The Perfectionist

New Zealand Listener, Volume 21, Issue 534, 16 September 1949, Page 17

The Perfectionist

Written for "The Listener" by

GRACE M.

PHIPPS

RS. LARKIN always liked to go one better than her neighbours. And this she generally managed to do. Her cakes were the ones that were always adorned with the "First Prize" ticket at the annual fair of the little country town isi which she lived. He windows shone th brightest, her bottle fruit was so symmetrica that it seemed a shame to eat it, her children, before they marriéd, were the best dressed, her towels always hung neatly, edge to edge, on the rails, dust was polished off the furniture almost before it had time to settle, and she alwavs had the weekly

wash out on the line earlier than anyone else in the street. Although Mrs: Larkin was respected, she was not popular. She was not invited very often into the homes of the other women. The strain of getting ready for a visit from Mrs. Larkin, they said, was too much. If there was so much as a speck of dust in a corner, or a fly spot on a window, or a cobweb on the ceiling, Mrs. Larkin’s eyes would seem to be riveted to it. You could see she was itching to get at it with a cleaning cloth. It was galling to the neighbours, too, that no matter how early they arose on a Monday, there, billowing and flapping on the line, would be Mrs, Larkin’s washing. Mrs, Jenkins at the end of the street declared that Mrs. Larkin must boil up the clothes on Sunday night. But this was not so,.On a Monday, Mrs. Larkin rose even before the lark. On this particular Monday morning, Mrs, Larkin eased her plump form stealthily out of bed so as not to wake George, her husband. But George stirred. "Wassar time?" he muttered sleepily. "Twenty to five," said Mrs, Larkin, "Plenty of time for you to have another sleep, George," George squinted at the dim hase’ of his wife as she buttoned ‘on her starched print frock. "What's the idea, getting up in the middle of the night?" Monday," said Mrs. Larkin succinctly. "Ah!" said George comprehendingly, and closed his eyes thankfully for another two hours’ sleep. In the laundry Mrs. Larkin lit the copper fire which she had laid the night before. The clothes were soaking in the tub, and she drained out the cold water and turned on the hot tap. There was a glimmer of daylight in the east, and while she waited for the tub to fill, she peered eagerly out of the window. There was no sign of life in any of the other houses down the street

and Mrs, Larkin turned with satisfac: tion to the tub. Yes, she would be first again with her. washing. HE hummed a’ tune happily as she rubbed the clothes, It was a pity that Mrs. Robyns next door didn’t get up earlier, she thought, as she popped a sheet into the copper. With four children she certainly needed to. She was always in a muddle. Worked too late at night and said she was too tired to get up before it was light. No method, Mrs. Larkin decided. She stoked up the fire and the water started to boil. She glancéd out of the window again. Good gracious, there was a light in the Browns’ window across \the street. Surely Mrs. Brown wasn’t getting up this early to do her washing! After boasting that she never got up until half-past seven! Said early rising made the day too long, The water in the copper was boiling hard, and Mrs, Larkin vigorously applied herself to the business of washing the clothes and getting them into the copper, She ‘put in the last pillowcase, and then looked out of ithe window again, The light in Browns’ bedtoom was still on, Mrs. Brown couldn’t have gone out to the wash-house yet, Mrs. Larkin thought complacently. The water in the copper boiled over, and Mrs, Larkin reached for the copper stick and poked at the clothes. Suddenly her. foot slipped on the wet floor, and she fell forward, her arms plunging into the boiling water. The pain shot up her arms, ice-cold and then red-hot, and Mrs. Larkin got somehow to her feet and stumbled into the house, In the bedroom she said, "George," and fainted. sas 8 3 OR the first. few days in hospital Mrs. Larkin took no interest in anything. When she wasn’t in a drugged sleep, the pain in her arms absorbed (continued on next page)

SHORT STORY

(contirlued from previous page) ell her thoughts. She was aware, from time to time, of George’s worried face hovering over her. But in a week she was sitting up. It was Monday morning again. The hospital was built on a hill and overlooked the small town. From the window by her bed, Mrs, Larkin had quite a view. At the foot of the hill was her own street, and Mrs. Larkin looked’ interestedly at all the backyards, which didn’t look so familiar from this angle. "Now, .which is our house?" Mrs. Larkin thought, "third from the end." She could tell by the walnut tree which flourished in the right-hand corner. Then her eyes popped out as she noticed that the clothes-lines were hung with snowy linen. Surely George couldn’t have got up early and done the washing! Yes, that was certainly hef backyard — the only one with the Washing on the line by seven-thirty. Good old George. But when George came in to see her that night, he had, to confess that. it wasn't he who had done the washing. Mrs. Robyns next door and Mrs. Brown from over the road had come along

early and had done it between .them, and they sent their'love and this ,pot of lemon honey, and some home-made biscuits; and when she felt well enough, George relayed, they would come in and see her, ND come in they did. Mrs. Larkin hadn’t realised what nice people her neighbours were. ‘They came in ‘twos and threes and brought gifts of fruit and magazines, and little packets of home-made cakes. When Mrs. Robyns and Mrs. Brown came in together, she thanked them for their kindness in doing her washing. "Think nothing of it, my dear," said Mrs. Brown. "I quite enjoyed getting up early for once. Think I'll have to make a practice of it." "T thought you had ‘started the habit," said Mrs. Larkin, "when~ I-saw your light go on. before five o'clock last week." .Mts. Brown looked blank for a moment, then she laughed comfortably. "Oh dear, no. That must have been the morning Bob woke up early with a headache and I got up to make him a cup of tea and bring him an aspirin. I’m afraid I'll be an unreformed char-

acter to the end of my days." She laughed her merry laugh again. When her visitors had gone, Mrs, Larkin lay and reflected about them. For the first time in her busy life, she had nothing much to do but think. Things began to get into their true perspective. She was amazed to find herself thinking that it didn’t matter a jot if she wasn’t the first out with the weekly wash. And who cared whether or no she made the best, cakes or had the thickest pile on her carpet? "Fool that you’ve been,’ Mrs. Larkin admonished herself, "wasting all these years trying to go one better than your neighbours. And where did it get you? You certainly weren’t any better liked for it." Mrs. Larkin realised suddenly that the esteem and affection of her neighbours were something to be cherished. N_ three weeks Mrs. Larkin was allowed to go home. It was lovely to bé back in her own place, she thought, as she went from room to room. Someone had put flowers in the vases, there was a fruit cake in the pantry, and a meat pie, big enough for two days, in the safe.

"Well!" said Mrs. Larkin to her husband, "I would never have thought people could be so kind." | "Yes," said George, "we’re lucky to have such decent neighbours."» — Mrs. Larkin still got very tired. It took her a long time to get over the shock of the burns. She sent her washing out to the local laundry. She kept the house reasonably clean, but. she didn’t fuss if there was a bit of dust under the sideboard. George found he could relax in front of the fire, evenings, and not be everlastingly on his guard about his cigarette ash. If he a¢cidentally spilt some, Mrs. Larkin never said a word. But one morning, a few weeks later, George woke up early. Something had disturbed him. He sat up, and in the dim light he saw his wife walking round the room. "What's the matter, dear? Don’t you feel well?" he asked. "Of course I’m well. Never felt better," said Mrs. Larkin briskly. "It’s Monday." Her voice was full of zest. "I’m going to get the washing out early. Can’t have anyone else beating me to 4 ay George flopped back on the pillows and stifled a groan. Mrs. Larkin was herself again.