Narrow House , livre ebook

The Floating Press - Evelyn Scott

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

115 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

The work of American modernist novelist Evelyn Scott has been compared favorably to that of Henry James and Marcel Proust. The Narrow House is a masterpiece of moodiness that offers keen -- and often unsettling -- insight into the inner workings of the human psyche.

Informations

Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 février 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776532810
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

THE NARROW HOUSE
* * *
EVELYN SCOTT

*
The Narrow House First published in 1921 Epub ISBN 978-1-77653-281-0 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77653-282-7 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V
*
"Love seeketh only Self to please , To bind another to its delight , Joys in another's loss of ease , And builds a hell in heaven's despite ." —WILLIAM BLAKE
Part I
*
The hot, bright street looked almost deserted. A sign swung before thedisheveled building at the corner and on a purple ground one could readthe notice, "Robinson & Son, Builders," painted in tall white letters.Some broken plaster had been thrown from one of the windows and lay onthe dusty sidewalk in a glaring heap.
The old-fashioned house next door was as badly in need of improvementsas the one undergoing alterations. The dingy brick walls were streakedby the drippage from the leaky tin gutter that ran along the roof. Themassive shutters, thrown back from the long windows, were rotting away.Below the lifted panes very clean worn curtains hung slack like thingsexhausted by the heat.
Some papers had been thrust in the tin letter box before the clumsy darkgreen door, and as Mrs. Farley emerged from the house she stopped toglance at them before descending to the street. One of the papers had aKansas City postmark and she thought it must have come for her husbandfrom a certain woman whom she was trying to forget. She placed thepapers clumsily back where she had found them.
As she passed down the stone stairs she stooped to toss a bright scrapof orange peel to the gutter. She sighed as she did it, not even takingthe trouble to brush the dust from the shabby white cotton gloves shewore. Her skirt was too long behind and as she dragged her feet acrossthe pavement it swept the ground after her. She glanced into the placewhich was being repaired and wished that something might be done toimprove her home. At any rate now that her daughter-in-law, Winnie, hadbecome reconciled to her parents things would be better. Mr. and Mrs.Price were rich. They had a carriage and an automobile. Mrs. Farley toldherself that it was because of her grandchildren that the end of thelong family quarrel brought some relief. Winnie's two babies, a girl anda boy, would now enjoy many things which the Farleys had not been ableto provide. Mrs. Farley thought of them going to church in Mrs. Price'sfine carriage. Mrs. Farley knew that she should have taken the part ofher son, Laurence, who had been responsible for the disagreement, butsomehow it had been impossible to condemn Winnie. The poor girl was notstrong. Laurie was a harsh man. He was stubborn. He did not forgiveeasily and would suffer everything rather than admit himself in thewrong. He had been like that as a youth. And idly, as one in a boatallows a hand to trail along the silken surface of the water, the womanallowed her mind to drift with the surface of long past events. She hadreached the butcher shop; had almost gone by it.
"How do you do, Mrs. Farley? Nice warm weather we're having." Thebutcher had a hooked nose and when he smiled it seemed to press down histhick brown mustache that framed his even white teeth so beautifully. Hesettled his apron over his stomach and gazed at her hungrily andaffectionately above the glass top of the counter as though he weretrying to hypnotize her into buying some of the coral pink sausageswhich reposed beside a block of ice in the transparent case.
The meat shop was as white as death. It smelt of blood and sawdust andits tiled interior offered a refuge from the heat without.
"I want a piece of—can you give me a nice rib roast today—? No! Whatdo you ask for those hens?" Mrs. Farley, as always, hesitated when shespoke and lines as fine as hairs traced themselves on her pale, dry,hastily powdered forehead. Her vague, rather squinting eyes traveledundecidedly over the big pieces of meat: the shoulders, the forelegs,the haunches, of different shades of red streaked with tallow or suet,that swung on hooks in the shadow against the gray-white tiling of thewalls. The fowls dangled in a row a little to the fore of the meat. Thefeet of the hens were a sickly bluish yellow, and the toes, crampedtogether yet flaccid, still suggested the fatigue which follows agony.The eyes bulged under thin blue-tinged lids and on the heads and necksabout the close-shut beaks bunches of reddish brown feathers had beenleft as decorations. The butcher took one down and, laying it on thecounter, pinched up the plump flesh between his forefinger and thumb.
