Great Short Stories by American Women (Dover Thrift Editions)

by Candace Ward

  It is not bad — at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met.

  In this damp weather it is awful, I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.

  It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house — to reach the smell.

  But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of the paper! A yellow smell.

  There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the mop-board. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even smooch, as if it had been rubbed over and over.

  I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for. Round and round and round — round and round and round — it makes me dizzy!

  I really have discovered something at last.

  Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have finally found out.

  The front pattern does move — and no wonder! The woman behind shakes it!

  Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over.

  Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.

  And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that pattern — it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads.

  They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside down, and makes their eyes white!

  If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so bad.

  I think that woman gets out in the daytime!

  And I’ll tell you why — privately — I’ve seen her!

  I can see her out of every one of my windows!

  It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight.

  I see her in that long shaded lane, creeping up and down. I see her in those dark grape arbors, creeping all around the garden.

  I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines.

  I don’t blame her a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight!

  I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I can’t do it at night, for I know John would suspect something at once.

  And John is so queer now, that I don’t want to irritate him. I wish he would take another room! Besides, I don’t want anybody to get that woman out at night but myself.

  I often wonder if I could see her out of all the windows at once.

  But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of one at one time.

  And though I always see her, she may be able to creep faster than I can turn!

  I have watched her sometimes away off in the open country, creeping as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind.

  If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one! I mean to try it, little by little.

  I have found out another funny thing, but I shan’t tell it this time! It does not do to trust people too much.

  There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe John is beginning to notice. I don’t like the look in his eyes.

  And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional questions about me. She had a very good report to give.

  She said I slept a good deal in the daytime.

  John knows I don’t sleep very well at night, for all I’m so quiet!

  He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and pretended to be very loving and kind.

  As if I couldn’t see through him!

  Still, I don’t wonder he acts so, sleeping under this paper for three months.

  It only interests me, but I feel sure John and Jennie are secretly affected by it.

  Hurrah! This is the last day, but it is enough. John is to stay in town over night, and won’t be out until this evening.

  Jennie wanted to sleep with me — the sly thing! but I told her I should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone.

  That was clever, for really I wasn’t alone a bit! As soon as it was moonlight and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern, I got up and ran to help her.

  I pulled and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and before morning we had peeled off yards of that paper.

  A strip about as high as my head and half around the room.

  And then when the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh at me, I declared I would finish it to-day!

  We go away to-morrow, and they are moving all my furniture down again to leave things as they were before.

  Jennie looked at the wall in amazement, but I told her merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.

  She laughed and said she wouldn’t mind doing it herself, but I must not get tired.

  How she betrayed herself that time!

  But I am here, and no person touches this paper but me, — not alive!

  She tried to get me out of the room — it was too patent! But I said it was so quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I would lie down again and sleep all I could; and not to wake me even for dinner — I would call when I woke.

  So now she is gone, and the servants are gone, and the things are gone, and there is nothing left but that great bedstead nailed down, with the canvas mattress we found on it.

  We shall sleep downstairs to-night, and take the boat home to-morrow.

  I quite enjoy the room, now it is bare again.

  How those children did tear about here!

  This bedstead is fairly gnawed!

  But I must get to work.

  I have locked the door and thrown the key down into the front path.

  I don’t want to go out, and I don’t want to have anybody come in, till John comes.

  I want to astonish him.

  I’ve got a rope up here that even Jennie did not find. If that woman does get out, and tries to get away, I can tie her!

  But I forgot I could not reach far without anything to stand on!

  This bed will not move!

  I tried to lift and push it until I was lame, and then I got so angry I bit off a little piece at one corner — but it hurt my teeth.

  Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach standing on the floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just shriek with derision!

  I am getting angry enough to do something desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try.

  Besides I wouldn’t do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued.

  I don’t like to look out of the windows even — there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast.

  I wonder if they all come out of that wall-paper as I did?

  But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden rope — you don’t get me out in the road there!

  I suppose I shall have to get back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard!

  It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and creep around as I please!

  I don’t want to go outside. I won’t, even if Jennie asks me to.

  For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green instead of yellow.

  But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way.

  Why there’s John at the door!

  It is no use, young man, you can’t open it!

  How he does call and pound!

  Now he’s crying for an axe.

  It would be a shame to break down that beautiful door!

  “John dear!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf!”

  That silenced him for a few moments.

