Adultery & Other Choices Read Online Free PDF Page A

Barbara had been reading on the bed she shared with Amy; now she was watching him. When he hung up she said: ‘Eddie quit, didn’t he.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜What are you going to do now?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Why don’t you quit?’
    He shrugged.
    â€˜Just tell Daddy you’ve tried it and you don’t like it. He can sell the horn. Paul: what are you going to do—take those silly lessons till you’re twenty-one years old?’
    Next day he went to his lesson. Without Eddie, his clumsy hypocrisy filled the room: as Brother Eugene called for a note Paul assumed a look of memory and concentration while his fingers pressed any valves they touched and he blew into the horn. Brother Eugene paced back and forth, turned his back to Paul, then spun to face him.
    â€˜Paul, you’re not practicing. You’ve learned nothing in a month. At least when Eddie was with us you could watch his fingers. Why aren’t you practicing? Don’t you know you owe it to your father? He had to sacrifice to buy that horn. It’s a beautiful horn. If you have no pride in yourself, can’t you at least do that much for your father?’
    â€˜He won’t let me.’
    â€˜What do you mean, he won’t let you?’
    â€˜He won’t let me practice. He likes quiet in the house.’
    Brother Eugene tapped the music stand once with his baton then pushed his glasses higher on his nose.
    â€˜Maybe I better talk to him,’ he said.
    â€˜You better not,’ Paul said. ‘He’s Episcopalian, and he doesn’t like Brothers. He—’
    â€˜He what, Paul?’
    â€˜I heard him talking once—he wants to—’
    â€˜He wants to what, Paul?’
    â€˜He wants to use those things. With my mother.’
    He looked down at the horn in his lap. Then he stroked it with his fingers and looked at Brother Eugene’s robe and shoes.
    â€˜We can stop for today,’ Brother Eugene said. ‘If you’d like to talk about the other—’
    Paul shook his head.
    â€˜It’s all right,’ he said. ‘And I can practice in the afternoons. Just there’s not much time.’
    He took the mouthpiece from the horn and put the horn in its case.
    In the kitchen his mother said: ‘I never did think that was the right instrument for you. But Daddy will be disappointed.’
    â€˜Why should he be?’ Barbara said. ‘Nobody has to play the French horn.’
    â€˜Well, he spent a lot of money on that horn.’ She looked at Paul. ‘Are you going to tell him? I want you to stand up like a man and tell him yourself.’
    â€˜Okay,’ he said.
    He went out to the back yard. The day was blue and warm and he stood waiting in the sunlight, clinging to the vision of tomorrow when it would all be over, until in the shadows of twilight he heard the slamming of his father’s car door and then Mike growling happily. When those sounds stopped he went into the kitchen as his father pushed through its door. His mother was at the stove and Barbara was gone. He looked quickly at his father and said: ‘I want to quit the horn.’
    â€˜What?’ His father still wore his hat, and his overcoat was over his arm. ‘You want to what ?’
    â€˜Now don’t shout at him,’ his mother said.
    His father looked at them both, then sighed and shook his head.
    â€˜Goddamn,’ he said, and went back through the door; he went through it fast and it swung twice behind him before it closed.
    â€˜You should have waited till he had his drink. You know I always wait till he’s had his drink.’
    When his father came back he had taken off his coat and tie and rolled up the cuffs of his white shirt. He was midway across the kitchen toward the liquor cabinet when he stopped and looked at Paul: ‘What do you mean, you want to quit? You’ve only been at it a month! You haven’t even