Gone to the Forest: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

veranda. There are champagne bottles being opened, toasts being made, and in the middle
     of it the girl. She wears the ring his father gave him to give her. His mother’s
     ring: the talisman of a failed contract.
    Still, in the week since the engagement he has become painfully aware of
     the girl. Her presence brings on the migraine—he cannot think clearly, he needs to
     lie down. He thinks of her like this; he imagines stretching out beside her. He thinks
     he is in love with her. With this patch of land that will soon be his. It is
     small—a mere one foot by five feet and barely a hundred pounds—but it will
     be his, to do with as he likes. This plot of earth. That he will take to his bed as he
     likes, and keep close beside him.
    A man feels a certain way toward his property. And Tom has never owned
     anything in his life. So he is in danger of being carried away, only he is a man both
     phlegmatic and wary. He does not know how to lose his head. He sees that the girl can
     look after herself. She lands on her feet like a cat dropped out a window. Being nimble
     in mind and body. But here she comes—she stands beside him, behind him, thefabric of her dress grazing his elbow, his hand, and it is hard not
     to feel what he feels. Her hair brushes against his shoulder and again he feels what he
     feels.
    Although it has to be said. He can feel and feel away but the coupling,
     now official, is far from fully achieved. He has barely touched the girl. He is all too
     conscious of the fact. There was a churlish kiss—churlish on whose side? He hardly
     knows but suspects his own—in front of his father and the Wallaces. At the time of
     the champagne bottles and the toasts. And then very little since. He has touched her
     hand but not held it. Once he touched the small of her back.
    She is cool and hard. Like marble or some other stone. He touches her neck
     and she leans back against the hand. Only for a second. The flesh is nonresponsive. It
     is like he is not even touching her, like his hand has been obliterated by her coldness.
     He puts his hand away. He admits that he does not know how to approach her. She is
     different from the others. Not that there have been any: Tom knows nothing about the
     ways of women.
    It does not trouble him too much. There is enough time. There is all the
     time in the world! They will be married and then there will be many months, months and
     years and decades, in which to learn how best to approach the girl. He sees her like a
     piece of wild game. He is just circling and circling and taking his time. Eventually he
     will throw ropes around her neck and legs and yank her to the ground.
    Meanwhile, the Wallaces are at the farm all the time, with all their
     civilization. They arrive in the afternoon fortea. They stay for
     dinner after tea. Lately the house is only empty in the morning. His father tolerates
     their company. He has found his son a mate. The change in routine is a small price to
     pay for it. Tom knows that his father does not like the Wallaces. Tom does not like them
     either. They sit on the chairs like they already belong to them, eyeing the silver,
     eating the food.
    Checks are put into place. It will not do to let the Wallaces loose upon
     the farm. Mrs. Wallace goes so far as to ask Celeste to prepare a dish for supper.
     “The lamb we ate last week. Perhaps you could make it tonight?” As if she
     were already mistress of the house. The old man is obliged to send them away. The
     Wallaces do not come to the farm that day or the next. Nor does the girl. Tom becomes
     anxious without her. Finally his father telephones and orders them to send the girl to
     tea.
    The girl comes alone. She has put on a fresh dress, bright yellow with a
     pattern of flowers. Hesitating, she steps onto the veranda and he comes forward to greet
     her. She says to him that she has already taken the dress in twice. She is shrinking,
     she is wasting away. It is the heat, she says.