The Disinherited Read Online Free PDF Page A

used to be with my husband. I guess that was because I was afraid he would listen; that was the only thing that really bothered me about him, that he might kill me. He always looked at me, not like you are now but with his eyes pushed round and open, like they were made out of glass and he was
blind;
he didn’t do it to be mean or anything, it was just his idea of a joke. What he liked best was having a wife, someone to take care of him and cook and help fill up the space when he felt empty. Once I gave him an inflatable doll for his birthday. The only time he could feel anything for me was when I was asleep. He was always asking me if I was tired yet. Just to please him sometimes I would pretend I was and go to bed. He would sit up for a while, playing solitaire and having a few drinks, maybe cleaning one of his guns or working on his machine. Then he would turn off all the lights and come to bed. He would get under the blankets very carefully, he didn’t want to wake me up, and then he’d try to have me. At first I didn’t mind, I guess I felt sorry for him and anyway, I wanted it too, even if I had to pretend I didn’t, but after a few months I just learned to sleep with my legs crossed. Anyway, it’s over. Some people would even say that because it’s gone I shouldn’t talk about it, as if nothing had ever happened and each second was altogether new and cut off.”
    He was suddenly conscious of his hands on the tablecloth, of the expensive restaurant and the sputtering candle that was sending explosions of light and darkness against Valerie’s face. He tried to compose himself. He shifted his legs under the table and moved back in his chair. Then he leaned forward. No, it wasn’t right: he could feel his body tense against the awkward angle.
    “Do you want me to read your palm?”
    “Sure,” Erik said. He held out his hand to Valerie. If he was going to propose to her it should be something more elaborate, a moonlight ceremony with music and a diamond ring. There should be staging, a prepared speech, a series of declarations leading up to the final flashing moment of betrothal when he slipped the ring on her finger and fell to his knees. Or something entirely casual: a joke in bed about the colour of the curtains or the name of their third child. Or nothing at all. Simply this last dinner in honour of his new job and an ironic farewell at the airport.
    “I’ll miss Toronto,” he would say.
    “Yes.”
    “Well then, good-bye.” He would board the airplane. He would drink scotch and look out the window. A few hours later he would arrive at the University of Alberta. A taxi would take him directly to the office of the chairman.
    “I can’t see your hand,” Valerie said. Erik moved it closer to the candle. “I’m sorry,” Valerie said, “I’ve forgotten the book already.” A waiter appeared with a tray of pastries and they both chose the same kind: chocolate icing with a lemon centre.
    Erik ate his with his fingers. When he was finished, he wiped his face with his napkin and looked across at Valerie. She had her pastry on a small plate and was cutting it up with a knife and fork. When she opened her mouth her teeth showed, but just a little. That was something he admired about her, her mouth and teeth. They seemed dainty and lady-like to him. He didn’t like people with sloppy faces. He wondered if she could grow herbs: his mother had always lined the bottom of the garden with bursts of parsley and chives.
    “What are you thinking about?”
    “My mother’s garden,” Erik said. The waiter brought their coffee. Soon they would be able to go back to his apartment and take off their clothes. Valerie was wearing a new dress and would want to hang it up carefully. He felt he only met her at certain moments while she, unaware, went about the business of cycling blood through her anterior regions, breathing, walking from the bed to the window. As he reached into his pocketfor cigarettes, the unfamiliar