FOOLISH OLD WOMAN

New Zealand Listener, Volume 19, Issue 469, 18 June 1948, Page 20

FOOLISH OLD WOMAN

By

BARBARA

DENT

HE woke up feeling rather queer-a little light-headed, As usual, Samuel had stirred when she had, uncurled, arched his back luxuriously, then bounded lightly on to the floor and strutted with dignity over to the windowsill, on to which he leapt to survey the day with great, golden, sleépy-seeming eyessomnolent yet alert, as only a cat’s eyes can be. She turned, as usual, on her side, to watch him. Well, Samuel, she said, what’s your judgment? Is it to be a fine day or a horrible one? ‘At her voice the cat arched again, stretched his legs delicately, miaowed faintly, leapt from his perch on to the floor and came over to her bed. Up on his hind legs, he placed two paws on the quilt and began to purr. Rather tremulously, she reached out a hand to fondle his head as he nuzzled it ingratiatingly into her palm, first his ears and

hard cheek, and then his wet nose and lips and his brisk, alert whiskers. You knoty, don’t you, boy? she whispered. You know. You know, She didn’t want to get up, but she knew that the mornings when she didn’t want to get up were the dangerous ones. It was then that the large, silent house seemed to be closing round her with™a menacing grip, till in her tertor her mind would become quite vague and lost, and, indecisively, she would wander from room to room, lifting an ornament, replacing it, shifting a cushion, opening a window only to shut it again, playing a -bar or two of an old waltz on the piano and then trailing off into a half-muted discord. Yesthe mornings when she didn’t want to get up were the dangerous ones, She knew there was only one remedy-to leap briskly out of bed, telling herself with firmness that there was so much to be done that she must commence immediately, hurrying through her breakfast and turning with a feverish

abandonment to sorting the linen cupboard, or dusting all the books in father’s study. There were various tasks that she kept for these dangerous days-each was in itself meaningless and futile, but laborious, painstaking, and time-consuming. ak « * this particular morning, she sat up in bed, saying firmly to Samuel, to-day,

Samuel, we will clean all the silver and go through the china cabinet. As if anxious to begin, the cat leapt gracefully to the floor and trotted out the door with an air of concentrated self-absorption excelling that of any human. I won’t even do my hair, Samuel, she announced (for he ‘had re-appeared, to

sit fastidiously in the middle of her dressing table) until I’ve.had my tea. And what about you, lad? Some toast? A nice, crusty piece with plenty of butter? Eh, boy? €£h? Samuel arched, purred, assented, leapt, and trotted off down the passage to the kitchen. (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) He knows. He knows, she muttered to herself, padding after him. Knows when I get my dizzy turns. Bless him, she,went on, murmuring away, as she got out the toaster, the bread, plugged in the kettle, set out the cup and saucer. More affectionate than any dog, aren’t you, Samuel? she went on, as he twined about her legs. Ah, I know what he wants, She took from the safe the bottle of milk she had set there especially the night before, and poured into a saucer for him the cream that had risen to the top. There’s a good boy-there’s a good boy, she murmured, stroking as he lapped. While she ate her toast, he crouched before her on the table, delicately picking, and crunching at the heavily buttered crumbs she placed on a plate for him. All the time he purred, and all the time she talked to him, not even aware that she was speaking aloud. That’s the boy. That’s the boy now! What do I care? No one else shares my table, so why not you? Let them say what they like. You’re a good, clean pussy. There now-there’s a nice bit for him. There’s a nice bit for the sweet thing. Why shouldn’t I, anyway? An old woman living by myself-why shouldn’t I? Let him sit up with me and share my bits with me. He’s my Samuel, and he knows. Look at the way he comes and rubs his dear old head on me-and scarcely ever leaves my side either. A real comfort to me, he is. I tell you he’s my pussy, he’s MY vaie-s Samuel ate as much as he wanted, miaowed explanatorily, and left the table to do his morning round of the garden. But he didn’t stay outside long. Before she had finished washing her one or two dishes he was back, sitting golden-eyed and imperturbable, watching her unblinkingly, on the bench. * * { UTTERING away to herself, she went about her little bit of workswept the kitchen, made her bed, put the carpet sweeper over the mats, and cleaned the hand basin. That done, she stood vaguely in the middle of the kitchen, and her face puckered. It was coming again. Her head seemed to be expanding as if it were being pumped up, and at the same time her legs seemed to be dwindling till it was impossible that two such spindly matchsticks could support such an enormous balloon of a head. Then, simultaneous with this, the house began to sing. All the hours, and days and nights, weeks, months, years of her solitary habitation in that house suddenly fused and became vocal. But it was no melody that was produced-no, only a high, thin, almost inaudible, screaming note. Yes-it was a scream, that’s what it was. A scream. All the screams she had never uttered in those silent, empty rooms. All the immense silences of unpeopled corners absorbing shadows in the dusk, all the watchful voids of unslept-in rooms gathered about one when one woke in the mornings, all the creakings and sightings of unwalked-on timbers in the small hours of the night, all the brooding, ominous, treacherous darkness of solitude, all the muttering, tempting, whispering, suggestive, sweetlypromising delusions of sweet, irrational,

