Harriet the Spy

by Louise Fitzhugh

  “NO,” said Harriet in an exasperated way, “I mean, what does it feel like when you meet the person you’re going to marry?”

  “Well, dear, you don’t know it—then, I mean.…”

  “Well… well, when do you know it?”

  Mrs. Welsch turned around slowly and looked at Harriet. Her eyes were warm and she had a curious little smile on her face. “Are you considering it?”

  “What?”

  “Marriage.”

  “ME?” Harriet jumped up. Really, she thought, adults are getting sillier every year. “I’m only eleven.”

  “I just wondered,” said Mrs. Welsch in a bemused voice. “You seem so worried.”

  “I’m not worried.” Harriet squirmed around. What am I? she wondered. Just curious. “I just wondered what it felt like,” she said, sulking slightly.

  “Well”—Mrs. Welsch stopped putting on make-up and looked at her reflection with distant eyes—“I imagine it’s different for everyone. I felt… I felt your father was the best-looking man I’d ever seen. The fact that he threw up made me want to laugh inside instead of being absolutely furious, which is what I would have felt with anyone else. And the next night when he wasn’t in the dining room, I wondered if he was feeling dreadful and I toyed with the idea of finding out.” She went back to her make-up in a businesslike way. “I haven’t the faintest idea what anyone else feels.”

  My mother, thought Harriet, doesn’t think about other people much. “If Sport threw up on me, I’d bash his teeth in,” Harriet said cheerfully.

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, yes, I would.”

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Welsch playfully and turned around and tickled Harriet’s stomach. Harriet giggled and fell off the chair. Mrs. Welsch got up and went to the closet. As she was putting her dress over her head she said through the cloth, “We’ve got a long way to go before you start thinking about things like marriage”—her head appeared—“thank God,” she said as she pulled the dress down.

  “I may not even get married,” said Harriet dreamily from the floor where she lay stretched out, arms and legs wide. “I may go to Europe and meet a lot of generals.”

  “What?” asked Mrs. Welsch absent-mindedly.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Harriet.

  Mr. Welsch appeared in the doorway. “Good Lord, you’re not half ready,” he said in a very irritated way, twitching his cuffs.

  Harriet looked at her father in his tuxedo. Was he handsome? She thought to herself that she had never seen him throw up, so she didn’t know what he would look like doing that, but maybe everybody looked the same doing that. She had seen Janie throw up once when they went to see a movie about a gorilla and Janie ate four candy bars and three bags of popcorn. It was awful.

  “Why don’t you go and get the car out, darling? I’ll be right there.” Mrs. Welsch was flying around the room looking for things.

  Mr. Welsch was in a terrible grump. “All right,” he said peevishly. Then in a rather stiff, formal way he said, “Good night, Harriet. Go to bed on time. Be a good girl. Don’t make any trouble for Miss Golly.”

  “She’s not here.” Harriet sat up.

  “No, dear, the cook; it’s Thursday. Now, go get the car.”

  “Oh, ALL RIGHT,” said Mr. Welsch and stormed out the door.

  “Well,” said Harriet. She could already feel the empty house descending around her ears.

  She dragged her feet around, making patterns in the rug until Mrs. Welsch was ready and going past her through the door, leaving a trail of perfume behind her. She followed her mother downstairs and at the front door suffered herself to be kissed.

  “Now be a good girl—”

  “I know, and don’t make any trouble and go to bed and don’t read under the covers,” Harriet said nastily.

  Mrs. Welsch laughed, kissed Harriet again, and pinched her cheek. “That’s right, dear, and have a nice evening.” And she sailed out the door.

  That’s a new one, thought Harriet. She got her book and clumped down the steps to the kitchen. The cook sat reading the Journal. “Oh, boy,” said Harriet and sat down at the table.

  “Ready for your dinner?” murmured the cook.

  “YES!” Harriet shouted as loud as she could. The silence upstairs was deafening.

  Harriet tried to stay awake until Ole Golly came in, but she couldn’t. So the next afternoon, after school, she went to Ole Golly’s room even before she went to the kitchen. Harriet had to be dreadfully curious to break routine in this way. She cornered Ole Golly in as casual a way as possible, standing in the doorway to block Ole Golly’s descent to her tea.

