Wall of Eyes

Chapter 4

She rapped on Kelsey’s door and Kelsey’s voice rang out sharply.

“Who’s there?”

“Alice.”

“Oh.” There was a pause, then a grudging, “Well, come in.”

Alice opened the door. The room was murky with twilight and Kelsey lay on the lounge melting into the darkness like a ghost.

Alice turned on the lamp beside the bed. Kelsey heard the click as it went on and turned her head slowly toward the light.

“Why did you put the light on?” she said.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“I don’t need lights, Alice. The night is my time. In the night you’re no better than I am.”

Alice sat down at the end of the lounge. “Don’t talk like that. You’ll only get excited.”

Kelsey’s eyes brooded on the lamp, sullen and unblinking, eyes that were unfaded and looked as good as new.

“You’re no better than I am in the dark, Alice. You have to listen too, sift out the sounds. You have only your ears like me.”

“Kelsey...”

“Remember how I used to be afraid of the dark?” She put out her hand to Alice and clutched her. “Well, I still am. I’m still afraid of the dark. I want to scream and scream and tear away this black curtain. I’m afraid of it. I can hear the night coming at me in waves... What are your eyes like, Alice? I forget your eyes sometimes.”

Alice drew in her breath. “Brown,” she said gravely, “like a cow’s.”

“I see them in the wall, but they may have changed. Oh, yes, your eyes are in the wall, soft like a doe’s.”

The fingers clutched at Alice’s arm, tight and hot. “If I wanted one of your doe eyes, you’d give it to me?”

“Please...”

“Why, you’re crying!” Kelsey said. “Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“I believe you’d give me one of your eyes.”

“Yes.”

“Ah, but I can’t take it, so you’re safe. You’re safe. Everybody’s safe but me, closed in here in the darkness by myself, lonely.”

“If you... if you wouldn’t talk like this or think like this — Kelsey, please. If you’d learn to go out with Prince you could be — be more independent. You could go out for long walks by yourself if you liked.”

“With a dog for my eyes?”

“Better than nothing,” Alice said with bitterness.

“For you, perhaps, for you anything is better than nothing. But not for me. There’s nothing for me, no miracle, no operation, no hope.”

Alice got up and began to walk about the room, her arms folded across her breasts. She said silently, “I am Alice Heath,” but the formula failed her. It always failed her in her relations with Kelsey, it couldn’t fortify her against the love-pity-hate she felt for Kelsey, undo all those years when she had looked after her and been jealous of her and proud of her.

Kelsey’s eyes followed the sound of her steps up and down the room.

“Don’t prowl,” she said after a time.

Alice swung around, her arms falling to her sides. “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“About Philip.”

Kelsey rolled her head impatiently. “Is it the usual? Am I to be nicer to him? Don’t you ever get tired of being Philip’s advocate?”

“He’s going away.”

“So?” Kelsey said mockingly. “Where is he going?”

“New York, I think.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t intend to marry him,” Alice said.

“Intelligent of him to find that out.”

“I urged him to leave. I don’t think the two of you could make a go of it. He can’t stand up to you. He’s too sensitive, on his own account and on yours.”

“Poor weak Philip, eh?” Kelsey said, smiling.

“There’s no reason why he should stay, Kelsey. You haven’t been in love with him for a long time; perhaps never, I don’t know. Don’t ask him to stay this time.”

“And you want him to go?” Kelsey said. “You really do, Alice?”

“Of course.”

“You liar, Alice.” She sat up and her eyes sought the sounds that were Alice to her. “You liar! You puling little lovesick...”

“No! Please!”

“Do you thing I’m deaf?” Kelsey screamed. “Can’t I hear you gasp over his name like a breathless adolescent? Can’t I hear you purring over him? ‘That was lovely, Philip.’ ‘Please explain this, Philip.’ You say Philip as if it were a watchword, a prayer, little Jesus James!”

“I don’t,” Alice said, gasping. “You’re wrong. I don’t — think anything of him.”

“All these months I’ve listened to your love-sounds and it’s made me sick, do you hear? It makes me vomit to hear your soft sighs and the catch in your voice.”

She got up from the couch and stumbled toward Alice with her hands out.

“Do you hear me? Are you still there? Thank God I can’t see! Thank God I don’t have to look at your face drooling with love, and your eyes sick and tender and stupid like a cow’s.”

“You can’t,” Alice said, “you can’t say these things to me!” She put out her hand to touch Kelsey but Kelsey felt the movement and drew back.

“Get out of my room, Alice. Sneak back to my lover. You, Alice with your two good eyes, get out of my room.”

She raised her hand and pointed. “Get out.”

There was a silence, then the hiss of Alice’s breathing, and Kelsey’s voice, torn into shreds. “Alice?”

“Yes.”

“I am pointing to the door?”

“Almost,” Alice said quietly. “Pretty nearly. You have a good sense of direction.”

“But I wasn’t pointing right at the door?”

“No.”

Kelsey threw out her arms wildly and her right hand struck Alice’s shoulder. With a cry of pain Alice staggered back.

Almost instantly Kelsey was quiet again.