irfesponsible madness. ‘All the loneliness, the uneased, inexpressible, longforgotten and long-accepted, heart-break-ing, silent, gibbering, perilous, unconsidered aloneness. All these things the house expressed when it sang. And although she knew it was the house and not herself making this noise, yet the high, almost soundless scream seemed to come from inside her own skull. And this was intolerable. It was bone-splitting and thought-blinding. Now, as she stood there and it came, she reached out sightlessly for a chair. Quick, Samuel, she muttered, gasping, Quick! The chair. Quick! quickAnd the cat leapt on the table, miaowing, shaking its head, quivering, both gold eyes fixed unblinkingly on her. Muttering and groping, she touched the chair, then with a grunt, slumped sideways on to the floor. In a flurry the cat darted out of the room and through the bathroom window into the garden. * x * [T's funny how she’s never made any friends, they said. Living here all these years and not a soul who really knows anything ‘about her. Of course, she’s a bit queer, they said. Always talking to herself about the place, and makes a perfect fool of herself over that cat of hers. But what else can you expect, they said, from an old maid living all alone there in that big house, year after year? Why didn’t she ever take boarders? they said. Or let part of the house? Or something? Of course, they said, there are her nieces. But a niece isn’t the same as a daughter, no matter how good she is. And now, they said, she’ll have to go to one of them for a holiday, It’s not safe her being there all alone if she’s going to take these funny turns. What a lucky thing it was that Mrs. Scott went in that morning to use the phone, they said, and heard the cat miaowing, and thought it was a bit queer and investigated. Heaven knows how long the poor old thing would have lain there, they said. All alone like that. Of course she’s queer, they said. Probably she should be put in a home, they said. The way she chatters to herself, and one day if she sees you in the street she'll stop and talk to you, quite sensible and friendly, and the next day she’ll look at you as if she’d never seen you before. Goodness knows if she feeds herself properly, they "said. She’s thin as a rake. But one thing’s sure, they said, smiling knowingly at each other, she feeds that cat of hers well enough. Great fat thing! Ah, well, it’s none of our business, they said. We can’t look after her. * * * O, Ruth. No, Ruthie, it’s good of you, but I can’t. Why, what’d I do about Samuel? Bring him, too, of course. He wouldn’t be happy. He’d fret. He might run away. He’s ~~ old for a change. Well then, Auntie, thee him here and get one of the neighbours to feed him each day. He’d fret. I know he’d fret. Besides, Mrs. Scott’s sick., She’s an ill woman. I wouldn’t like to bother her. And then Mrs. Robinson-she’s kindness itself, but she’s got all those children. (continued on next page)

SHORT STORY

(continued from previous page) I know she’d say she’d look after him, but she might forget. All those child-ren-how could I expect her to remember a cat? Besides, I’ve spoilt him, I cook and bone his fish, and scrape his liver, and cut up his meat small-I couldn’t ask her to do that. Oh, but he’s got all his teet:. still, It wouldn’t hurt him to eat his meat whole. And she could leave him milk. And even if she did forget him on odd days, he wouldn’t starve. There’re dozens of birds about" with all these trees. He could hunt. Yes. Yes. I suppose he could. Tremulously, she fingered her soft, gentle mouth, looking at her niece with troubled eyes. Yes, I suppose he could hunt. He-does catch birds, you know, she said, with sudden brightness. But he never eats them, -she added, vague and troubled again. Only plays with them, and then... But Auntie, and the young woman was exasperated, trying to keep the old lady to the point, but Auntie, he would be all right. Why, couldn’t you pay one of Mrs. Robinson’s children a few shillings a week to look after him? A kiddie likes a bit of pocket money, and I'm sure that eldest girl’d be responsible, and be kind to him, too.

