JК
Something Happened :: Хеллер Джозеф
Страница: 374 из 398The conversationwas lively. There was boisterous laughter. My wife gave recipe tips when asked. The Barons were nearly the last to leave.
"Thanks, Bob. We really enjoyed it."
"Thanks, Art, I'm glad you could come."
My wife and I were aglow and enchanted with our success and made love. The evening went marvelously indeed, but it was written in the atmosphere — and my wily sixth-sense tells me it is still there — that we were not to invite him again for a long time, although it was much more than just okay to have done so then. My wife, a churchgoing Congregationalist, doesn't understand; she is instructed by a minister of God in matters of duty and hospitality. As a registered Republican, though, I know more about protocol.
"Why not?" she wants to know, and there is a tinge of eagerness in her perseverance. "Aren't you getting along with him?"
"We're getting along fine."
"Don't you think they'll want to come?"
"It isn't time."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's written in the atmosphere. Give a dinner party without them if you want to give one."
My wife falters. Derek's a heavy presence in the home now and changes things. (Enthusiasm dwindles rapidly into lassitude and stillborn wishes. Long-range plans for joy turn dreary in contemplation of their fulfillment. Then she has nothing to do.) Then we have my daughter to cope with as well if she doesn't have a date of her own for that evening and decides to stay home to watch. Either she mingles with our guests more intimately than we want her to or passes through in silence with a countenance of rude displeasure that everyone can see, responding with the barest cold nod to the salutations of anyone there who knows her (and passes through again like that an hour later, every hour on the hour, until my wife mutters, "I'll kill her if she does that again" and goes to tell her off). The time may soon come when I'll have to order her acidly to keep out of sight completely whenever we have company, like Derek. (I don't like children hanging around when I visit other people, either.) Derek creates disturbing problems also in our relationship with our other children because of the attention we have had to concentrate on him and the large amount of money he costs. (Soon, I will have to start putting money aside for his future.)
"How are the kids?" people feel obliged to inquire whenever they come to our house, or we go to theirs.
It's a question I've learned to fear.
"Thanks, Bob. We really enjoyed it."
"Thanks, Art, I'm glad you could come."
My wife and I were aglow and enchanted with our success and made love. The evening went marvelously indeed, but it was written in the atmosphere — and my wily sixth-sense tells me it is still there — that we were not to invite him again for a long time, although it was much more than just okay to have done so then. My wife, a churchgoing Congregationalist, doesn't understand; she is instructed by a minister of God in matters of duty and hospitality. As a registered Republican, though, I know more about protocol.
"Why not?" she wants to know, and there is a tinge of eagerness in her perseverance. "Aren't you getting along with him?"
"We're getting along fine."
"Don't you think they'll want to come?"
"It isn't time."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's written in the atmosphere. Give a dinner party without them if you want to give one."
My wife falters. Derek's a heavy presence in the home now and changes things. (Enthusiasm dwindles rapidly into lassitude and stillborn wishes. Long-range plans for joy turn dreary in contemplation of their fulfillment. Then she has nothing to do.) Then we have my daughter to cope with as well if she doesn't have a date of her own for that evening and decides to stay home to watch. Either she mingles with our guests more intimately than we want her to or passes through in silence with a countenance of rude displeasure that everyone can see, responding with the barest cold nod to the salutations of anyone there who knows her (and passes through again like that an hour later, every hour on the hour, until my wife mutters, "I'll kill her if she does that again" and goes to tell her off). The time may soon come when I'll have to order her acidly to keep out of sight completely whenever we have company, like Derek. (I don't like children hanging around when I visit other people, either.) Derek creates disturbing problems also in our relationship with our other children because of the attention we have had to concentrate on him and the large amount of money he costs. (Soon, I will have to start putting money aside for his future.)
"How are the kids?" people feel obliged to inquire whenever they come to our house, or we go to theirs.
It's a question I've learned to fear.