Wall of Eyes

Chapter 2

She lay on her lounge beside the window, her neck twisted to one side so that a blue net ruffle of curtain softly touched her hair, coaxing her to wake up. But it wasn’t time yet, she would wake when the sun came round the corner of her window and gradually warmed her hair, her forehead and finally her eyelids.

Even when the sun did come she didn’t open her eyes but lay quietly, feeling the heat on her eyes like hot slivers of steel prying at her eyelids. She tasted her pain like an epicure, not moving her head out of the sun’s way or putting up her hand to draw the blind. She had to know that the sun was there, the room light, and she had to find out by herself, without asking anyone, “Is the sun out today?”

Not one of them would say simply “Yes,” or “No,” without pity or impatience, without telling her that the leaves had turned and were beginning to fall and suggesting that she go for a walk. She had her ways, like this one, of outwitting them, giving them no opening. They were all in a conspiracy to get her out of the house, walking on the street where people would stare at her or hurry past to avoid staring. Out there on the street she’d be helpless, she’d have to cling to Alice’s arm or lean on Prince’s harness, utterly dependent.

No, she’d never go out, she’d never give them such an easy victory. They were the dependent ones, they couldn’t get ahead of her.

She heard the door open and someone come into the room. She didn’t move or ask, “Who’s there?” She had a bitter pride in this independence. Later on, if she was patient, she would know who was there. It must be Letty or Alice or Ida, and pretty soon whoever it was would make some sound that singled her out from the rest. She lay still and listened.

But Letty knew she was not sleeping because her arms were too rigid, her body too stiff, as if it refused to yield to sleep, considering comfort a weakness or sleep a danger.

Once Letty opened her muth to say “Kelsey?” to let her know who had come in, but she didn’t say it.

She’s sulking again, Letty thought, for some trivial reason she’s sulking, pretending to be asleep. No, it is subtler than that. She doesn’t want me to think she is asleep, she wants me to know she is pretending to be asleep.

With a sigh Letty turned back to the closet and took down the rest of Kelsey’s summer dresses. As she worked she hummed very softly so that Kelsey would know her. Her big bony hands looked out of place against Kelsey’s fragile dresses, but Letty, once sensitive about her size, didn’t notice the contrast.

The room was bare. There was Kelsey’s bed along one wall, her lounge against the window, a bureau, a deep chair covered in blue chintz and a small table beside the bed. The rest of the furniture had been removed piece by piece: the bookshelf, the pictures, the mirrors, a vanity over which Kelsey had once stumbled.

A hanger clattered to the floor. Letty bent over it, knowing that Kelsey would come awake now.

“Letty!”

The voice did not come up, muffled, through clouds of sleep, but sprang sharp and sure across the room.

“What was that, Letty?”

“A hanger,” Letty said. “I thought I’d put away your summer things.”

“Now?” The head came up, the neck twisted, the eyes stared, cold and unseeing. “While I was sleeping?”

“Were you asleep?” Letty said. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d better do this today. Alice said she wanted to spray the closet.”

Kelsey sat up and swung her legs to the floor. For just a moment her mind tricked her and she thought that her eyes were closed and if she opened them she would see herself in the mirror across the room, catch a glimpse of yellow tousled curls, slim arms stretching over her head, long lazy legs. She would open her eyes and walk across the rug toward the mirror, her image becoming clearer and prettier as she drew near, and at the very last she would look at her eyes, blue and dreamy from sleep but excited at waking.

“Have the mirrors been taken away?” she said. “All of them?”

“Last week,” Letty said. “Remember, Alice helped...”

“I don’t remember.”

“Well, they were taken away, even the one in the bathroom.”

“The bathroom? You didn’t poke around in any of my things?”

“No,” Letty said. “No.”

She picked up the dresses, piling them over her arm, but she didn’t move toward the door. She knew that if she walked away the voice would spring at her again, pulling her back.

“You didn’t take the clock away,” Kelsey said. “I can hear it.”

“No, that’s my watch. The clock is gone.”

“What are you standing there for? What time is it?”