Yes, my _ dear. | Yes. And she stared vaguely out the win- | dow. I’ve had him 14 years, you know Ruth, she went on. Fourteen years. And | they get to know. He knows since I’ve been having these queer turns. I’m sure he does. Kind of more ___ affectionate, and scarcely leaves my side. Oh, I know I’ve spoilt him, but I’ve had him 14 years. And they

say I’m a silly old woman. Look at that silly old woman, they say-I kriow they say it-look at that silly old woman going to get sand for her cat. Why can’t he make holes in the garden like any other cat? they say. That’s what they say, I know. But why, I’ve had him 14 years. And her soft, gentle mouth quivered slightly where she plucked it tremulously with one thin hand. But Auntie-I know how fond you are of him, but the doctor said... Suddenly the old lady shed her vagueness, and took on a quiet strength and dignity. She ceased looking with troubled eyes out the window, and faced her niece decidedly. Child, she said, what do I care about doctors? I can only die, and if I’m going to die, I’ll die. But this house, and Samuel-they’re all I’ve got. I won’t desert them just because I’m taking dizzy turns now and then. It’s good of you, Ruth, she said firmly, and I appreciate it, but child, I’m better by myself. I’m an old woman, and I have my own ways, and I’m old... too old to . . . she trailed off again, The younger woman put on her coat and gather together her bag, purse, and gloves. Gently she kissed the old lady on the forehead, Don’t forget, she half whispered, that you can always come, if you change your mind. And don’t forget Claire wrote

and asked you up there, and it’s warm there. Not cold in the winter like it is here, but warm. Sunny. She pressed the thin shoulder. Don’t forget. Good-bye, my dear, said the old lady brightly. Come again soon. I always like having you, you know. And bring the children. Come soon. Come soon. Then the dim shadows began to gather again-but which was night coming and which was the grey haze that too often clouded her eyes these days, she couldn’t tell. She sat on quietly in her chair by the window, looking out into her garden. Then Samuel uncurled himself from beside the heater, leapt on her knee, and pushed his crisp whiskers and wet muzzle into her lax hand. Purring, he curled in her lap, lazily rolling over to have his belly rubbed, playfully patting at her hands with his paws, claws half out, but never pricking. To-morrow I must clean that silver, she muttered. Must get on with my work to-morrow. Can't laze round like this. Not good for a body. Makes you want to stay in bed. No good. Must do the silver ... and perhaps wash. * + % HREE weeks later the doctor spoke very firmly to Ruth Nicholls, Your aunt must cet away he’ enid.

She’ s ill mentally and physically. She must have a change. And somewhere warmer, too, Didn’t you mention another niece up north? Yes — she’d be only too pleased to take her. Well — persuade her somehow to go. If she doesn’t have a, change and a complete rest, I can’t answer for what might happen.

So they looked up addresses in the paper, and they made telephone calls, and they visited places. And when they got back to the big, old house, Ruth made tea and they sat down silently to drink it. They didn’t talk, for each knew what the other was thinking. At last, after having tremblingly dabbed at her lips with her handkerchief, Miss Hutchins spoke. I couldn’t, Ruthie, she said, I just couldn't. I know. They’re dirty. Sg ae They’re all dirty. And he’d be put in a cage. He’d fret. Yes. ’ You don’t expect me to do it, do you? No, Auntie. And he’d run away from ‘your place, I know . . . Ruth-perhaps I should .. . Perhaps I should-have him destroyed? Oh, no Auntie! You couldn’t do that! No. I’m glad you think I shouldn’t. I’m glad ... Well then, perhaps Mrs. Robinson’s little girl would be the best idea. I could clear out the tool shed and leave it open for him and... I suppose she’d be kind to him, although I know of children that... But if I paid her a few shillings a week ...? Of (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) course, Mrs. Robinson mightn’t like her to take money, but she seems such a good-hearted woman, she ... You think I’d better ask her then? Yes, I do, Auntie. And I promise faithfully to come out each week-end and make sure he’s all right. The old lady began to mutter on to herself, forgetting her niece was there. Two months. And he’s so old. It’s cold in the winter, too. He’s used to fires. Fourteen. Cats don’t livé much older than that. What if... two months... But maybe I'll pick up be able to . . . what if he. . . she’d be kind to him, though, I’m sure. She’s a nice little girl, and I'd give her ‘some money ... but what if... Auntie! said the young. woman sharply. Miss Hutchins started and looked at her niece. Aunty — you -have another cup of tea, she ended lamely. Why, thank you, my dear, I think I will, We had a wearying day, to-day. I'm tired and I expect you are too. Faugh! All those dirty places! Smelly! And cages-why... Aunty-(pulling her back quickly)you'll be ready to-morrow at three, then? Yes. You're sure you don’t want me to stay overnight and help you pack? Goodness me, no. There’re only a few bits of things to put in a suitcase. No, my dear, there’s no need for you to stay. You get back to your man and your babies. I'll manage nicely, thank you. And I'll be ready at three, Late that night-after ten it was-~a young. man waiting for the bus by the wharf entrance watched curiously as an old lady, cradling a bundle in a sugar sack, came purposefully across the street and passed on to the wharf. Rather troubled, he decided to follow her-you never knew... But she only walked to the end of the wharf, knelt a little fearfully on the edge, and dropped her bundle over into the sea. She crouched there afew seconds, then, rising, walked uncertainly back to the road, passing the young man on her way without even noticing him. Well, I'll be blowed, he muttered. Now what was she up to, F wonder?