Homecomings Read Online Free PDF Page A

swelling out from the middle chest, not far below the dog collar; he was teetering along like a massive walking casualty, helped out of battle by an orderly.
    I went out on to the path to greet them, whilst Sheila stayed at the door.
    ‘Good morning, Lewis,’ said Mr Knight very faintly.
    ‘No talking till we get him in,’ Mrs Knight announced.
    ‘I’m sorry to lay my bones among you,’ whispered Mr Knight.
    ‘Don’t strain yourself talking, dear,’ said Mrs Knight.
    At last the progress ended in an armchair in the drawing-room, where Mr Knight closed his eyes. It was a warm morning, and through a half-open window blew a zephyr breath.
    ‘Is that too much for you, dear?’ said Mrs Knight, looking accusingly at me.
    ‘Perhaps a little,’ came a whisper from the armchair. ‘Perhaps a little.’
    At once Mrs Knight rammed the window up. She acted as though she had one thought alone, which was to keep her husband alive.
    ‘How are you?’ I asked, standing by the chair.
    ‘As you see,’ came the answer, almost inaudible.
    ‘What do the doctors say?’
    ‘They know very little, Lewis, they know very little.’
    ‘So long as we can keep him free from strain,’ said Mrs Knight implacably.
    ‘I sleep night and day,’ breathed Mr Knight. ‘ Night and day .’
    Once more he composed his clever, drooping, petulant face. Then he whispered, ‘Sheila! Sheila, I haven’t seen my daughter!’ As she came near, he turned his head, as though by a herculean effort, through a few degrees, in order to present her his cheek to be kissed. Sheila stood over him, strained, white-faced. For an instant it looked to me as though she could not force herself. Then she bent down, gave him a token kiss, and retreated out of our circle into the window seat.
    To her mother, it seemed unnatural; but in fact Sheila believed he was making a fool of himself, and hated it. Valetudinarian: self-dramatizing: he had been so since her childhood, though not on such a grandiose scale as now, and she did not credit that there was anything wrong with him. In her heart she wanted to respect him, she thought he had wasted his ability because he was so proud and vain. All he had done was marry money: for it was not the pug-faced, coarse-fibred Mrs Knight who had climbed through marriage, but her husband, the self-indulgent and hyper-acute. Sheila could not throw off the last shreds of her respect for him, and at the sight of his performances her insight, her realism, even her humour failed her.
    When we were sitting round the dining-room table, she could not make much pretence of conversation. I was on edge because of her, and Mr Knight, with eyes astute and sly, was surreptitiously inspecting us both. He had time to do so, for Mrs Knight would not let him eat more than a slice of cold ham. It was an effort for him to obey, for he was greedy about his food. But there was something genuine in his hypochondria: he would give up even food, if it lessened his fear of death. Disconsolately, he ate his scrap of ham, his eyes under their heavy lids lurking towards his daughter or me, whenever he thought he was unobserved.
    Of the four of us, the only person who came carefree from the meal was Mrs Knight. We rested in the drawing-room, looking down the garden towards the river, and Mrs Knight was satisfied. She was displeased with her daughter’s mood, not upset by it, and she was used to being displeased and could ignore it. For the rest she was happy because her husband had revived. She had put away a good meal; she was satisfied at least with her daughter’s kitchen and the bright smart house. In fact, she was jollying me by being prepared to concede that Sheila might have made a worse marriage.
    ‘I always knew you’d have a success,’ said Mrs Knight. Her memory could not have been more fallacious. When as a poor young man I was first taken by Sheila to the vicarage, Mrs Knight had thought me undesirable in the highest degree, but in our