  “Well, what’s this? Have you had your cake so soon?” Ole Golly smiled at her.

  “No. Not yet. Uh, did you have a good time?” Harriet tried to sound indifferent.

  “What? Oh, yesterday you mean? Yes, a lovely time.” Ole Golly smiled quite broadly.

  “You DID?” Harriet was astonished.

  “Well, of course, why not? I went to a fascinating movie and had a very good dinner beforehand…” Ole Golly started down the steps.

  “What did you eat?” asked Harriet, leaning over the banister.

  “A new kind of wurst I’d never had before, quite good, and good potatoes. Yes, it was a lovely evening.” And Ole Golly disappeared around the bend.

  Harriet stood there a minute thinking. Then she went slowly to her room. She felt the urgent need to make a few notes before she went downstairs.

  THERE IS MORE TO THIS THING OF LOVE THAN MEETS THE EYE. I AM GOING TO HAVE TO THINK ABOUT THIS A GREAT DEAL BUT I DON’T THINK IT WILL GET ME ANYWHERE. I THINK MAYBE THEY’RE ALL RIGHT WHEN THEY SAY THERE ARE SOME THINGS I WON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT UNTIL I’M OLDER. BUT IF IT MAKES YOU LIKE TO EAT ALL KINDS OF WURST I’M NOT SURE I’M GOING TO LIKE THIS.

  She slammed her notebook and went downstairs.

  That night, while she and Ole Golly were watching a movie on television and playing checkers at the same time, Harriet, thinking of Harrison Withers, said to Ole Golly, “If people are alone all the time, I feel sorry for them.”

  “‘That inward eye which is the bliss of solitude,”’ said Ole Golly calmly.

  “What?”

  “Wordsworth. ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.”’

  “Well, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Feel sorry for them?”

  “‘How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude’!”

  “What?”

  “William Cowper. ‘Retirement.”’

  “Ole Golly,” Harriet said loudly, “are you trying to say something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what, then?”

  “‘Solitude, the safeguard of mediocrity, is to genius the stern friend’!”

  “WHAT?” Harriet screamed with exasperation.

  “Emerson. ‘Conduct of Life.”’

  “OLE GOLLY”—Harriet stood up. She was really furious—“do you or don’t you feel sorry for people who are alone?”

  “No,” said Ole Golly, looking up quizzically at Harriet. “No, I don’t.”

  “Oh,” said Harriet and sat down. “I do.”

  “‘This above all: to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.”’

  Sometimes, Harriet thought, I wish she would just shut up.

  CHAPTER

  Six

  On the next Saturday night Mr. and Mrs. Welsch were going to a very big party. They had been talking about it for days, and when they were getting ready to go out they were all in a fluster. Mr. Welsch was put out because he had to wear white tie and tails and couldn’t find anything—like studs and things. Mrs. Welsch’s dress narrowly missed not getting back from the cleaners in time, and altogether almost everything went wrong. By the time they left they were in a state of high grumpiness and Harriet was glad to see them go. Ole Golly entertained herself usually on nights like this by making
some new recipe, like Lobster Thermidor or choucroute garnie, anything that neither she nor Harriet had ever tasted before. This Saturday, however, Ole Golly seemed in a funny mood.

  Harriet bounced into the kitchen, saying, “Well? What are we having?” and Ole Golly just looked at her as though she had never made a new dish in her life.

  “Uh, I got some club steaks, asparagus, and we’ll have a baked potato. You like asparagus, don’t you?” She said all this as though she weren’t listening to herself.

  This was really strange. Harriet felt nervous. Ole Golly knew perfectly well everything Harriet liked and didn’t like. Besides, she happened to love asparagus. Harriet sat down at the table and looked closely at Ole Golly. She didn’t even answer the question about asparagus, as she really didn’t see any need to. Ole Golly was checking the potatoes which were baking in the oven.

  “What are we going to do tonight?” Harriet asked tentatively.

  “What?” asked Ole Golly.

