The Small Rain

by Madeleine L'engle

  “You know he’d never think that.” But Sarah had learned it was best not to argue.

  “It would be better if I didn’t say anything. But I just go on and on, talking nonsense. Now where am I? I was talking about us.”

  “I love the way you wander,” Sarah said.

  “I don’t. Where was I? Oh, yes. Me being confused since I’ve known you. We’ve talked so much, Sarah, about everything under the sun. And when you put something into words, it leads to so many other thoughts. And I don’t believe in God the way I did—”

  “Oh, Kat, you shouldn’t let what that boy said make so much difference.”

  “It isn’t Charlot’s fault. The way I believed before, just sort of blindly, wasn’t really good. It was bound to change. It’s just that not having it all definite and comfortable is sort of frightening. Stop rubbing me. You’re tired.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. So stop.” Sarah rubbed a moment longer, then sat down on the floor and leaned against the piano. Katherine put her elbows down on the piano keys, cupped her chin in her hands, and went on talking. “I do wish I believed in God still. It’s not that I don’t believe in Him, Sarah. It’s just that I don’t know. Remember what you said to me last week? Nothing is certain, except that nothing is certain. I keep thinking about that …” She paused. After a while she asked, “Isn’t Pen Deerenforth mad because we’ve been seeing so much of each other? You were her friend when you first came.”

  “No. She likes you, too. Everybody does, now. They just didn’t know you before. I’ve talked a lot to Penny about you.”

  “I think Penny must be a lot nicer than I am,” Katherine said slowly. “If I were Penny, I wouldn’t like me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I just wouldn’t.”

  There was a knock at the door and Sarah said, “Come in.”

  Penelope Deerenforth opened the door a crack, stuck her head in, and peered near sightedly through her glasses, then came in all the way and shut the door. “I thought I’d find you two here. Hello.”

  “Talk of the devil,” Sarah grinned.

  “Were you?” Pen asked.

  “Um-hum.”

  “What were you saying?” Pen’s face lit up with immediate interest.

  “He has cloven hoofs,” Katherine said, “and a long tail, and a face just like yours.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Sarah said.

  “What I really wanted to ask you,” Pen plunked herself on the window seat, “is, does either of you want to go to the cinema tonight?”

  “To the cinema!” Katherine and Sarah spoke at once.

  “Yes. There’s some sort of educational thing in Montreux, and Val’s arranged for any of the upper school who want to, to go. I’m supposed to get names.”

  “Oh, gorgeous. Let’s go. Educational or not, it’s the nearest thing to professional theater we’ll get here, even if it’s illegitimate. O.K., Kat?” Sarah asked.

  “I ought to practice.”

  Pen pushed up her steel-rimmed glasses, which always slipped down her nose. “Forget your career for once. Come along and have some fun. Besides, it’ll be good for Sarah, and we won’t have another chance to go to Montreux till half-term.”

  “Well—” Katherine rubbed her finger against the music rack. “All right.”

  Pen suddenly began to laugh. “Oh, did you hear Sheila’s latest?”

  “What?”

  “She thinks the street-walking scene from Macbeth is wonderful.”

  Both Katherine and Sarah groaned.

  “Speaking of street-walking,” Pen said, “I was wandering around in my sleep again last night, and woke up in the middle of Miss Halsey’s room! Isn’t that a riot! Thank heaven I didn’t wake her. She was snoring like a log. Wouldn’t you know Halsey’d snore! So I just got back to my own bed as quickly as possible. I was sure I’d wake you or Ginny, Kat, but you were sleeping like logs, too. You weren’t snoring, at any rate, thank goodness. One night I found myself crouching out on the balcony like an animal in a cage. Oh, and another thing I came up to ask—I don’t suppose one of you wants to come down to the common room and make a fourth at bridge?”

  “Not me, thanks.” Katherine was definite.

  “Sarah?”

  “No …” Sarah said. “I guess not.”

  “Oh, come along.”

  “Unh-unh. I’m too comfy here.”