&
nbsp; Then he said — very quietly indeed, “Open the door, my darling!”

  “I can’t,” said I. “The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!”

  And then I said it again, several times, very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door.

  “What is the matter?” he cried. “For God’s sake, what are you doing!”

  I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder.

  “I’ve got out at last,” said I, “in spite of you and Jane. And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!”

  Now why should that man have fainted? But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every time!

  Kate Chopin

  (1851—1904)

  KATE CHOPIN did not begin writing for publication until 1889, when she was 38 years old. The mother of six children, Chopin had been widowed six years earlier, when her husband died of swamp fever. The family was then living on a small plantation in Cloutierville, Louisiana, but after her husband’s death Chopin returned to St. Louis where she had grown up.

  Chopin’s own mother had been widowed at a young age, before Chopin was five years old. Raised in a household of strong women — her French-speaking great-grandmother, grandmother and mother — Chopin was well acquainted with the independent spirit that characterizes her fictional heroines. As with Jewett and Freeman, Chopin’s depth of psychological realism was often overlooked by those who regarded her as a regional colorist. Best known for her depictions of the Cajuns and Creoles of Louisiana, Chopin shocked critics with her novel The Awakening (1899), in which she frankly portrays one woman’s passions and sexual awakening. Edna Pontellier’s story scandalized reviewers who considered the novel immoral “poison.”

  Chopin wrote “The Storm” in 1898, while waiting for The Awakening to come out. Like the novel, the story deals openly with female sexuality. Calixta, a happily married woman, is nevertheless attracted to another man. Daring for its time, Chopin’s story ends happily for all the characters, and no disastrous consequences attend Calixta’s passionate encounter with Alcée.

  The harsh criticism that The Awakening received had such a negative influence on Chopin that she never published again. “The Storm” remained unpublished until it was included in The Complete Works of Kate Chopin (1969; ed. Per Seyersted).

  The Storm

  I

  THE LEAVES WERE so still that even Bibi thought it was going to rain. Bobinôt, who was accustomed to converse on terms of perfect equality with his little son, called the child’s attention to certain sombre clouds that were rolling with sinister intention from the west, accompanied by a sullen, threatening roar. They were at Friedheimer’s store and decided to remain there till the storm had passed. They sat within the door on two empty kegs. Bibi was four years old and looked very wise.

  “Mama’ll be ’fraid, yes,” he suggested with blinking eyes.

  “She’ll shut the house. Maybe she got Sylvie helpin’ her this evenin’,” Bobinôt responded reassuringly.

  “No; she ent got Sylvie. Sylvie was helpin’ her yistiday,” piped Bibi.

  Bobinôt arose and going across to the counter purchased a can of shrimps, of which Calixta was very fond. Then he returned to his perch on the keg and sat stolidly holding the can of shrimps while the storm burst. It shook the wooden store and seemed to be ripping great furrows in the distant field. Bibi laid his little hand on his father’s knee and was not afraid.

  II

  Calixta, at home, felt no uneasiness for their safety. She sat at a side window sewing furiously on a sewing machine. She was greatly occupied and did not notice the approaching storm. But she felt very warm and often stopped to mop her face on which the perspiration gathered in beads. She unfastened her white sacque at the throat. It began to grow dark, and suddenly realizing the situation she got up hurriedly and went about closing windows and doors.

  Out on the small front gallery she had hung Bobinôt’s Sunday clothes to air and she hastened out to gather them before the rain fell. As she stepped outside, Alcée Laballière rode in at the gate. She had not seen him very often since her marriage, and never alone. She stood there with Bobinôt’s coat in her hands, and the big rain drops began to fall. Alcée rode his horse under the shelter of a side projection where the chickens had huddled and there were plows and a harrow piled up in the corner.

  “May I come and wait on your gallery till the storm is over, Calixta?” he asked.

  “Come ‘long in, M’sieur Alcée.”

  His voice and her own startled her as if from a trance, and she seized Bobinôt’s vest. Alcée, mounting to the porch, grabbed the trousers and snatched Bibi’s braided jacket that was about to be carried away by a sudden gust of wind. He expressed an intention to remain outside, but it was soon apparent that he might as well have been out in the open: the water beat in upon the boards in driving sheets, and he went inside, closing the door after him. It was even necessary to put something beneath the door to keep the water out.

  “My! what a rain! It’s good two years sence it rain’ like that,” exclaimed Calixta as she rolled up a piece of bagging and Alcée helped her to thrust it beneath the crack.