“Nearly four,” Letty said. “Today is Tuesday. Johnny will be here early. Hadn’t you better dress?”

“Tuesday,” Kelsey repeated. “Why do you say it in that special way? What’s Tuesday?”

Letty walked to the door and closed it softly. “You remember. Johnny is bringing someone to meet you. A girl, a Miss Moore. What will you wear?”

She spoke briskly and walked back to the clothes closet, making bustling noises that were unnatural to her. “The black suit would be nice — or the blue wool.”

“Wait! I told John I didn’t care to meet Miss Moore!”

“But you said later you would, that you wanted...”

“I don’t remember that,” Kelsey said. “I’m not going down. I’ve seen enough of his women to know they’re all alike anyway.”

Her voice was rough as if the teeth of the past had gnawed at it and left sharp little splinters on the surface. No, Johnny’s women weren’t all alike, no, there was one who wasn’t like the others, one girl who had detached herself from the mass and hung suspended in Kelsey’s mind. The girl’s face was like an animal squatting in the chair, sometimes it breathed and came alive, a sick breathing face. Then it died again and the dead face was better.

“What was her name?” Kelsey said.

“Her name?” Letty turned. “Miss Moore.”

“No, the other one.”

“Oh, her,” Letty said. “I don’t remember. Geraldine, I think. I think the blue wool would be nice. You could wear your sapphires.”

She took the dress out of the closet, making the bustling noises again, pretending that Kelsey had not refused to go downstairs. They had played this game together for a long time and each of them knew the rules. Kelsey began to unbutton the neck of the yellow dress she was wearing. Then she held up her hands and waited for Letty to pull the dress over her head.

“It’s hot,” Kelsey said.

“I’ll open the door again.”

“Why did you close it in the first place?”

“Because,” Letty said calmly, “I thought you might make a fuss. About meeting Miss Moore.”

“Why should I make a fuss about meeting Miss Moore?” Kelsey asked in a reasonable voice. “She’s nothing to me or to Johnny either. I don’t suppose she has enough sense to know that Johnny will never marry her. Can you imagine Johnny getting married on thirty-five dollars a week?”

“He wouldn’t be doing that,” Letty said. “There’s his allowance.”

“Be careful of my hair. No, the other side.”

“You wouldn’t stop giving him that,” Letty said.

“I’m getting thinner. Look, the belt is too loose. No, leave it like that today. There isn’t time to take it in: we must hurry.”

She leaned over and began to take off her shoes, very slowly, pointing up the irony. It was her way of putting Letty in her place, of closing the discussion of Johnny. In silence Letty handed her a comb and Kelsey began to comb out her hair, still moving with the planned deliberate slowness.

“Is the part straight?”

“Yes,” Letty said.

Kelsey’s hands dropped suddenly into her lap and the comb fell to the floor.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” she whispered. “Even about a little thing like that.”

“I am. Now you’re not going to be silly.”

“Silly? You think it’s silly for me to want to see myself again? It’s harder never to see yourself again than never to see other people.”

For you, Letty said silently, for you it is. She dropped on her knees to put Kelsey’s shoes on.

“Other people aren’t real,” Kelsey said.

“No, I guess not.”

“You can’t understand. You’re thinking badly of me, I can feel it. You’re frowning, aren’t you?”

“There’s a spot on your shoe,” Letty said. “Maybe I was frowning. I’ll get a brush.”

Kelsey waited, knowing there was no spot on her shoe at all, but keeping her foot rigid against the floor while Letty solemnly brushed at it. Over the whisk-whisk of the brush Kelsey could hear voices from the first floor, murmurs and then a big bass laugh that belonged to Johnny, and Johnny’s swift heavy step on the stairs. Six steps. That meant Johnny had come up three at a time. He must be excited (so the girl had really come), and happy (so the affair must be just starting).

She waited, rigid with distaste and dread, like a very small girl awaiting a visit from a frolicsome St. Bernard.

The door exploded, something rushed at her across the room, making the floor tremble. There was a confusion of sounds, his shoes striking the floor, “Hiya, Letty!” and then, “Hello, baby!” and Kelsey was lifted off the couch and swung into the air, round and round.