  “Ole Golly, what’s the matter with you? I said, what are we going to do tonight?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Harriet, I didn’t hear. I was thinking of something else.” Ole Golly, Harriet could tell, was deliberately making her face bright and cheery because she didn’t want Harriet to ask her what the matter was. “I thought we might sit down here in the kitchen and play a game of checkers.”

  “In the kitchen? But we always watch television when we play checkers. You said that both things were boring by themselves but if we did them together at least your mind was occupied a little.”

  “Yes,” said Ole Golly and took the asparagus out of the freezer.

  “Well! What do you mean, then, ‘sit down here and play checkers’? There isn’t any television down here.” Harriet felt as if she were talking to a child.

  “Well, I just thought, for a change, you know, we’d sit down here.” Ole Golly kept her back turned to Harriet.

  The buzzer on the service entrance rang.

  “My, I wonder who that could be?” Ole Golly said in a light, strange voice and rushed so hard to the door she almost knocked over a chair.

  Harriet stared in amazement as Ole Golly threw the door open to reveal Mr. Waldenstein, all dressed up in a good suit with a bunch of roses in his hand.

  “Why, Mr. Waldenstein,” said Ole Golly. She knew, thought Harriet, all the time.

  “Good evening, Miss Golly, so very nice of you to invite me to dine with you, and…”—he looked at Harriet who shot him an outraged look—“and with your charming ward.” He was obviously planning to say more, but Harriet was sending so many nasty looks in his direction that he stammered a bit and stopped.

  Ole Golly took his arm and led him to the table. “Harriet,” she said in the same strained voice, “this is Mr. George Waldenstein. Mr. Waldenstein, this is Miss Harriet M. Welsch.”

  Well, thought Harriet, at least she remembered the M! Harriet stood up automatically and shook hands with Mr. Waldenstein, who beamed all over his shiny clean face. His mustache glistened in the light and his shirt front was so white it was almost blinding.

  “Well,” said Ole Golly, “do sit down.”

  Harriet and Mr. Waldenstein sat down. Then nobody knew what to do. Harriet looked at the ceiling. Mr. Waldenstein smiled at Ole Golly, and Ole Golly hopped around the kitchen nervously. “Well, Mr. Waldenstein…” Ole Golly began, but Mr. Waldenstein held up his hand in protest.

  “George… please.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Ole Golly, giggling in a way that Harriet had never heard before and instantly hated. “George, then, would you like a drink?”

  “No. I never take anything. Thank you very much though, Catherine.”

  Ole Golly seemed pleased with this answer. Harriet stopped looking at the ceiling and looked at Ole Golly. I wonder, she thought, why that fat ole Mrs. Golly named her Catherine. I have never thought about her being named Catherine or about her being a little girl and going to school and being called Catherine. I wonder what she looked like as a little girl. Even though Harriet tried her best she couldn’t for the life of her imagine that big nose on a little girl.

  Harriet discovered suddenly that Mr. Waldenstein had been staring at her steadily for some time. She decided to stare him down. He looked back at her with such a look of innocent pleasure that she was disconcerted. He looked as though he were thinking about her. Although she hated to admit it, there was a look of intelligence in his eyes. He leaned toward her.

  “I think we have a friend in common, Harriet.”

  Uh-oh, thought Harriet, he’s trying to make friends.

  “Who’s that?” she said in a very unconcerned way.

  “Little Joe Curry,” Mr. Waldenstein said simply, then beamed in obvious pleasure at this feat of his.

  “Really?” Harriet was very surprised.

  “Yes, Little Joe and I are in the same business, you know, and he and I had a talk wherein we discovered that we knew the same charming little girl.”

  Oh, thought Harriet, if adults would only learn how obvious they are.

  “He says that he has seen you many times on his delivery trips,” continued Mr. Waldenstein.

  “He certainly eats a lot.”

  “Does he? Yes, I imagine he would. He is a growing boy.”

  “Well… he hasn’t seen me anyplace else, has he?”

  “What do you mean, anyplace else?”

  “Anyplace else, that’s all.”

  “He sees you walking home from school.”