"You could never find a better fed hen than that," he told her. "Nicefirm solid meat. You see they are just in and I was so sure of gettingrid of them I did not even put them on the ice yet. They're not storagefowls. I buy them from a young man who has a farm out near where mysister lives at Southbridge."
Mrs. Farley, in spite of a gala occasion and the fact that Mr. and Mrs.Price were to do her the condescension of coming to dinner at her housethe next day, had not intended to buy anything so expensive as chicken.For all those people it would take two hens. But though she tried herbest not to allow the butcher to catch her eye, she knew he was staringat her intently and that the white teeth were flashing almost cruellyunder the brown mustache beneath the hooked nose. It heightened aconviction of weakness which she never failed to experience when she wascalled upon to decide anything, especially in the presence of otherpeople, and she wished she had asked Alice to buy the meat before shewent to work. Of course Alice would spend too much but what she got wassure to be nice and the diners were certain to praise it.
"I will take two of the hens," said Mrs. Farley, moistening the dry downalong her lips. "Be sure you give me fat ones," she went on, frowning.While she fumbled in the pocketbook for the money she did not cease tobe aware of the pleasant confident manner of the butcher, as with deftfingers he ran his hand into the bird and with a slight clawing soundtore out a heap of discolored entrails so neatly that not one burst.Then he slit the chicken's neck and extracted its crop. Mrs. Farley wasanxious to get away. She never had any peace of mind except when she wasby herself.
"I'm sure you will be pleased," declared the butcher with a slight bow,as he took the money she handed him. Her short white hand was cordedwith bluish veins and her fingers were slightly knotted and bent fromgout. They had hovered almost palpitantly over her worn black pursewhile she tried to make up her mind whether to give him the exact amountor to ask him to change the five dollars which Alice had turned over toher that morning. At last she gave him the five dollars, and when hecounted the sum due her into her palm the dull brightness of the piecesof money swam slightly before her eyes and she had no idea whether ornot the amount returned to her was what was owing.
The butcher bowed again, managing to appear deferential. "Where shall Isend them?" he asked, inclining his ear toward her, and in a low hurriedvoice she recalled the number he had forgotten. "They must be sent rightaway," she insisted, "or I can't get them ready." With a gallantinclination of the head the butcher promised to send them at once.
She made her way through the bitter-smelling gloom and as she pushed thescreen door open a large blue fly rose stupidly and bumped against herface.
She was obliged to go to the grocer's and to the bakery and when sheapproached her home again it was already three o'clock in the afternoon.May, Winnie's little girl, an unhealthy looking child with lustrouswax-like skin, large, vapid, glazed, blue eyes, and thin, damp curls ofgray-blonde hair which clung to her hollow shoulders, rose from theshadowed doorstep.
"Hello, Grandma," she called, with one hand smoothing the front of herfaded pink gingham dress, while with the other she pressed her weightagainst the grimy iron balustrade.
Mrs. Farley's eyes frowned wearily but a conscientious smile came to herlips that were twisted a little with repugnance.
"Where's Mamma, May?" she asked, not looking at the child. "Is she lyingdown?" May sucked her middle finger and wagged her head from side toside. Her smile was vacant in its timorous interest. "Do you want totake one of my bundles?" May nodded her head up and down and acceptedthe parcel. Her small arm twined around it loosely. The front door wasajar, opening into a familiar smelling twilight, and she hopped afterher grandmother into the house.
*
As Mrs. Farley entered the darkened bedroom, Winnie, in a cheap, fancynégligé of lilac and pink, rose from an old corduroy-covered lounge andcame forward to meet her. Winnie's small, pointed face was haggard andsmeary with tears. She gazed at her mother-in-law with a childish lookof reproach.
"O Mamma Farley, I know Laurie will say some terrible thing again!" Shewrung her hands that were plump through the palm and had taperingfingers which curved backward at the tips. "I have been lying here allafternoon worrying about what may happen tomorrow!" As she spoke sheglanced beyond her mother-in-law's head to the heavily beveled mirror inthe old bureau, and her rapt, tragic face became even more voluptuouslytragic as it contemplated itself.
"Now, Winnie, I have talked to Laurence and he realizes perfectly wellthat he can't say what he thinks to