She screamed, “Johnny!” as her feet left the floor and she dangled in space, panic blowing in her face and taking her breath away.

“Johnny!” she screamed, and beat her feet up and down. “You fool! Let me down, you fool!”

She was set down on the couch, dizzy, frozen with fear. Even her voice had frozen and only a thin trickle melted out of her mouth, “Bull elephant!”

He didn’t hear her, but Letty did and came forward and stepped into the circle of sounds.

“Now, now,” Letty said. “Now, now, I guess you kind of scared her, John.”

“He didn’t scare me!” Kelsey said. “I’m not in the least...” She felt Johnny’s hand on hers, squeezing hard, apologetically.

“Sorry, baby.”

“I wasn’t in the least frightened,” Kelsey said sharply. “John, you’re crushing me.”

“Sorry again,” he said quietly. He rarely spoke quietly and when he did he had no dignity, as Alice did; he was merely humble and beaten.

As if, Letty thought, watching him, someone had turned a valve inside of him and let out the air. People often tried to do that to Johnny, though no one had so much success as Kelsey. It was their attempt to bring him down to life size. He was an enormous man, like his father, and everything was drawn to scale, his voice, his big white teeth, his ears pink with health, his hair thicker and coarser than other men’s, yellow and curly like Kelsey’s but carefully darkened by brilliantine and clipped short so the curls wouldn’t show.

But if the gods had constructed Johnny they had made some omissions under the surface.

He looked across at Letty, his eyes bewildered, demanding some answer to some question. Letty smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.

Johnny returned the smile. It crowded the bewilderment out of his eyes. Johnny’s emotions came one at a time, they chased each other in and out of his mind like scampering squirrels.

“Well, she’s here,” he said in his normal voice. “Marcie’s downstairs waiting for you.”

“Marcie?” Kelsey said.

“Marcella. She’s little, like you, but she’s dark...”

“Marcella. Her own name?”

“Of course. Her mother read the name in a story.”

“Yes, I can believe it,” Kelsey said dryly. “Where did you leave her?”

“With Phil,” Johnny said. “He’s playing for her.”

“Charming,” Kelsey said.

Letty said quickly, “I guess you’re all ready except for your makeup. Maybe John will go down and tell her we’re coming.”

Johnny got up from the lounge and the floor trembled again under his weight. Kelsey felt the vibrations run up her legs like baby mice.

“Damn it, John,” she said. “Can’t you be quieter? Do you have to lunge around like...”

“Now, now,” Letty said, while she gestured to Johnny with her head. “We won’t be longer than five minutes, John. Has Alice come in yet?”

Johnny paused at the door. “No. Phil said she took Prince for a walk.”

When he went out one of his huge shoulders struck the door frame. He said, “Out of my way, door,” and went down the steps. By the time he reached the bottom he was whistling.

Marcie was sitting on the piano bench beside Philip. She was dressed specially for the occasion in a black silk suit purchased from a clerk at Simpson’s who had assured her that the best people always wore black. She looked pale and smaller than ever sitting at the very end of the bench as far away from Philip as she could get without falling off. Her arms were pressed tightly against her body so they wouldn’t get in Philip’s way.

When she saw Johnny standing in the doorway she threw him a small agonized smile and poised her body for flight. But she didn’t get off the bench. From the moment she had entered the house and seen the butler, all her initiative and will power seemed to have drained out of her. She was helpless, she couldn’t get off the piano bench because Johnny had told her to sit there and now she was waiting for him to tell her to get off.

She was a newcomer to a strange world. The black suit didn’t help, and so far she had little opportunity to repeat the sentences she had planned with due regard for grammar. She knew that Johnny’s sister wouldn’t be able to see her or the black suit, that she would be judged by her voice and the English she used. She had gotten up at noon, earlier than usual, and planned a few careful remarks on the beauty of autumn, the pleasure of meeting Johnny’s sister and the situation in India. She had already tried the situation in India on Mr. James, but Mr. James had merely regarded her sadly and said, “Yes, isn’t it?”

