(1961) The Chapman Report Read Online Free PDF Page A

had never let herself go. Even after twelve years of marriage and two children, her weight had not varied by more than, five pounds.
    Now, with a sigh, she moved to the table, poured a cup of tea, and sat across from her husband. She gazed past his newspaper, at his arm and the portion of his thick-jowled face visible, with detached pity. Although only four years older than she, he had become, at least in her eyes, an overweight clod. She had long forgotten her need for the safety of his solidity in their early years, and her approval of his dogged fight for their security. She remembered only that, after twelve years, he had evolved into a dull, insensitive, inanimate, sedentary fixture, an object with little interest in the world around him, its high excitements and marvelous refinements, beyond an obsessive concern for his men’s clothing store, his children, his back-yard garden, and his wing chair set before the television set. Love he performed dutifully, breathing hard, once a week, on Sunday night, and never satisfying her. This she might have endured, Sarah thought, had there been some romantic air about it, or some fun at least. But it had been added to the monotonous necessities of eating, sleeping, and chores to be done. Oh, he was a good person, of course, and kind, there was no doubt about that. But he was good and kind in that special flabby, sentimental, Jewish way, too quick to apologize or cry or be grateful. In a world alive, he was a sort of death.
    She had once read Madame Bovary, and she had committed to memory several lines: “Her innermost heart was waiting for something to happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned a despairing gaze over the solitude of her life, seeking some white sail in the far mists of the horizon… . But nothing happened to her; God had
    willed it so! The future was a dark corridor, with its door at the end shut fast.” And afterward she always thought that she knew Emma Bovary better than she knew any woman friend in The Briars.
    “Nine-thirty already!” she heard Sam exclaim. He was on his feet, pushing up the knot of his tie. “If I get there late like this every morning, they’ll rob me blind.” He started into the living room. “The minute the help sees you are lax, they take advantage. I see it all the time.” He reappeared with his flannel coat. “But who can leave when it’s so comfortable at home? I like to be with my wife and children. I like my home.” He stood over Sarah, tugging on his coat. “Is that a crime?”
    “It’s very good,” said Sarah.
    “Or maybe it’s just that I’m getting old.”
    ““Why do you always make yourself older than you are?” said Sarah, more sharply than she had intended.
    “It bothers you? All right, I’m sweet sixteen again.” He bent, and her face, eyes closed, was waiting. She felt his chapped lips on her own. “Well, I’ll see you at six,” he said, straightening.
    “Fine.”
    “Tonight’s what? A-ha, the fat comedian at seven. Maybe we should eat in the living room so we can watch.”
    “All right.”
    He went to the door. “You got anything special today?”
    “Shopping, Jerry’s dental appointment after school-a million things.”
    She sat very still, listening to his leather heels on the cement, to the creaking of the car door opening. After a moment, the sedan coughed, started, and she heard it back out the driveway and then drive off.
    Quickly, she finished her tea, removed her apron, and went into the master bedroom. She stood before the Empire dresser, intent on the mirror. Her hair was fine, the checked shirtmaker becoming, Unclasping her straw handbag, she pulled out lipstick and compact.
    Carefully, she touched up her cheeks and then painted on her lips in subdued carmine. Again, she surveyed herself in the mirror, then timed and moved to the telephone on the stand between the twin beds.
    She lifted the receiver, hastily dialed, then waited. There were three rings, and his voice was