ONCE LET GO

New Zealand Listener, Volume 13, Issue 337, 7 December 1945, Page 12

ONCE LET GO

A SHORT STORY Written for "The Listener" by

AUDREY B.

KING

HEN she came into the. office and saw the little bunch of daphne on her desk, she stopped.and for a moment felt that sickening lurch again. Not daphne, she thought. Anything but daphne. Then she walked across the room, took off her hat and coat, smoothed her hair in front of the mirror, and went to her desk. "How nice," she murmured, and lifted the flowers to smell them, her other hand clutched to the back of her chair, steadying herself. "Did you bring it, Ena?" Ena nodded. "It’s the first we've picked this year." The scent had caught her up, inn her down to that day 30 years ago when she had worn some; sprigs of daphne, when the sun had unseasonably hot, when there had been cheering and tears and bitterness. She stood for a moment, living it all again. The waiting. Finally knowing that the man who had come to mean so much in her life. the man round

whom she had woven all the old tales of glamour and excitement, had gone and had no intention of coming back, at least to her. That was all. She shook herself free from the memory, brought heft mind back to the office, to the two watching girls, and to life as it now was, She put down the daphne, and slowly, deliberately, proceeded with the day’s work. " NA raised her eyebrows and the other girl, the girl who was young and redlipped and pert, shrugged her shoulders and whispered "Lot of thanks you get from her. Should have given it to me, I would have appreciated it." But Ena smiled uncertainly. "Don't you like daphne, Miss Spencer?" "Yes, Of course I do." "Well .... I thought perhaps you didn’t. I know some people don’t like certain flowers because they remind them of funerals, but daphne. ... Well, I don’t think it’s a funeral flower. ° It’s springy and more like weddings." Elizabeth Spencer stared unseeingly at the rows of figures before her. If I make my mind a complete blank. I’ve done it before. ... I’ve done it for 30 years, why not now? I’ve been through 30 springs, I’ve borne the smell of flowers before. . . . Now I’ve got to answer this girl, because she’s been kind and I’ve hurt her, She looked up and caught the bold eyes of that other one. "Miss Spencer mightn’t like weddings," the red mouth said. Ena made a gesture of protest. "But I do," the words were definite, "I do like them. And I do like daphne. I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful. I came here, full of the thought of this wretched balance, and I’m afraid I wasn’t really

thinking of the flowers. It was very kind of you to bring it, Ena." Would that be enough, or would those hard brown eyes of the other demand more? "Fancy arriving here thinking of an old balance." Miss SPENCER again looked at the black figures. It was far, far better to come thinking of work than to dwell on other thoughts which lately had tantalised her. Ever since Cynthia, this young girl, had come to the office, there had been this uneasiness. Ena was young and earnest and kind, but the other one had ° a forcefulness and energy that was more than youth. She was pretty and selfish. She overwhelmed one with her candour and her knowledge, but she was living. Her eyes held one’s own and said you poor old thing. What do you know about anything? God, if I finish up like you I'll hang myself. Figures and figures and going home to your wretched flat and coming back next morning to more figures. Her eyes held disdain because you'd failed, and pity, and sometimes a little fear. But the next moment they would be serene, for knowledge that she was young and beloved gave her all the confidence that was needed, Of course I’m _ jealous, Elizabeth thought. Jealous and finally tired, so desperately tired of it all and the futility of living. Perhaps Cynthia’s right and I should have made an end of things ages ago, instead of this struggle. I’m being morbid and self-pitying and I despise myself for it, but why did Ena give me daphne? Her head bent low over the ledgers, and soon the other two were typing their endless letters. The confusion of» thoughts had been defeated by routine. It was a day like all the others. If you kept your-mind on the job you managed to get through. If you were the efficient Miss Spencer whom the boss praised and relied shamelessly on, if you were the stiff Miss Spencer whom Ena quietly admired and tried to imitate, or if you were the hopeless Miss Spencer earning Cynthia’s pity and derision, then you managed to get through to five o'clock without mishap. But if you forgot for one moment and picked up, those flowers to smell their perfume, then you became a hopeless uncontrolled person