  “Oh.” Harriet felt relief. She sat looking at the table top. Somehow she felt that now she was equally responsible for keeping this limping conversation on its feet and this irritated her.

  “Little Joe Curry is a profound enigma to me, Catherine.” Mr. Waldenstein leaned back expansively, obviously feeling that he had conquered the enemy and could now relax. “He has no other ambition than to be a delivery boy. After all, to me this makes very little sense.”

  “That’s because you have known another life,” said Ole Golly and smiled at him.

  Harriet wondered what other life Mr. Waldenstein had known.

  “Yes,” he said, turning to Harriet, “it is one thing to come to this the way I have, to give myself time to think, and another thing to just be this all your life and never want more. I had a big business, you see, Harriet. Once long ago I had a very big business. I was a jeweler. I made a lot of money. I had a wife and a son, and my wife went to Florida every year with my son. I had a lot of money and I was the most miserable man alive.” He looked at Harriet as though he expected absolution. She said nothing at all but looked straight at him. “I had a terrible ulcer, terrible pains every time I ate or drank. Life was worth nothing. It was so much dust in my hands. And then…” Mr. Waldenstein looked off into space as though he had forgotten what he was going to say.

  “Life is very strange,” said Ole Golly gently. This was one of her favorite expressions, and hearing it, Harriet felt somehow reassured.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Waldenstein and then, having recovered himself, he continued. “I saw that life was going to be dust if I kept it up, always dust, nothing more. And so I told my wife to take all the money and my son too. I told her that if she wanted to come with me and start over she could. But she didn’t.” A harshness crept into his voice. “She didn’t. Well, that was her choice. We all make choices.”

  “Every minute of every day,” Ole Golly intoned.

  “And so I became a delivery boy. And suddenly life was sweet.” Mr. Waldenstein let out a ringing little laugh, the laugh of a happy child.

  “Well,” said Harriet, because she could think of nothing else.

  “It must have taken a lot of courage,” said Ole Golly, bending over the stove.

  “No,” said Mr. Waldenstein, “—desperation.”

  Suddenly Harriet liked him. She couldn’t think why, but she did.

  “And now…”—he had a funny, shy smile on his face—“now I have some news. I have been thinking about two li
ving as one.… I have some good news. I am promoted to cashier. I start next week.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful!” Ole Golly turned with a big smile, and Harriet saw with surprise that there were tears glistening at the corner of her eyes. “Isn’t that wonderful, Harriet? We must celebrate.”

  “I should think it would be more fun riding the bike than all those numbers,” said Harriet.

  Mr. Waldenstein threw back his head and laughed. “And I have thought as you, Harriet, all this time. I needed that time”—he considered a second—“but now, now I have had my time to think. I know that it will never be dust again. Never. And so I can work harder, and climb a little, and have a little more”—he held up his hand—“not much more, but a little, because I have… I have myself now. I know the value… the value of things.” He tried desperately to express himself.

  “Well,” said Harriet again.

  “Well, now,” said Ole Golly. “How about some dinner now?” and she began putting dinner on the table.

  Mr. Waldenstein watched her warmly, appreciatively. When she had finished and they were all eating, he said, “I would like to suggest a celebration. I would like to suggest taking you two charming ladies to the cinema,” and he smiled sweetly at both of them.

  “Oh, no, we couldn’t do that.” Ole Golly looked very stern.

  “Why not, why not? Come on, Ole Golly, let’s go.” Harriet wanted suddenly, desperately to go. She felt Mr. Waldenstein deserved something, and besides she never got to go to the movies.

  “Oh, no,” said Ole Golly, “out of the question.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mr. Waldenstein. “And why is that, Catherine?”

  “Why, it’s obvious! I have my work too, Mr. Wal—George, and I am here with my charge for the evening. I must stay here. It would never do.”

  “Oh, of course, what a pity.” Mr. Waldenstein looked terribly sad.

  “But Ole Golly, they won’t be in till late. You know that. When Daddy wears a white tie they’re never in until real late. You told me that.” Harriet felt prepared to beg all night.

  “After all, Catherine, no harm is done by it. Perhaps for once.…” He smiled so sweetly. “And it would give me such pleasure.”