”

  Miss Goering arrived at Anna’s looking flushed and a little overdressed. She was wearing velvet and Miss Gamelon had fastened some flowers in her hair.

  The men, most of whom were middle-aged, were standing together in one corner of the room, smoking and listening to each other attentively. The ladies, freshly powdered, were seated around the room, talking very little. Anna seemed to be a little tense, although she was smiling. She wore a hostess gown adapted from a central European peasant costume.

  “You will have drinks in a minute,” she announced to her guests, and then, seeing Miss Goering, she went over to her and led her to a chair next to Mrs. Copperfield’s without saying a word.

  Mrs. Copperfield had a sharp little face and very dark hair. She was unusually small and thin. She was nervously rubbing her bare arms and looking around the room when Miss Goering seated herself in the chair beside her. They had met for many years at Anna’s parties and they occasionally had tea with each other.

  “Oh! Christina Goering,” cried Mrs. Copperfield, startled to see her friend suddenly seated beside her, “I’m going away!”

  “Do you mean,” said Miss Goering, “that you are leaving this party?”

  “No, I am going on a trip. Wait until I tell you about it. It’s terrible.”

  Miss Goering noticed that Mrs. Copperfield’s eyes were brighter than usual. “What is wrong, little Mrs. Copperfield?” she asked, rising from her seat and looking around the room with a bright smile on her face.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Copperfield, “that you wouldn’t want to hear about it. You can’t possibly have any respect for me, but that doesn’t make any difference because I have the utmost respect for you. I heard my husband say that you had a religious nature one day, and we almost had a very bad fight. Of course he is crazy to say that. You are gloriously unpredictable and you are afraid of no one but yourself. I hate religion in other people.”

  Miss Goering neglected to answer Mrs. Copperfield because for the last second or two she had been staring at a stout dark-haired man who was walking heavily across the room in their direction. As he came nearer, she saw that he had a pleasant face with wide jowls that protruded on either side but did not hang down as they do on most obese persons. He was dressed in a blue business suit.

  “May I sit beside you?” he asked them. “I have met this young lady before,” he said, shaking hands with Mrs. Copperfield, “but I am afraid that I have not yet met her friend.” He turned and nodded to Miss Goering.

  Mrs. Copperfield was so annoyed at the interruption that she neglected to introduce Miss Goering to the gentleman. He drew up a chair next to Miss Goering’s and looked at her.

  “I have just come from a most wonderful dinner,” he said to her, “moderate in price, but served with care and excellently prepared. If it would interest you I can write down the name of the little restaurant for you.”

  He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a leather billfold. He found only one slip of paper which was not already covered with addresses.

  “I will write this down for you,” he said to Miss Goering. “Undoubtedly you will be seeing Mrs. Copperfield and then you can pass the information on to her, or perhaps she can telephone to you.”

  Miss Goering took the slip of paper in her hand and looked carefully at the writing.

  He had not written down the name of a restaurant at all; instead he had asked Miss Goering to consent to go home with him later to his apartment. This pleased her greatly as she was usually delighted to stay out as late as possible once she had left her home.

  She looked up at the man, whose face was now inscrutable. He sipped his drink with calm, and looked around the room like someone who has finally brought a business conversation to a close. However, there were some sweat beads on his forehead.

  Mrs. Copperfield stared at him with distaste, but Miss Goering’s face suddenly brightened. “Let me tell you,” she said to them, “about a strange experience I had this morning. Sit still, little Mrs. Copperfield, and listen to me.” Mrs. Copperfield looked up at Miss Goering and took her friend’s hand in her own.

  “I stayed in town with my sister Sophie last night,” said Miss Goering, “and this morning I was standing in front of the window drinking a cup of coffee. The building next to Sophie’s house is being torn down. I believe that they are intending to put an apartment house in its place. It was not only extremely windy this morning, but it was raining intermittently. From my window I could see into the rooms of this building, as the wall opposite me had already been torn
down. The rooms were still partially furnished, and I stood looking at them, watching the rain spatter the wallpaper. The wallpaper was flowered and already covered with dark spots, which were growing larger.”

  “How amusing,” said Mrs. Copperfield, “or perhaps it was depressing.”