“Ah,” she said in a pleased voice. “I hit you, didn’t I? Not on purpose. It was an accident, but I’m not sorry for it. I had to do something to you, didn’t I, for getting Philip away from me?”

“No,” Alice said. “Philip doesn’t know I’m alive.”

“Oh, but I know that!” Kelsey cried. “I must punish you just for trying.”

She leaned over and groped with her hands until she found the bed. “There. I am not lost any more. Go and bring Ida, Alice.”

“I didn’t try,” Alice said. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Go and bring Ida. Ida is my friend. I can trust Ida.” She sat on the bed and smiled craftily in Alice’s direction. “You saw Ida’s ring, Alice? Pretty, isn’t it? How does it look on her? She’s’ got fat hands, hasn’t she? Fat red puffy hands?”

“You shouldn’t,” Alice said dully. “You shouldn’t have given it to her.”

“Does Philip know?”

“No.”

“You’ll bring it to his attention some time, won’t you? Promise me.”

“No. No, I won’t.”

“I want Ida,” Kelsey said querulously. “Go and get Ida.”

“I’ll have Maurice tell her.”

“No, you tell her, Alice.”

“Maurice will,” Alice said. “Will you be down for dinner?”

“No, I’m not coming down for dinner any more. I don’t want to see anyone.”

Alice closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a minute. Maurice hadn’t turned on the lights yet and the hall was dark, a place to hide in. When she was a child she had crouched here waiting for the doctor to come out of her mother’s room, waiting so she’d be the first to see his face and know if her mother had died. In this hall she had hidden, peering over the top of the banister, waiting for the arrival of her music teacher. Sometimes Maurice would pass close by her, calling, “Miss Alice! Mr. Harrington has arrived. Miss Alice, you’re not hiding?”

There was a feeling of guilt connected with this hall — perhaps she had wanted her mother to die; certainly she hadn’t wanted to see Mr. Harrington, ever — and it rose in her now, pressing on her eyes and ears, taut against her forehead like an iron hand.

I’ve done nothing, nothing to be ashamed of.

She heard a step on the stairs and turned her head. Maurice was coming up, looking faintly worried, just as he used to look when he was searching for her. She waited, hoping, almost expecting him to say, “Miss Alice, Mr. Harrington has arrived.”

But he didn’t even see her and it wasn’t the same Maurice after all. This one was old and couldn’t see very well, and Mr. Harrington had been dead for ten years.

Alice said, “Maurice, Kelsey wants Ida.”

He peered at her without surprise. “Yes ma’am. I’ll tell her.”

What a dreary voice he had, Alice thought, a voice to match the house and this dark hall.

Had it always been like this? Hadn’t there been laughter sometimes, and parties and dancing? Or had she only dreamed that people went through this hall to lay their wraps in the guest rooms, laughing and talking? And children, too, dressed in their Sunday best, drinking too much lemonade and eternally running to the bathroom?

No, the children were no dream. She could remember one of them well, a sober child with brown braids, who sneaked upstairs to listen outside her mother’s door and then crept back to the party. I am Alice Heath.

“Will that be all, ma’am?”

The lights were on and the child with the brown braids had gone back to the party.

“Shall I take Prince down with me, ma’am?”

Alice swung round sharply. In front of the door of her own room Prince lay with his head between his paws. His eyes regarded her, bright with interest. He had been there all the time watching her, knowing all about her, perhaps. She had the feeling again that the dog was human, that he could spy on her and be aware of her thoughts, even criticize her.

She called to him with a self-conscious laugh. He rose quickly and silently and stood beside her. She put a reluctant hand on his neck, as if she hated him but must be nice to him. Don’t tell on me, Prince. There’ll be something in it for you if you don’t tell on me.

There were only the three of them at dinner, Alice, Johnny and Philip, and they ate in the drawing room at a table drawn up in front of the fireplace. They spoke seldom at first, their voices polite and formal.

“More lamb, Alice?”

“No thank you, John.”

“Phil?”

“No thank you.”

“It’s a bit overdone,” Johnny said. “Reminds me of the time Phil gave the concert in that church on Bloor Street and the Ladies’ Aid or something made a supper for him in the Sunday School. Remember, Phil?”

“No,” Philip said.

His face was cold wax. Only the flicker of the flames gave it a vicarious life, moving across it like probing sculptors’ fingers, pinching the wax into a smile, smoothing it out again.

“I don’t remember anything,” he said bleakly. “I can’t afford to. I’ve got to start all over with my mind stripped as clean as a newborn baby’s. As clean as Johnny’s even.”

“So you’re still in a mood,” Johnny said, grinning.

Philip didn’t answer. His eyes were on Alice as she poured the coffee. When she handed him his cup he took it out of her hand quickly, as if he were afraid to touch her and wanted to get the contact over with.

“Johnny?” Alice said. “Have some?”

“Thanks. Maurice forgot the cognac. I’ll ring.”

“I thought you’d be going teetotal,” Philip said.

“Me?” Johnny stared. “Why?”

“The new girl disapproves, doesn’t she?”

“Oh. By God, she does. But you wouldn’t think she’d count a couple of drops of cognac in coffee.”