  She was a little fuller of figure than five years before when she married; but she had lost nothing of her vivacity. Her blue eyes still retained their melting quality; and her yellow hair, dishevelled by the wind and rain, kinked more stubbornly than ever about her ears and temples.

  The rain beat upon the low, shingled roof with a force and clatter that threatened to break an entrance and deluge them there. They were in the dining room — the sitting room — the general utility room. Adjoining was her bed room, with Bibi’s couch along side her own. The door stood open, and the room with its white, monumental bed, its closed shutters, looked dim and mysterious.

  Alcée flung himself into a rocker and Calixta nervously began to gather up from the floor the lengths of a cotton sheet which she had been sewing.

  “If this keeps up, Dieu sait5 if the levees goin’ to stan’ it!” she exclaimed.

  “What have you got to do with the levees?”

  “I got enough to do! An’ there’s Bobinôt with Bibi out in that storm — if he only didn’ left Friedheimer’s!”

  “Let us hope, Calixta, that Bobinôt’s got sense enough to come in out of a cyclone.”

  She went and stood at the window with a greatly disturbed look on her face. She wiped the frame that was clouded with moisture. It was stiflingly hot. Alcée got up and joined her at the window, looking over her shoulder. The rain was coming down in sheets obscuring the view of far-off cabins and enveloping the distant wood in a gray mist. The playing of the lightning was incessant. A bolt struck a tall chinaberry tree at the edge of the field. It filled all visible space with a blinding glare and the crash seemed to invade the very boards they stood upon.

  Calixta put her hands to her eyes, and with a cry, staggered backward. Alcée’s arm encircled her, and for an instant he drew her close and spasmodically to him.

  “Bonté!”6 she cried, releasing herself from his encircling arm and retreating from the window, “the house’ll go next! If I only knew w’ere Bibi was!” She would not compose herself; she would not be seated. Alcée clasped her shoulders and looked into her face. The contact of her warm, palpitating body when he had unthinkingly drawn her into his arms, had aroused all the old-time infatuation and desire for her flesh.

  “Calixta,” he said, “don’t be frightened. Nothing can happen. The house is too low to be struck, with so many tall trees standing about. There! aren’t you going to be quiet? say, aren’t you?” He pushed her hair back from her face that was warm and steaming. Her lips were as red and moist as pomegranate seed. Her white neck and a glimpse of her full, firm bosom disturbed him powerfully. As she glanced up at him the fear in her liquid blue eyes had given place to a drowsy gleam
that unconsciously betrayed a sensuous desire. He looked down into her eyes and there was nothing for him to do but to gather her lips in a kiss. It reminded him of Assumption.

  “Do you remember — in Assumption, Calixta?” he asked in a low voice broken by passion. Oh! she remembered; for in Assumption he had kissed her and kissed and kissed her; until his senses would well nigh fail, and to save her he would resort to a desperate flight. If she was not an immaculate dove in those days, she was still inviolate; a passionate creature whose very defenselessness had made her defense, against which his honor forbade him to prevail. Now — well, now — her lips seemed in a manner free to be tasted, as well as her round, white throat and her whiter breasts.

  They did not heed the crashing torrents, and the roar of the elements made her laugh as she lay in his arms. She was a revelation in that dim, mysterious chamber; as white as the couch she lay upon. Her firm, elastic flesh that was knowing for the first time its birthright, was like a creamy lily that the sun invites to contribute its breath and perfume to the undying life of the world.

  The generous abundance of her passion, without guile or trickery, was like a white flame which penetrated and found response in depths of his own sensuous nature that had never yet been reached.

  When he touched her breasts they gave themselves up in quivering ecstasy, inviting his lips. Her mouth was a fountain of delight. And when he possessed her, they seemed to swoon together at the very borderland of life’s mystery.

  He stayed cushioned upon her, breathless, dazed, enervated, with his heart beating like a hammer upon her. With one hand she clasped his head, her lips lightly touching his forehead. The other hand stroked with a soothing rhythm his muscular shoulders.

  The growl of the thunder was distant and passing away. The rain beat softly upon the shingles, inviting them to drowsiness and sleep. But they dared not yield.

  The rain was over; and the sun was turning the glistening green world into a palace of gems. Calixta, on the gallery, watched Alcée ride away. He turned and smiled at her with a beaming face; and she lifted her pretty chin in the air and laughed aloud.