  “I finally felt rather sad watching this and I was about to go away when a man came into one of these rooms and, walking deliberately over to the bed, took up a coverlet which he folded under his arm. It was undoubtedly a personal possession which he had neglected to pack and had just now returned to fetch. Then he walked around the room aimlessly for a bit and finally he stood at the very edge of his room looking down into the yard with his arms akimbo. I could see him more clearly now, and I could easily tell that he was an artist. As he stood there, I was increasingly filled with horror, very much as though I were watching a scene in a nightmare.”

  At this point Miss Goering suddenly stood up.

  “Did he jump, Miss Goering?” Mrs. Copperfield asked with feeling.

  “No, he remained there for quite a while looking down into the courtyard with an expression of pleasant curiosity on his face.”

  “Amazing, Miss Goering,” said Mrs. Copperfield. “I do think it’s such an interesting story, really, but it has quite scared me out of my wits and I shouldn’t enjoy hearing another one like it.” She had scarcely finished her sentence when she heard her husband say:

  “We will go to Panama and linger there awhile before we penetrate into the interior.” Mrs. Copperfield pressed Miss Goering’s hand.

  “I don’t think I can bear it,” she said. “Really, Miss Goering, it frightens me so much to go.”

  “I would go anyway,” said Miss Goering.

  Mrs. Copperfield jumped off the arm of the chair and ran into the library. She locked the door behind her carefully and then she fell in a little heap on the sofa and sobbed bitterly. When she had stopped crying she powdered her nose, seated herself on the window-sill, and looked down into the dark garden below.

  An hour or two later Arnold, the stout man in the blue suit, was still talking to Miss Goering. He suggested to her that they leave the party and go to his own house. “I think that we will have a much nicer time there,” he said to her. “There will be less noise and we will be able to talk more freely.”

  As yet Miss Goering had no desire at all to leave, she enjoyed so much being in a room full of people, but she did not quite know how to get out of accepting his invitation.

  “Certainly,” she said, “let’s be on our way.” They rose and left the room together in silence.

  “Don’t say anything to Anna about our leaving,” Arnold told Miss Goering. “It will only cause a commotion. I promise you I’ll send some sweets to her tomorrow, or some flowers.” He pressed Miss Goering’s hand and smiled at her. She was not sure that she did not find him a bit too familiar.

  * * *

  After leaving Anna’s party, Arnold walked awhile with Miss Goering and then hailed a cab. The road to his home led through many dark and deserted streets. Miss Goering was so nervous and hysterical about this that Arnold was alarmed.

  “I always think,” said Miss Goering, “that the driver is only waiting for the passengers to become absorbed in conversation in order to shoot down some street, to an inaccessible and lonely place where he will either torture or murder them. I am certain that most people feel the same way about it that I do, but they have the good taste not to mention it.”

  “Since you live so far out of town,” said Arnold, “why don’t you spend the night at my house? We have an extra bedroom.”

  “I probably shall,” said Miss Goering, “although it is against my entire code, but then, I have never even begun to use my code, although I judge everything by it.” Miss Goering looked a little morose after having said this and they drove on in silence until they reached their destination.

  Arnold’s flat was on the second floor. He opened the door and they walked into a room lined to the ceiling with bookshelves. The couch had been made up and Arnold’s slippers were lying on the rug beside it. The furniture was heavy and some small Oriental rugs were scattered here and there.

  “I sleep in here,” said Arnold, “and my mother and father occupy the bedroom. We have a small kitchen, but generally we prefer to eat out. There is another tiny bedroom, originally intended for a maid’s room, but I would rather sleep in here and let my eye wander from book to book; books are a great solace to me.” He sighed heavily and laid both his hands on Miss Goering’s shoulders. “You see, my dear lady,” he said, “I’m not exactly doing the kind of thing that I would like to do.… I’m in the real-estate business.”

  “What is it that you would like to do?” asked Miss Goering, looking weary and indifferent.

  “Something, naturally,” said Arnold, “in the book line, or in the painting line.”

  “And you can’t?”