  “Well, I guess Sheila’s in luck, then. Oh, Elkes is taking us tonight, thank heaven, not Halsey or Anderson. Kat, what have you done to make Halsey hate you so?”

  “I argue too much.”

  “Yes, you certainly do. My Aunt, Sarah, you missed something, having to go to the dentist Friday. You should have heard Kat pitch into Halsey about Don Quixote. I bet she flunks you for that, Kat.”

  “I bet she does, too,” Katherine said.

  “You should be more careful. Honestly you should.” Pen took off her glasses, spat on them, wiped them on her blue serge uniform, put them back on, took them off again, and wiped them on her slip.

  “Here.” Katherine handed her a handkerchief. “I haven’t much respect for anyone who’s as poor a teacher as she is.”

  “No one’s ever failed a certificate exam from one of her classes,” Pen said, putting on her glasses and giving the handkerchief back to Katherine.

  “Maybe that doesn’t mean so much.”

  From far down the passage Sheila’s shrill voice could be heard calling. “Pen! Penny Deerenforth!”

  “For heaven’s sake go downstairs, Penny, before she comes in here.” Sarah pushed Pen toward the door.

  “O.K. See you later. You missed a good tea this afternoon. Chocolate blob cake. ’Bye.” And Pen went out.

  “Sarah,” Katherine said.

  “What?”

  “Look. Tonight after supper I won’t go to Montreux. I’d really better go over to Justin’s studio and practice. I mean, if he’s really been wonderful enough to let me use his studio at night I ought to take advantage of it. And I haven’t practiced nearly enough this week.”

  “You practiced four hours this afternoon.”

  “I wasn’t practicing. I was just fooling around.”

  “When’s your next lesson?”

  “Monday.”

  “Well, O.K., if you really think you should.”

  “I do.”

  “Did you give the handkerchief back to him last time?”

  “Yes. I hated to. It would have been something of his really to keep. It was such a lovely one, too. The one he used the very first time I saw him. The white silk one with the blue border.”

  “Why didn’t you keep it? He probably wouldn’t have remembered.”

  Katherine looked down at the keyboard. “I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Katherine began to do a finger exercise on three notes. “I just couldn’t.”

  “You never told me why you had it,” Sarah said.

  “I got something in my eye on the way over to the studio. Remember how windy it was last Monday? And he took it out for me and he was so sweet and he put his arm around me and … You know, Sarah … it’s funny … but when I gave him the handkerchief right after my lesson on Thursday … and left the studio and started to walk back to school … I felt … I felt the same way I felt when … when I stood in the cemetery and watched Mother being lowered into her grave … just as lost …”

  “Katherine!”

  “I know it sounds awful. But that’s the way I felt, Sarah. I’d been so stupid during the lesson. Not about the music, just me. And I felt, Oh, God, it’ll just go on forever, me being such an idiot and Justin never knowing, and it had been so lovely to have the handkerchief to hold. It gave me strength and courage. I’m such a coward, Sarah.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. You’ll realize it someday, if you don’t now … Remember last Sunday, when I talked to y
ou a little bit about Mother and you cried?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve been able to talk about Mother, and I’m so glad I did, because now it’s easier for me to think about her. I can think now and it doesn’t hurt quite so much. You know, Sarah, after I’d given Justin back the handkerchief, I remembered so clearly that afternoon at the cemetery—the sun shining so hard that it hurt—and those awful hypocritical men in black who were bossing everything and looking as if they felt so important—and that awful oblong hole in the ground with the loose dirt piled on one side—and Sarah, it smelled just the way our garden at Smith smelled in the spring when Mother was out in it, planting—Mother had green fingers—and it was so awful to have the most—the most final—thing about Mother’s death—smell like anything so alive as the garden in spring, with Mother planting the sweet peas—and all those awful people who didn’t give a damn about Mother and me, and they kept trying to make me cry—but I wouldn’t—and Sarah, there was a sort of canopy thing over the grave—I don’t know why—it certainly didn’t look like rain—and the canopy was striped—and gay—”

  “Oh, Katherine, it couldn’t have been striped.”