Although she knew nothing whatever about India she was a little shocked to discover that people who lived in a house like this didn’t know anything about it either. She felt a sudden surge of patriotism. After all, people who had to earn their own living were too busy to bother about such things, but there was no excuse at all for men like Mr. James who had nothing to do but fiddle around a piano.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and was impressed to discover that he was playing with his eyes closed. She was angry with herself for being impressed. After all, if you had nothing else to do...

Johnny came over and put one hand on her arm, the other hand on Philip’s back.

“Hello, you two,” he said.

Philip’s hands paused, came off the keys. When he turned, Marcie saw that he still wore the expression of sad surprise that he had assumed over India. Maybe that was his usual expression or maybe he really did know something about it and the sentence had struck him hard. What if, in planning polite conversation, she had hit upon a great political truth? She’d try it again later, on Kelsey.

He was looking at her and she turned her head away, clinging to the end of the bench.

“Well,” he said softly. “You look as if you’ve lived through a terrible experience. Am I that bad?”

“He’s wonderful,” Johnny said. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

They were both watching, her now, waiting for her answer, Johnny anxiously, Philip with one eyebrow raised.

She felt the weight of the house pressing on her. She wanted to throw it off and say, “Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t.” But she didn’t have the courage.

She laughed nervously. “Wonderful,” she echoed. “The boy that plays the piano at the club, gosh, he’s good. He plays without music or anything, just out of his head.”

“Phil’s marvelous,” Johnny said. “Phil, tell her what Percy Grainger said when you played for him in New York.”

Philip muttered, “Please.”

“He said Phil was terrific,” Johnny cried. “Hard and brilliant, and what else, Phil?”

“He used to play in a big orchestra, this boy, but he was kicked out on account of he drinks.” Marcie said. “I think drinking is a terrible thing.”

“Very terrible indeed,” Philip said, flicking his eyes over her.

She didn’t like that glance, as if he had her all figured out and didn’t think she was worth bothering about. If there was any figuring to be done she had done it: Mr. James was a stuffed shirt; and worse, he had no more right to live in such a house than she had. Less right, he didn’t even work for a living. She wanted to confront him with these facts but when she met his eyes again she saw that it wasn’t necessary, he knew them already. He didn’t feel any more at home or comfortable in this house than she did.

The realization did not move her to friendliness. She was merely annoyed at the injustice.

She turned her face away stubbornly. “I mean it,” she said. “This boy was making a hundred and fifty a week once playing in a big orchestra.”

Johnny squeezed her shoulder. “Hey. I’m jealous.”

“No, but...”

“Why don’t we go over to the chesterfield and get comfortable?” He tucked her hand inside his. “You’re cold.”

“No, I’m not!”

But she was cold. Her legs didn’t move properly. She plodded across the rug as if it were deep sand.

Philip remained on the bench leaning forward with his arms folded against the music rack. From a distance he looked dark and romantic. It was only when you were close up that you saw he was getting too fat and losing his black wavy hair and that his eyes were strained. There was a careful set to his face that made him look years older than Johnny.

He better be careful, Marcie thought viciously. He’s got a fat living out of this, music lessons and a special room to practice in downtown, and going to concerts and operas all over the country. On the Heaths’ money. Why, with that money I could be famous!

Philip said to Johnny, “Did you see Kelsey?”

“She’ll be down in a minute,” Johnny said.

“Shall I go up and get her?”

“That would be fine. She’s not... she’s...”

“I get it,” Philip said.

He went out and closed the door behind him. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, like a man about to defy gravity and leap up to his death.

The door of Kelsey’s room opened and Kelsey came into the upper hall with her hands stretched out in front of her. The moment for leaping had arrived but he didn’t move.

“Letty?” Kelsey said.

Letty’s voice came from the room. “I’m coming. Just a minute.”

“Letty, there’s someone in the hall.”

“I’m coming.”

“Who is it?” Kelsey said shrilly. “Who is it?”

Philip drew in his breath to speak but someone spoke first from the second floor. “It’s me, Kelsey.”

“Oh. Father?”

“Yes.”