whose throat ached, who was spineless and flooded with self-pity. You knew all this and though a thousand times that day your hand went out to the tiny sprigs, you brought it back and weakly treasured the faint scent that sometimes drifted to you, threatening to undo all your strength. ~ T five o'clock she closed her books and taking off her glasses, smiled at Ena. "Well, the balance came out. Now I can sleep in peace." Ena was pleased. "I’m glad. You do worry over those old books, don’t you?" "Actually I don’t mind them. There’s a certain thrill in getting a balance out." Cynthia dragged the cover over her typewriter. "Thrill! Ye gods. Well I can’t say I get much of a thrill out of this old thing." She gave the typewriter a Vicious push. "That’s because you’re young," Elizabeth said. "And youth doesn’t get much fun out of inanimate things, does it?" "No. It certainly does not," Cynthia said, and her face was bright with memory. "Give me life every time." \WHEN Cynthia had gone, tripping down the passage in her high heels, the very noise a lively tattoo of confidence; Ena, putting her hat on slowly, spreading out the moments till she would be alone with Elizabeth, spoke hesitantly. "About the daphne, you didn’t really like it, did you?" "Yes. I did." \ "Then .’. . . But you stopped and looked sad and hurt." "Did I?" "Shouldn’t I talk like this?" Elizabeth went slowly to the window and looked down upon the evening traffic, Her voice was toneless when she spoke. "It was just... that it reminded me of something. Something I thought I had forgotten. But a scent takes you back« to things quicker than anything. Actually the time when . . . when I wore the daphne wasn’t so terrible as . . « ds (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) as what came later. I had been happy, and I had a sprig of daphne on my coat +». and later. . ." The newspaper boys were calling in the street. The trams swept along, the people hurried across from side to side, the lights were showing in the shop windows, and behind her there was a girl waiting for her to say more, but the words had gone. iy

"I’m sorry, Miss Spencer. I had no idea. I... well... Well, I’m going now. Good-night." Here I am, making a martyr of myself. A tragedy queen or something. Here I am, a woman of 54 with tears running down her face, being pathetic to a poor girl who admires me. I must be ill. I need a tonic... or a rest ... or vitamin pills. She blew her nose vigorously, went to the mirror, and jammed her hat on her head, put on her coat, and looking round to see that all was in order, saw the daphne and deliberately, with defiance, pinned it on her coat. Then she locked the door. T was cold outside. A bitter wind blew from the north denying all hint of Spring and in a moment the emotion of the day was swept aside. She was old. She felt upon her the depression of those years when she had.hoped and waited and finally become reconciled, when she had laid aside those half-formed wishes and looked ahead to the long years which she would live alone. It was all pitiful. It could be amusing if she could once get rid of that regretful feeling of frustration. Almost angrily she took the flowers from her coat and threw them in the gutter. Well, there I was, just a silly girl. I believed everything he told me. I thought I was beautiful when I knew I hadn't a decent feature. I imagined and built upon and added to and finally I had myself decked out in orange blossom and satin. Then he Went away. That’s all. Gave me a few sprigs of that beastly flower to pin on my coat, held my hand for a moment, said good-bye, and went. And after all these years I haven't come to my senses. After all these years I’m still silly and sentimental and almost hopeful. Go on, cry. Here she comes, the foolish old maid who still regrets romance. Here she comes, the efficient accountant gone sentimental. Suddenly she stopped. Once let go and you're finished. Once feel again and you can’t go on. Once care again. ... . She turned and walked briskly back the way she had come. Here, just about here. . . No, here. She stopped and retrieved the daphne from the gutter, repinned it on her coat, then stood wonder- ing. What could she get for tea?