Poor Jenny, Bright As A Penny
- Автор: Мерфи Ширли Руссо
- Язык: английский
- Год: Ad Stellae Books
- Жанр: Фэнтези
Электронная книга - «Poor Jenny, Bright As A Penny». Краткое содержание книги:
“I’m not in a hurry.” She looked with wonder at the piles of books.
“Look at this fortress, look how thick the walls are, how it angles over the hill.” The towers and steep roofs sent sharp shadows jutting across the battlements. “And I found two dragons; I’ve drawn them,” he flipped the pages of his sketchbook. The dragons were obviously of stone; he had done a careful rendering. Under one he had written, “Goslar,” and underneath the other, “Neuilly-en-Donjon.” Goslar and Neuilly-en-Donjon, the words sang themselves in Jenny’s head.
“And here are African mud houses with the outside walls painted in designs.” He rooted through the magazines, then handed her one. “And I’ve never seen these.” Bingo’s eyes shone; he pushed another magazine over the top of the first so she stared down at curved concrete interiors that followed the same shapes as the African mud houses, curves that you would like to feel with your hands. Bingo hardly knew when Jenny left him.
When finally he came down with his drawings clutched beneath his arm, he found Jenny sitting quietly in the reading room. In the soft leather chairs all around her, drab old men slept or read. She was watching them.
She memorized the ill-fitting wrinkled clothes, the round-toed shoes, the stubbled, creviced faces. This must be a haven for the old men off the street, this reading room where the new magazines were kept lined against the walls and the radiators sent out their warm breath.
That night in bed Jenny wrote a sketch of the drab old men who came to shelter from the cold spring air, old men not wanted in their daughters’ houses in the daytime, or who lived alone in dismal rooms, lonely old men with nowhere else to go.
*
Maybe we’re all lonely. Maybe Crystal’s lonely, maybe she always was—and maybe Mama’s lonely too. What makes people lonely?
I don’t know.
She sat thinking about it, staring out at the lights of the city.
Maybe if you’re lonely inside yourself, Jenny thought, then being with people just hides it for a little while. She watched the lights of a jet streak over the city. But if you’re contented inside yourself, then you’re not ever lonely.
She thought about Bingo. Bingo’s never lonely with himself. And neither am I, really. Except sometimes—sometimes lately I have such a turmoil in me. Maybe it’s all the changes we’ve had. Or maybe it’s because we’ll have to go away with Mama soon. It’s going to seem worse now.
*
Ben was sprawled by the fire tonight with a book, and for some reason seeing him reading surprised me. I guess because he’s so matter-of-fact. He’s reading Steinbeck. I never have. Georgie says I should. Ben was reading Cannery Row and laughing, so I guess I’ll read it too.
Now I know something I will never do—I will never marry a policeman. I couldn’t stand it. When I get married and have a family I want my family to he safe. I could never stand what can happen. Tonight two young policemen were shot. They had been friends all their lives, in the Marines together, and rookies together. Someone had lain in ambush for them on a fake call. They were killed with a shotgun at point-blank range. All the Dermodys are tight-lipped. Jack looks very angry.
When the wind blows hard, the trees below my window look like a sea, like a roiling sea. Their shadows churn and thrash across the rooftops, so the roofs seem to be rolling in waves, a stormy sea, and houses are boats churning on it.
And I am Noah in a sturdy ark. Or Noah’s wife, I guess. We need more animals, though, two cats aren’t nearly enough. They’re both the same sex anyway.
Willy Grimm has been confined to his room after school for a week, and Bingo has been punished. Mr. Frazee caught them on the roof of the delicatessen, dropping raw eggs on people. I couldn’t help laughing, but I was shocked at Bingo. Maybe Georgie was right about Willy’s influence. Still, I didn’t like Georgie’s punishing Bingo, it’s always been my job to see he does right. He’s never done anything wrong before. I don’t like Georgie’s making him go without his allowance like that. It’s our money. Well, no, it’s county welfare money being paid for us.
But we’ve never had allowances before, it’s such a treat for us to have something to spend as we want. It hurt Bingo terribly, I could tell.
And that makes me wonder. I know it’s suspicious of me, but how much money do Georgie and Jack get for us? Do we really cost all that, or are they making money on us?
I’m an ungrateful creep. Why shouldn’t they keep it all. It takes more than food to take care of us, it takes time and all the extra things, laundry, my driving lessons. Part of it should be rent. Why shouldn’t they keep it all. It’s for everything, not just our food. I’m too used to Mama and Lud.
*
Now Georgie has a black eye. Jack and Bingo and I were eating breakfast when Georgie got home from working on the late night shift. Her eye was turning black. Jack just looked at her a long time, then said, “That’s not a bad shiner, but it’s a little off-center.” I thought that was funny, but Georgie told him to go to hell.
It happened at J.D.H.; five girls locked themselves in the craft room by wedging the tables against the door, then they pounded on the floor with chairs. Georgie said it shook the whole building. They broke out all the small panes of glass in the windows, and screamed and yelled—I can guess what sorts of things.
Georgie pried open the door enough to get the nozzle of the fire hose in, and she hosed them until they were willing to come out. The biggest girl called Georgie a slut and socked her in the eye before Georgie could pin her. And all Jack said was, “You’re really slipping.” When he said that, I didn’t blame Georgie for being mad.
I was very disillusioned by them. They were really getting angry at each other. They sat there drinking their coffee and not saying anything. Then suddenly Jack burst out laughing. Then in a minute so did Georgie and they collapsed together laughing.
I guess married people have things they understand without saying.
Oh, it is so good to be here. It’s Saturday, wonderful Saturday with no school. This morning I can smell pancakes and bacon and I’m starved, but I had to write this first. I had to write that it’s heaven to be able to jump out of bed, sit down at my own desk, and write what’s on my mind—without waking anyone, without anyone’s knowing or minding. It’s heaven to think that kind of thing is normal in this house.
And it’s heaven to lie in my bed and watch the morning shadows on my ceiling. When the sun first comes up, just behind the trees, it makes leaf patterns on my ceiling, and if the wind is blowing, they move and dance. It’s lovely to see the day begin.
*
Jenny threw on her robe and ran down the stairs, wild with hunger. Georgie looked up from cooking pancakes and grinned. Jack, in uniform, winked at her, “You’re an early one. Don’t you know it’s Saturday?”
“I couldn’t bear to sleep it away, it’s—” she wanted to hug them, she wanted to tell them how lovely it was. “It’s too good to waste time sleeping. And I’m starved.”
Then halfway through breakfast she thought, How can I be happy when I don’t know what’s happening to Crystal?