“Are you coming downstairs?”

“Am I coming...? Oh yes, yes, today I thought I’d... yes.”

Mr. Heath walked toward her slowly. His feet shuffled along the floor as if they might find a hole in it and had to be careful. His legs seemed too weak to support his huge body, his voice came in dribbles from a strong mouth. “John,” he said, “my son John has a guest. So I thought I’d...”

“Don’t bother coming, Letty,” Kelsey said. “I’ll go down with Father.”

Letty came into the hall. The corners of her mouth sagged. “But I wanted to. I’d like to see her.”

“No, don’t bother. Father will take me down.”

“Of course I...” Mr. Heath said. “Yes.” He took her arm.

“You said you wanted me to see her,” Letty said, “so I could tell you.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be quite all right,” Kelsey said. When she walked away her step was firmer. She had more confidence in herself, she was pleased because she had won a subtle victory over Letty.

From the bottom of the stairs Philip said, “Oh, there you are, Kelsey. We were wondering...”

“Philip,” Kelsey said, “would you tell Maurice he may bring in the tea? We won’t wait for Alice.”

“I’ll tell him,” Philip said. Whenever he spoke to Kelsey he sounded too anxious to oblige, his voice was falsely gay insisting that everything was all right between them. His feet lied too, and struck the floor brisk and cheerful.

“Couldn’t he,” Mr. Heath said, “why couldn’t he ring for Maurice?”

“You think it’s too much to ask him to walk the length of the hall,” Kelsey said softly, “in return for what I’ve given him?”

“Ah,” Mr. Heath said. “Aaaah...”

He opened the door of the drawing room and Kelsey went inside.

The voices ceased. Kelsey stood for a moment waiting for them to begin again so she would know where the girl and Johnny were sitting. She knew the girl would be looking at her, but she couldn’t see the girl, she had to wait here, powerless, on the threshold of the room, holding herself stiff so no one could guess her helplessness.

She never knew that these times her dignity was almost a tangible force. To someone who was seeing her for the first time, as Marcie was, Kelsey’s dignity was a slap in the face, a challenge to pity her.

Johnny came across the room and caught her arm and pressed it. He had been affected by the sight of her, and he made the introductions in a subdued voice, “Kelsey, this is Marcie Moore. My sister Kelsey. And my father. This is Marcie, Father.”

His tongue wrapped them together, rolling them up in a blanket.

“Ah,” Mr. Heath said. “Marcie.” He drifted away, vanishing into a chair like a shadow, breathing sadly, “Aaaah...”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” Marcie said. Her voice was too loud and too high, a cheap tin whistle of a voice with a squawk in it. Kelsey smiled at it.

She murmured, “...so much about you.”

Marcie kept smiling brightly at her, unable to realize that the smile couldn’t be seen. “Oh, Johnny’s always telling about his sisters! I just couldn’t wait to meet you. Johnny’s always telling...”

Squawk, squawk.

“So nice,” Kelsey purred. “You’re quite comfortable?”

“Oh, yes, oh, my yes. I couldn’t be more...”

“John has so many friends,” Kelsey said. “He brings them all home to meet me. Isn’t he sweet?”

Johnny coughed and said, “Alice should be here any minute. You’ll be crazy about Alice, Marcie.”

“I just know I will,” Marcie said. “Johnny’s always telling about Alice and K-Kelsey.”

“Is he?” Kelsey said. “All nice things?”

“Oh, my yes! All about...”

“You don’t find the conversation rather limited?”

“N-no. It’s f-f-fine,” Marcie said weakly.

Kelsey smiled and sat down beside her on the chesterfield. The bad moments were over. She had the girl catalogued and filed now; the rest would be easy.

Philip came back.

“Come on over here,” Johnny cried. “There’s room for all of us. No, over here.”

Johnny was happy, he had them all now where he could reach out and touch each of them. They were within sight and hearing, he could even smell them. “Phil, you should see Marcie dance.” “Phil was playing that Debussy thing you liked, Kelsey.” “Marcie was telling us about a guy...” “I’d love to see Marcie dance.” “Debussy is too frail.” “And this boy used to make a hundred and fifty a week, no kidding.”