  “But it was. I’m sure it was. I remember it so horribly clearly—Sarah—you don’t mind my talking to you?”

  “Oh, darling.” Sarah’s mouth was trembling. “How could I mind?”

  “If I talk about it—if I put it into words—maybe it will stop eating my insides out—remembering it—you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  “Katherine.”

  “Oh, Sarah, you don’t know what it was like, watching her—she couldn’t breathe and she was struggling so—she wouldn’t give in—anybody else would have given in long before Mother did—and I couldn’t help her—there wasn’t anything I could do to help—there wasn’t anything at all—and I need her so—Oh, God, I need her so—” Suddenly she was choked with the sobs she had held back for so long, and she flung herself at Sarah and began to cry.

  Sarah was crying, too. She put her arms around Katherine and they sat there on the floor, rocking back and forth, and Sarah murmured over and over, “Oh, Katherine, Katherine darling—”

  Katherine’s sobs were tearing out of her, and they were so choking, so desperate, that she frightened Sarah. But after a moment she controlled herself. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to cry—it’s the first time I’ve cried—about Mother—I mean, really about Mother—since she died—I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t, please don’t,” Sarah said.

  “I shouldn’t have talked about it—I’ve never cried before—honestly—last Sunday afternoon in the château I didn’t cry—you did—remember—oh, please, please—I need help—I need help—”

  “Katherine, darling Katherine, don’t, don’t. Oh, Kat, don’t—”

  “I’ve stopped. I’ve stopped.”

  “Don’t stop if you don’t feel like it.”

  “I’ve stopped.” Katherine lay quietly with her head on Sarah’s lap. Sarah stroked her head and kissed her gently like a baby.

  “Kat, it’ll be all right, everything’ll be all right. Darling Kat, don’t hurt so.”

  There was a sharp knock on the door, and before they could answer, Miss Halsey entered briskly. Katherine jumped up and went to the window, turning her back on Miss Halsey and wiping her eyes with her hand.

  “Who is this?” Miss Halsey asked. “Sarah Courtmont and Katherine Forrester?”

  “Yes, Miss Halsey,” Sarah said.

  “What were you doing in here?”

  “Katherine was practicing.”

  “Really? It’s strange that I didn’t hear the sound of a piano and that you should both be sitting on the floor.”

  “I’d finished practicing,” Katherine said without turning.

  “Yes. I imagine you had.” Miss Halsey looked with irritation at Katherine’s back. “What were you doing?”

  “We were talking,” Sarah said.

  “What about?”

  Sarah paused a moment before she answered. “About Katherine’s mother.”

  “What about Katherine’s mother?” asked Miss Halsey, misinterpreting the pause.

  “Nothing,” Sarah said.

  “I’m sure it was nothing.”

  “I was telling Sarah how my mother died.” Katherine turned from the window and faced Miss Halsey. “Would you like me to repeat it to you?”

  “When did your mother die?” Miss Halsey asked, not ungently, her small cat-face turned slightly away.

  “Last April. The seventeenth.”

  “And that’s what you were telling Sarah about?” Again Miss Halsey’s voice was not ungentle.

  But Katherine’s voice was hard as she answered. “Yes. Did you want anything in my practice room, Miss Halsey?”

  “Your practice room?”

  “I’m signed for it from four to six on Saturday afternoon. I believe it’s not quite six now.”

  Miss Halsey shut her mouth very tightly and stood looking at them for a moment. Then she said sharply, “You will please go to your rooms, both of you, and wait.”

  “Certainly, Miss Halsey,” Katherine said. “Come along, Sarah.”

  “And you’re not to talk,” Miss Halsey added as they opened the door.

  Katherine turned. “You can’t treat us as if we were children forever, Miss Halsey.”

  “Hush, Kat. Come along.” Sarah took Katherine’s hand and drew her out.

  They walked down the corridor and down the stairs in silence. When they reached the room Sarah shared with Sheila, Katherine put her hand on the doorknob. Sarah said, “You’d better not come in with me.”

  “I’m coming.” Katherine set her lips.

  “You’d better go on down to your room.”

