The House Of Dust: Part 02: 06: Adele And Davis
By Conrad Potter Aiken
She turned her head on the pillow, and cried once more.
And drawing a shaken breath, and closing her eyes,
To shut out, if she could, this dingy room,
The wigs and costumes scattered around the floor,
Yellows and greens in the dark, she walked again
Those nightmare streets which she had walked so often . . .
Here, at a certain corner, under an arc-lamp,
Blown by a bitter wind, she stopped and looked
In through the brilliant windows of a drug-store,
And wondered if she dared to ask for poison:
But it was late, few customers were there,
The eyes of all the clerks would freeze upon her,
And she would wilt, and cry . . . Here, by the river,
She listened to the water slapping the wall,
And felt queer fascination in its blackness:
But it was cold, the little waves looked cruel,
The stars were keen, and a windy dash of spray
Struck her cheek, and withered her veins . . . And so
She dragged herself once more to home, and bed.
Paul hadnt guessed it yet, though twice, already,
Shed fainted, once, the first time, on the stage.
So she must tell him soon, or else, get out . . .
How could she say it? That was the hideous thing.
Shed rather die than say it! . . . and all the trouble,
Months when she couldnt earn a cent, and then,
If he refused to marry her . . . well, what?
She saw him laughing, making a foolish joke,
His grey eyes turning quickly; and the words
Fled from her tongue . . . She saw him sitting silent,
Brooding over his morning coffee, maybe,
And tried again . . . she bit her lips, and trembled,
And looked away, and said . . . Say Paul, boy, listen,
Theres something I must tell you . . . There she stopped,
Wondering what hed say . . . What would he say?
Spring it, kid! Dont look so serious!
But what Ive got to say, IS, serious!
Then she could see how, suddenly, he would sober,
His eyes would darken, hed look so terrifying,
He always did, and what could she do but cry?
Perhaps, then, he would guess, perhaps he wouldnt.
And if he didnt, but asked her Whats the matter?
She knew shed never tell, just say she was sick . . .
And after that, when would she dare again?
And what would he do, even suppose she told him?
If it were Felix! If it were only Felix!
She wouldnt mind so much. But as it was,
Bitterness choked her, she had half a mind
To pay out Felix for never having liked her,
By making people think that it was he . . .
Shed write a letter to someone, before she died,
Just saying Felix did it, and wouldnt marry.
And then shed die . . . But that was hard on Paul . . .
Paul would never forgive her, hed never forgive her!
Sometimes she almost thought Paul really loved her . . .
She saw him look reproachfully at her coffin.
And then she closed her eyes and walked again
Those nightmare streets that she had walked so often:
Under an arc-lamp swinging in the wind
She stood, and stared in through a drug-store window,
Watching a clerk wrap up a little pill-box.
But it was late. No customers were there,
Pitiless eyes would freeze her secret in her!
And then, what poison would she dare to ask for?
And if they asked her why, what would she say?