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Bullet Park :: Cheever John
Страница: 18 из 131The stranger had begun to describe her things and Nellie's reaction shifted from boredom to irritability. How contemptible was a life weighted down with rugs and chairs, a consciousness stuffed with portables, virtue incarnate in cretonne and evil represented by rep. It seemed more contemptible than the amorous young men in front of her and the asininity of the students. She seemed to have glimpsed an erotic revolution that had' left her bewildered and miserable but that had also left her enthusiasm for flower arrangements crippled. She walked east to the station in the rain, passed several newsstands that seemed to specialize in photographs of naked men. Boarding the train was a step in the right direction. She was going home and she would, in the space of an hour, be able to close her door on that disconcerting and rainy afternoon. She would be herself again, Nellie Nailles, Mrs. Eliot Nailles, honest, conscientious, intelligent, chaste, etc. But if her composure depended upon shutting doors, wasn't her composure contemptible? Contemptible or not, she felt, as the train moved, the symptoms of restoration. When she left the train at her stop and walked through the parking lot to her car she had arrived back at herself. She drove up the bill; opened the door. The cook was stewing mushrooms in butter and the living room smelled of this. "Did you have a nice day," the cook asked.
"Yes, thank you. Very nice. It was disappointing to have it rain but we do need rain for the reservoirs, don't we?" She found the utter artificiality of her sentiments galling, but how close could she, come to the truth? Could she say shit to the cook and describe what she had seen on the stage? She climbed the stairs to her pleasant room and took a pleasant bath, but falsehood, confinement, exclusion and a kind of blindness seemed to be her only means of comprehension. She did not tell Nailles about the experience.
After breakfast Nailles climbed the stairs to his son's room. Nailles had sat up the night before with his son when he and Nellie had come in from a party and found the young man reading.
"Did you have a good time?" Tony had asked.
"Pretty good."
"You going to have a nightcap," Tony asked.
"Sure. Why not. Do you want a beer?"
"Yes. I'll get them."
"I'll get them," Nailles said, not sternly but finally. He did not like to see a man his son's age tending bar. Some of his friends and neighbors allowed their children to pass drinks and mix drinks. Nailles thought this inefficient and unsuitable. The children usually got the proportions wrong and lost, he thought, through this performance, some desirable innocence.
"Yes, thank you. Very nice. It was disappointing to have it rain but we do need rain for the reservoirs, don't we?" She found the utter artificiality of her sentiments galling, but how close could she, come to the truth? Could she say shit to the cook and describe what she had seen on the stage? She climbed the stairs to her pleasant room and took a pleasant bath, but falsehood, confinement, exclusion and a kind of blindness seemed to be her only means of comprehension. She did not tell Nailles about the experience.
After breakfast Nailles climbed the stairs to his son's room. Nailles had sat up the night before with his son when he and Nellie had come in from a party and found the young man reading.
"Did you have a good time?" Tony had asked.
"Pretty good."
"You going to have a nightcap," Tony asked.
"Sure. Why not. Do you want a beer?"
"Yes. I'll get them."
"I'll get them," Nailles said, not sternly but finally. He did not like to see a man his son's age tending bar. Some of his friends and neighbors allowed their children to pass drinks and mix drinks. Nailles thought this inefficient and unsuitable. The children usually got the proportions wrong and lost, he thought, through this performance, some desirable innocence.