“T.T.’s count everything.”

“Well, by God,” Johnny said again. “Is that right?”

Philip smiled thinly. “Perfectly right. Be prepared to give it up for love. I seem to recall giving up a number of things for the same frail reason.”

“Philip,” Alice said sharply.

He didn’t look at her. “Smoking was my sacrifice. Not a very big one, perhaps, for such a holy cause, but a persistent, nagging one.”

“That’s different,” Johnny said. “Marcie is more reasonable than Kelsey.”

“Shouldn’t be hard for her. Kelsey is surely the ideal of unreason.”

“Well, don’t talk about it!” Alice said. “You’re going away. Leave it at that.” She turned to Johnny and gave him the parent-to-child smile that all women, including his sisters, were prepared to give Johnny when he was being a good boy. “You’re really serious about this girl, Johnny?”

Johnny leaned back in his chair. “She’s fine. You’d like her. She’s never had much of a chance...”

“So few of them do,” Philip said.

“Dry up, Phil. She dances. She does an acrobatic number at Joey’s. She can twist herself into the most fantastic shapes.”

“Oh, God,” said Philip.

“She’s good,” Johnny went on. “Joey’s isn’t much of a place of course.”

“Don’t apologize for her,” Alice said, frowning.

“But it’s a start. She works hard at it because she wants to be really good some day. She lives at home with her mother...”

“A prolific woman,” Philip said, “with a real talent for reproduction.”

Johnny scowled at him. “What in hell’s got into you?”

“Well, isn’t she and hasn’t she?”

“No,” Johnny said shortly. “I’d like to know what’s the matter with you tonight.”

“The matter is your sister.” He paused. “Yes, and I have a mouthful of sour grapes, grapes as big as oranges and stewed in quinine. I have to spit them out some place, and you’re handy, see?”

“You couldn’t,” Alice said coldly, “be expected to chew and swallow them like a civilized person?”

“Like Alice, like a civilized person,” Philip jeered, “No, never. I don’t deserve what I’ve got. Nothing has been my fault. Even that night I didn’t want Kelsey to drive. She was half-tight.”

“She was not,” Alice said.

“Ask Johnny if she wasn’t! She was feeling high and she said she wanted to drive. Johnny was in the rumble-seat...”

“Why go into it?” Johnny said feebly.

“...with Geraldine. That was her name, Geraldine. So Kelsey drove, as she wanted to.”

“This is all so unnecessary,” Alice said.

Philip looked at her. “You think so? Well, don’t listen. None of it was my fault but I’ve had to answer for it all. She couldn’t get back at fate so she got back at me. I was the one who plucked out her eyes!”

“I’ll go and get the cognac,” Johnny said. He went out quickly, slamming the door behind him.

“We’ve all paid,” Alice said after a time.

“But for what? Do we have to pay because she is blind? What have I done to Kelsey that she’d like to see me dead?”

“She wouldn’t,” Alice said, but the protest was faint, there was nothing behind it to hold it up.

“She’d like to see us all dead, even the dog! Then she could die too, without bitterness. But she won’t die till then, till we’re dead. You notice what extraordinarily good care she takes of herself. Biding her time, that’s what she’s doing.”

His voice rang out loud and strangely false, as if he were giving a reading full of passion and could reproduce the strength of the passion only by raising his voice.

Second-hand emotion, Alice thought, and second-hand words. He doesn’t mean any of it, he’s flaying himself so he’ll have the courage to leave.

“You imagine too much,” she said. “You’re like Kelsey. Kelsey has a new idea.”

Something in her tone made him look up.

“Now what?”

“She thinks I am in love with you.”

She saw that he couldn’t believe it at first. His face loosened with surprise. When it tightened up again it looked peevish, as if he were saying silently, Haven’t I enough trouble without that?

“It’s not true, of course,” he said at last.

Here is my chance, Alice thought. It will never come again.

She laughed and said, “Of course not!”

His whole body relaxed. Her laugh and her denial were a poultice drawing out the tension.

“Well, thank God,” he said with a sigh.

“Yes, aren’t you lucky? A completely free agent now.” She was trembling with loathing for herself and for this man who would have denied her and flung her gifts back in her face. “Nothing to keep you here, is there?”

“No.”

“Don’t tempt your fates by saying good-bye to anyone.”

“Sneak out with my tail between my legs,” Philip said. “This is the way the world ends. What if I come back?”

“The door will be locked!” she said savagely. “So don’t try it!”

He stepped back as if to see her better. He was smiling.

“Why, you do hate me,” he said softly. “I didn’t think you had it in you. Perhaps you’re more like Kelsey than you...”

His head jerked toward the door.

Ida was standing just inside the room, twisting her apron in her hands, breathing noisily through her mouth. Her face shone red in the light.

“Ida!” Alice said.

The girl moved closer, all shining, her teeth and the ring on her finger and her eyes and her nails.

“She’s dead,” Ida said, glowing with sweat.

Philip strode across the room and grasped one of her damp fat arms. “What? What?”

“She’s dead,” Ida said, and her voice was gentle and sly. “She just died. She just died right now.”