Kelsey sat back and let Johnny manage by himself. She even enjoyed the confusion today because she realized that it was making Marcie nervous. She could feel the girl’s hands twitch, could hear the panic in her voice.

Maurice came in with the tea, a small, middle-aged man whose hands moved delicately over the silver.

“Alice should be here,” Johnny said. “Alice always pours. Has she come in yet, Maurice?”

“No, sir.”

“Marcie will pour,” Kelsey said. “Won’t you, my dear?”

“Oh, no!” Marcie said. “Oh, please! I never...”

“I’ll pour,” Philip said shortly.

Kelsey turned her head toward him. “I asked Marcie to pour, Philip. Didn’t you hear me?”

Without replying he rose and sat down again in the high-backed chair where Alice sat at tea. There was a clatter of silver and china.

“I had no idea,” Kelsey said, “that your ambitions lay in that direction, Philip.”

“Oh, I have my secret yearnings,” Philip said with a laugh. “Cream and sugar, Marcie?”

“Oh, anything,” Marcie said. “Any way at all. I’m not particular.”

“Kelsey?”

“Lemon and one clove,” Kelsey said. “I am very particular.”

Cold little waves of silence began to lap against the walls. Marcie looked desperate, and when Johnny put up his hand to touch her cheek she slapped his hand away, defending herself blindly and instinctively against something — some danger.

“What is this,” Philip said, “about female hands fluttering among the teacups? Mine don’t flutter.”

“Not a bit,” Marcie said shrilly.

“Perhaps I haven’t the right approach. I think you’ve got to work yourself up to it, get into the spirit, like a vestal virgin.”

Marcie let out a giggle. “Like a virgin...” The giggle crept into a corner, alone and ashamed. Marcie’s face dropped into sullenness. She wanted to strike out at them all, claw them without reason like a cat.

She drank her tea rapidly. She could hear herself swallow. Even when the others were talking she could hear the shameful gulp of tea in her throat.

“Johnny,” she said. “It’s getting late. I’d better...”

“But it’s early,” Kelsey said lazily. “You haven’t met Alice.”

“You just got here,” Johnny said.

“No, no,” Marcie cried. “No, I’ve got to go really, please, I’ve got to go.”

“Perhaps she has a dinner engagement,” Kelsey said. “Have you?”

“Yes, yes, I got...”

“Do come again. Perhaps we could be alone and compare notes on Johnny.”

“Yes, yes, sure.” She thrust out toward freedom like a bird seeing the door of its cage open. “Pleased t’have met you. I had a very good time.”

Johnny said, “I’m taking you home.”

“I had a swell time. Good-bye, Mr. Heath, good-bye, Miss Heath, good-bye, Mr. James.”

The door banged shut and the room slyly changed its face.

“Well?” Philip said.

“Ghastly,” Kelsey said. “Horrible. What do you think of her, Father?”

“Eh?” He stirred under her voice. “Yes, a spot more, thank you, with a little less cream.”

“The girl,” Kelsey said sharply. “What did you think of the girl?”

“Ah,” he said. “Nice little thing. Quiet. Nice little thing.”

There was silence.

“How John does it,” Kelsey said at last, “I don’t know. Remember the waitress from Childs? And the one whose father was a Communist? And the singer?”

“That was Geraldine,” Philip said.

“No, no, it wasn’t!” No, the other one was Geraldine, the one whose face breathed and died and breathed again, a bloated face dangling in a dream.

She heard Philip twist in his chair and sigh.

“You’re going to take Johnny’s side against me,” she said. “You, and Alice too.”

“No,” Philip said. “No, I’m not. But perhaps Johnny likes that kind of girl. He...”

“What difference does that make? Am I to cater to his cheap tastes and let him disgrace the family?”

“I believe I’ll—” Mr. Heath said, “I think I’ll — go up to my room.”

“I have to fight you all,” she cried. “Without eyes I have to fight you all!”

“Yes, I certainly — it would be better to go up to my room.”

He shuffled across the rug.