  “No,” Katherine said and went over to the window.

  “You shouldn’t have talked to Halsey like that. Now we’ll really get the devil.”

  “I know. But she makes me so mad, always snooping around.”

  “Kat, you let people upset you too much. Look at the way Sheila gets in your hair.”

  “I can’t bear that song she sings. I can’t bear it. About the worms crawling in and out of you when you’re dead.”

  “I’ll tell her not to.”

  “No, don’t. That would be worse. Her not singing it because of me. She’d be so noble about it. I’m sorry I yelled at Halsey, but she couldn’t have picked a worse moment to bounce in. I can’t bear people to see I’ve been crying.”

  “I don’t think she realized you had.”

  “I don’t see why she sent you to your room, too.” Katherine was rapping her fingers nervously against the window. “After all, I was the one who was rude to her.”

  “Oh, well, there’s no love lost between Halsey and me, either.”

  “Maybe, if I eat humble pie and apologize beautifully, she won’t do anything to us.”

  “It’d be worth trying for once, and for heaven’s sake, stop drumming on the window.”

  “I’ve had four deportment marks already this term. I don’t want another of those little sessions with Val.”

  “Do apologize, Kat. But I mean really. Not the way you usually do.”

  “I’ll be marvelous. You won’t know me.”

  “Hunh,” Sarah said.

  Katherine turned around and leaned against the window. “You know, I took Val at her word once and went to her study to try and talk things over.”

  “I made that mistake, too.”

  “She doesn’t listen to a word you say. She just gives you a lecture on ‘how to get on with people,’ shakes your hand, says she knows you’ll be happy and a credit to the school, and kicks you out of the study … I used to be able to talk to Mother about anything.”

  “I can’t talk to Mamma,” Sarah said. “If she thinks I’m unhappy, she gets so miserable herself I can’t bear it. She starts to cry and it’s awful. I just have to pretend everything’s wonderf
ul. And Daddy’s always so legal and learned, I can’t talk to him.”

  “Father’s so vague,” Katherine said. “He’s always lost in whatever he’s composing, or writing lectures, and I don’t like to bother him. And I adore Aunt Manya, but it would be sort of unfair to Father if I went to her instead.”

  “I wish Halsey’d hurry up and give us our bawling out and our deportment marks and get it over with,” Sarah said.

  Katherine flung herself down on Sheila’s bed. “I’m tired. I’m going to wait in comfort.”

  Sarah got up and wandered in turn over to the window. “Every time I talk about wanting to be an actress, Mamma cries and has fits. I wish I could get out of school and get off on my own. I hate to have it hanging over my head. I want to go back to America, because I don’t think Mamma’d leave Daddy in London and come after me, and I think there’s more future in the American theater. Let’s have an apartment together in New York.”

  “Let’s!” Katherine said, and Miss Halsey was completely forgotten, and she was happy and excited. “Oh, Sarah, let’s!”

  “But I want to meet your Aunt Manya first,” Sarah said.

  “Of course. The minute the Easter holidays begin. We’ll have the most marvelous time.”

  “What time is it now?” Sarah asked.

  Katherine looked at her mother’s watch. “Five of six.”

  “Sheila’ll be up to change for supper any minute now. She’s late.”

  “Doesn’t she get on your nerves, Sarah?”

  “Heavens, yes. She would if I let her. If Halsey doesn’t come before supper, I suppose we should wait.”

  “We didn’t have tea, and I have no intention of missing my supper.”

  “Katherine, you promised to be good.”

  “All right. All right. I forgot. I’ll be good.”

  The door burst open and Sheila shouted, “Hello, angels.”

  “Hello,” said Sarah.

  “If we’d been playing for money,” Sheila pulled her tunic over her head, talking through it in a muffled voice, “I’d have won ten shillings from Ginny and Pen Deerenforth.”

  “You’re quite the card shark, aren’t you,” Sarah said.

  “Halsey’s on the rampage about something. She stormed through the common room on her way to Val’s study like a typhoon.”

  Katherine and Sarah exchanged glances.