Dance of the Happy Shades Read Online Free PDF

shopping centre, which had been promised when the houses were sold.
    And under the structure of this new subdivision, there was still something else to be seen; that was the old city, the old wilderness city that had lain on the side of the mountain. It had to be called a city because there were tramlines running into the woods, the houses had numbers and there were all the public buildings of a city, down by the water. But houses like Mrs. Fullerton’s had been separated from each other by uncut forest and a jungle of wild blackberry and salmonberry bushes; these surviving houses, with thick smoke coming out of their chimneys, walls unpainted and patched and showing different degrees of age and darkening, rough sheds and stacked wood and compost heaps and grey board fences around them—these appeared every so often among the large new houses of Mimosa and Marigold and Heather Drive—dark, enclosed, expressing something like savagery in their disorder and the steep, unmatched angles of roofs and lean-tos; not possible on these streets, but there.
    “What are they saying,” said Edith, putting on more coffee. She was surrounded in her kitchen by the ruins of the birthday party—cake and molded jellies and cookies with animal faces. A balloon rolled underfoot. The children had been fed, had posed for flash cameras and endured the birthday games; nowthey were playing in the back bedrooms and the basement, while their parents had coffee. “What are they saying in there?” said Edith.
    “I wasn’t listening,” Mary said, holding the empty cream pitcher in her hand. She went to the sink window. The rent in the clouds had been torn wide open and the sun was shining. The house seemed too hot.
    “Mrs. Fullerton’s house,” said Edith, hurrying back to the living-room. Mary knew what they were talking about. Her neighbours’ conversation, otherwise not troubling, might at any moment snag itself on this subject and eddy menacingly in familiar circles of complaint, causing her to look despairingly out of windows, or down into her lap, trying to find some wonderful explanatory word to bring it to a stop; she did not succeed. She had to go back; they were waiting for cream.
    A dozen neighbourhood women sat around the living room, absently holding the balloons they had been given by their children. Because the children on the street were so young, and also because any gathering-together of the people who lived there was considered a healthy thing in itself, most birthday parties were attended by mothers as well as children. Women who saw each other every day met now in earrings, nylons and skirts, with their hair fixed and faces applied. Some of the men were there too—Steve, who was Edith’s husband, and others he had invited in for beer; they were all in their work clothes. The subject just introduced was one of the few on which male and female interest came together.
    “I tell you what I’d do if I was next door to it, “Steve said, beaming good-naturedly in expectation of laughter. “I’d send my kids over there to play with matches.”
    “Oh, funny,” Edith said. “It’s past joking. You joke, I try to do something. I even phoned the Municipal Hall.”
    “What did they say?” said Mary Lou Ross.
    “Well
I
said couldn’t they get her to paint it, at least, or pull down some of the shacks, and they said no they couldn’t. Isaid I thought there must be some kind of ordinance applied to people like that and they said they knew how I
felt
and they were very
sorry—
”
    “But no?”
    “But no.”
    “But what about the chickens, I thought—”
    “Oh, they wouldn’t let you or me keep chickens, but she has some special dispensation about that too, I forgot how it goes.”
    “I’m going to stop buying them,” Janie Inger said. “The supermarket’s cheaper and who cares that much about fresh? And my God, the smell. I said to Carl I knew we were coming to the sticks but I somehow didn’t picture us next