  “No,” said Arnold, “my family doesn’t believe that such an occupation is serious, and since I must earn my living and pay for my share of this flat, I have been obliged to accept a post in my uncle’s office, where I must say I very quickly have become his prize salesman. In the evenings, however, I have plenty of time to move among people who have nothing to do with real estate. As a matter of fact, they think very little about earning money at all. Naturally, these people are interested in having enough to eat. Even though I am thirty-nine years old I still am hoping very seriously that I will be able to make a definite break with my family. I do not see life through the same pair of eyes that they do. And I feel more and more that my life here with them is becoming insupportable in spite of the fact that I am free to entertain whom I please since I pay for part of the upkeep of the flat.”

  He sat down on the couch and rubbed his eyes with his hands.

  “You’ll forgive me, Miss Goering, but I’m feeling very sleepy suddenly. I’m sure the feeling will go away.”

  Miss Goering’s drinks were wearing off and she thought it high time that she got back to Miss Gamelon, but she had not the courage to ride all the way out to her home by herself.

  “Well, I suppose this is a great disappointment to you,” said Arnold, “but you see I have fallen in love with you. I wanted to bring you here and tell you about my whole life, but now I don’t feel like talking about anything.”

  “Perhaps some other time you’ll tell me about your life,” said Miss Goering, beginning to walk up and down very quickly. She stopped and turned towards him. “What do you advise me to do?” she asked him. “Do you advise me to go home or stay here?”

  Arnold studied his watch. “Stay here by all means,” he said.

  Just then Arnold’s father came in, wearing a lounging-robe and carrying a cup of coffee in his hand. He was very slender and he wore a small pointed beard. He was a more distinguished figure than Arnold.

  “Good evening, Arnold,” said his father. “Will you introduce me, please, to this young lady?”

  Arnold introduced them and then his father asked Miss Goering why she did not take off her cloak.

  “As long as you are up so late at night,” he said, “and not enjoying the comfort and the security of your own bed, you might as well be at ease. Arnold, my son, never thinks of things like this.” He took Miss Goering’s cloak off and complimented her on her lovely dress.

  “Now tell me where you have been and what you have done. I myself don’t go out in society, being content with the company of my wife and son.”

  Arnold shrugged his shoulders and pretended to look absently around the room. But any person even a little observant could have seen that his face was decidedly hostile.

  “Now tell me about this party,” said Arnold’s father adjusting the scarf that he was wearing around his neck. “You tell me.” He pointed at Miss Goering, who was beginning to feel much gayer already. She had instantly preferred Arnold’s father to Arnold himself.

  “I’ll tell you about it,” said Arnold. “There were many people ther
e, the majority of whom were creative artists, some successful and rich, others rich simply because they had inherited money from some member of the family, and others with just barely enough to eat. None of these people, however, were interested in money as an objective but would have been content, all of them, with just enough to eat.”

  “Like wild animals,” said his father, rising to his feet. “Like wolves! What separates a man from a wolf if it is not that a man wants to make a profit?”

  Miss Goering laughed until the tears streamed down her face. Arnold took some magazines from the table and began looking through them very quickly.

  Just then Arnold’s mother came into the room carrying in one hand a plate heaped with cakes and in the other a cup of coffee.

  She was dowdy and unimpressive and of very much the same build as Arnold. She was wearing a pink wrapper.

  “Welcome,” said Miss Goering to Arnold’s mother. “May I have a piece of your cake?”

  Arnold’s mother, who was a very gauche woman, did not offer Miss Goering any of the cake; instead, hugging the platter close to her, she said to Miss Goering: “Have you known Arnold for long?”

  “No, I met your son tonight, at a party.”

  “Well,” said Arnold’s mother, putting the tray down and sitting on the sofa, “I guess that isn’t long, is it?”

  Arnold’s father was annoyed with his wife and showed it plainly in his face.

  “I hate that pink wrapper,” he said.

  “Why do you talk about that now when there is company?”

  “Because the company doesn’t make the wrapper look any different.” He winked broadly at Miss Goering and then burst out laughing. Miss Goering again laughed heartily at his remark. Arnold was even glummer than he had been a moment before.

  “Miss Goering,” said Arnold, “was afraid to go home alone, so I told her that she was welcome to sleep in the extra room. Although the bed isn’t very comfortable in there, I think that she will at least have privacy.”

  “And why,” said Arnold’s father, “was Miss Goering afraid to go home alone?”