The House That Jack Built Read Online Free PDF Page A

might be selling.
        Effie said, 'You need to take some time away from work, darling, that's all. You had a bad experience, you must give yourself time to recover, to think it all through.'
        'Think it all through? I've been thinking it all through ever since it happened, every hour on the hour. For Christ's sake, Effie, it's been almost impossible to think about anything else.'
        'Craig, it's over. It's really over. There's no point in torturing yourself. You were fantastically brave.'
        'Fantastically stupid, more like. Why didn't I just tell that girl to take a hike?'
        'Because you're you; and because you care about people.'
        'I didn't go into that drugstore because I cared about people. I went into that drugstore because I was pissed with the weather, and I was pissed with goddamned taxi drivers who don't know where the hell they're going, and I was pissed with Hakayawa for making me feel like a clumsy hamfisted Occidental who couldn't even arrive for a goddamned dinner on time.'
        They passed a sheer wall of tawny-grey concrete, and then they were out in the sunlight again. Butterfly was singing Un bel vedremo . Effie said, 'You know what Dr. Samstag told you. You have to think about yourself differently. You have to revise your whole view of yourself. What happened in that drugstore, that made you question your manhood, your sense of being in charge, everything. They could have killed you. They could have done anything to you, and there wasn't a damned thing that you could have done about it.'
        'Don't you think I know that?' Craig barked at her. 'Don't you think I fucking know that?'
        'Yes,' she said, restraining her anger. 'I do think you know that, yes. That's why you should have the sense to see what a few days' break is going to do for you. Maybe you can get rid of some of that anger. Maybe you can learn that there are some things in life which are way beyond your control; things that you can't do anything about, no matter how much of a wheeler-dealer lawyer you are.'
        Craig said nothing, but looked out of the window at the dreary warehouses and half-derelict projects of the Bronx. In the orange summer sunlight, it looked like a landscape from Morocco. Next to them, a black family were driving in a sagging bronze Mercury, father and mother and fat daughter and dreadlocked kids, and Craig was struck by their obvious happiness, the way they were smiling and laughing. If that old wreck had been his only car, he would have thought about fixing a hose to the tailpipe and killing himself. God, to be satisfied. Just to be satisfied once - with his career or his wife or his friends or his life, or anything.
        Unconsciously, he brushed his right shoulder.
        

FRIDAY, JUNE 18, 7:54 A.M.
        
        Effie opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. The sun was dancing across it like a row of dancing-dollies. Beside her, Craig was bundled up in the comforter with only his hair sprigging out of the top of it, his breathing harsh and aggressive. Effie listened and all she could hear was swans honking, and the tap-tap-tap of the curtains against the window catch.
        Not for the first time, she wondered how her life had come to this. No child, when she had always wanted a child. No time to paint, when she had always wanted time to paint. No time to do anything, except work all day at Verulian Galleries on Third Avenue, and then rush home to change for dinner so that she could decoratively attach herself to Craig's arm while he entertained his clients. It was always the same. Lutece on Tuesday, Le Bernardin on Wednesday, La Cote Basque on Thursday and La Reserve on Friday.
        Evening after evening of nodding and smiling at the wives of Japanese and Korean businessmen. Evening after evening of brittle, meaningless conversation. Effie knew that it was her duty; and she couldn't pretend that she didn't like the wealth that it had