The Hothouse by the East River Read Online Free PDF
Author: Muriel Spark
the
traffic.
‘What
kind of a daughter are you?’ Paul says. ‘Just what kind of a daughter?’
Katerina
says, ‘I did you credit at school. What did you do for me that’s so special?’
‘I
caused you,’ says her father.
‘Not
all by yourself.’ She smiles with her white teeth seeming to leap from her sun
tan.
‘I
always took the initiative with your mother.’
‘Well,’
she says, ‘that is an interesting piece of data.’
‘Data
is plural. Datum is the singular. I don’t know how the hell you did well at
school. You don’t know a thing.’
‘You’d
be surprised, Pa,’ says Katerina. ‘You really would.’
She had
been lying in bed listening to the church bells and the air-conditioner when
her father arrived. Her apartment is, for the present, at East Sixty-fourth
Street off Madison Avenue.
When he
has gone she writes a letter to her mother asking for money. After some thought
she addresses the envelope to Mrs Paul Hazlett, H.C.F. The letters stand for
Highest Common Factor. Katerina feels her mother might ponder as to their
significance and so be moved to read the letter. Katerina delivers it herself
later in the day, slipping it into her parents’ mailbox on the ground floor,
there by the East River where they live.
III
It is winter time in Elsa
Hazlett’s apartment; the rushing summer purr of the air-conditioner has ceased;
the air quivers with central heating that cannot be turned off very far, and
which is augmented by heat from the flats above and below and in the north
flank.
‘Garven?
— Who is Garven?’ says Princess Xavier.
‘My
guidance director,’ Elsa says.
‘Liberate
yourself from all such people,’ says the Princess, gathering together her
large-lady folds.
‘You
aren’t going yet? — Stay a while,’ Elsa says.
The
Princess murmurs, while she settles herself back among the cushions, ‘I have to
get home to my mulberries.’ She says, ‘I once was in the toils of a priest, my
dear Elsa. I liberated myself from him forty years ago and I never regretted
it. The first week and the fourth week that I refused him the door were the
worst. He had been my anchor and when I gave up this man I felt like a little
boat tossing on the great sea of life. But I found my course — I have never
regretted cutting loose from that priest.’ She leans back, puffing her sails
like a very big ship, so that one can well believe what she has said.
‘Oh,
Garven has no religion,’ Elsa says, ‘he’s not a priest.’
‘Religion
makes no difference,’ the Princess says. ‘You should never take guidance from
one man only. From many men, many women, yes, by watching them and hearing, and
finally consulting with yourself. It’s the only way. Life should be one’s
guidance director.’
‘Oh,
Garven amuses me,’ Elsa says.
‘If you
enjoy going to visit him then the more reason that you should give him up. You
will miss him, and the more you miss him the stronger you will be. Guidance
director! You’re better off with your window—thing.’
Elsa
laughs and goes over to the window, looking out. She says, ‘It keeps me free,’
leaving a doubt whether she is referring to Garven or to the window-thing.
But
Princess Xavier is not about to be perplexed on any point whatsoever. She is
now interested in something else, far away in her thoughts, probably Long
Island, where her farm of sheep and silkworms will be shivering for want of
her presence and, of course, the cold. She opens one of the folds revealing a
pink bulge of bosom. She puts her hand within the crease; her eggs are safe.
She is in the habit of keeping the eggs of her silkworms warm between and under
her folds of breasts; she also takes new-born lambs to her huge ancestral bed, laying
them at her feet early in the cold springtime, and she does many such things.
She now folds herself back into her coverings and starts the process of rising
from the sofa.
Elsa
says, ‘Paul will be in soon. Can’t
traffic.
‘What
kind of a daughter are you?’ Paul says. ‘Just what kind of a daughter?’
Katerina
says, ‘I did you credit at school. What did you do for me that’s so special?’
‘I
caused you,’ says her father.
‘Not
all by yourself.’ She smiles with her white teeth seeming to leap from her sun
tan.
‘I
always took the initiative with your mother.’
‘Well,’
she says, ‘that is an interesting piece of data.’
‘Data
is plural. Datum is the singular. I don’t know how the hell you did well at
school. You don’t know a thing.’
‘You’d
be surprised, Pa,’ says Katerina. ‘You really would.’
She had
been lying in bed listening to the church bells and the air-conditioner when
her father arrived. Her apartment is, for the present, at East Sixty-fourth
Street off Madison Avenue.
When he
has gone she writes a letter to her mother asking for money. After some thought
she addresses the envelope to Mrs Paul Hazlett, H.C.F. The letters stand for
Highest Common Factor. Katerina feels her mother might ponder as to their
significance and so be moved to read the letter. Katerina delivers it herself
later in the day, slipping it into her parents’ mailbox on the ground floor,
there by the East River where they live.
III
It is winter time in Elsa
Hazlett’s apartment; the rushing summer purr of the air-conditioner has ceased;
the air quivers with central heating that cannot be turned off very far, and
which is augmented by heat from the flats above and below and in the north
flank.
‘Garven?
— Who is Garven?’ says Princess Xavier.
‘My
guidance director,’ Elsa says.
‘Liberate
yourself from all such people,’ says the Princess, gathering together her
large-lady folds.
‘You
aren’t going yet? — Stay a while,’ Elsa says.
The
Princess murmurs, while she settles herself back among the cushions, ‘I have to
get home to my mulberries.’ She says, ‘I once was in the toils of a priest, my
dear Elsa. I liberated myself from him forty years ago and I never regretted
it. The first week and the fourth week that I refused him the door were the
worst. He had been my anchor and when I gave up this man I felt like a little
boat tossing on the great sea of life. But I found my course — I have never
regretted cutting loose from that priest.’ She leans back, puffing her sails
like a very big ship, so that one can well believe what she has said.
‘Oh,
Garven has no religion,’ Elsa says, ‘he’s not a priest.’
‘Religion
makes no difference,’ the Princess says. ‘You should never take guidance from
one man only. From many men, many women, yes, by watching them and hearing, and
finally consulting with yourself. It’s the only way. Life should be one’s
guidance director.’
‘Oh,
Garven amuses me,’ Elsa says.
‘If you
enjoy going to visit him then the more reason that you should give him up. You
will miss him, and the more you miss him the stronger you will be. Guidance
director! You’re better off with your window—thing.’
Elsa
laughs and goes over to the window, looking out. She says, ‘It keeps me free,’
leaving a doubt whether she is referring to Garven or to the window-thing.
But
Princess Xavier is not about to be perplexed on any point whatsoever. She is
now interested in something else, far away in her thoughts, probably Long
Island, where her farm of sheep and silkworms will be shivering for want of
her presence and, of course, the cold. She opens one of the folds revealing a
pink bulge of bosom. She puts her hand within the crease; her eggs are safe.
She is in the habit of keeping the eggs of her silkworms warm between and under
her folds of breasts; she also takes new-born lambs to her huge ancestral bed, laying
them at her feet early in the cold springtime, and she does many such things.
She now folds herself back into her coverings and starts the process of rising
from the sofa.
Elsa
says, ‘Paul will be in soon. Can’t