The Stories of Paul Bowles Read Online Free PDF Page A

thrust her jaw forward a bit.
    “What’s so funny?” she demanded.
    “I think you’re funny. You’re so tied up in knots. You get upset so easily. Perhaps you work too hard out there in your little house.”
    Prue was looking at her with astonishment.
    “God Almighty,” she said finally, “your I.Q.’s showing, gal.”
    “Thank you,” said Aileen with great seriousness. “Anyway, I think it’s fine that you’re happy here, and I hope you go on being happy.”
    “That’s what I came to say to you.”
    “Then everything’s fine.”
    “I can’t make you out,” said Prue, frowning.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Aileen, fingering the pages of her book impatiently. “It’s the most pointless conversation I’ve ever had.”
    “That I don’t think,” Prue said, going into the kitchen.
    The same evening, when her mother came for her usual after-dinner chat, she looked a little unhappy.
    “You don’t seem to be getting on very well with Prue,” she said reproachfully, as she sat down at the foot of the bed.
    “Why, we get on perfectly well. Oh. You’re talking about this afternoon, probably.”
    “Yes, I am, probably. Really, Aileen. You simply can’t be rude to a woman her age. She’s my guest, and you’re my guest, and you’ve got to be civil to each other. But she’s always civil and I have a feeling you’re not.”
    Aileen caught her breath and said, “I’m your guest…”
    “I invited you here for your vacation and I want things pleasant, and I don’t see the slightest reason why they shouldn’t be.”
    Suddenly Aileen cried, “She’s a maniac!”
    Her mother rose and quickly left the room.
    In the quiet days that followed, the incident was not mentioned by any of them. Aileen continued to haunt the little patio after lunch.
    THERE CAME a morning sweeter than the rest, when the untouched early mist hung inside her bedroom, and the confusion of shrill bird cries came down with perfect clarity from the uncut forest. She dressed quickly and went out. There was a white radiance in the air that she had never seen before. She walked along the path that led by the native huts. There was life stirring within; babies were crying and captive parrots and songbirds laughed and sang. The path swung into a stretch of low trees that had been planted to shield the coffee bushes. It was still almost nocturnal in here; the air was streaked with chill, and the vegetable odors were like invisible festoons drooping from the branches as she walked through. A huge bright spider walked slowly across the path at her feet. She stood still and watched it until it had disappeared in the leaves at one side. She put her hand over her heart to feel how insistently it was beating. And she listened to its sound in her head for a moment, not wanting to break into its rhythm by starting to walk again. Then she began to walk ahead fast, following the path upward toward the lightest part of the sky. When it came out suddenly onto an eminence directly above the plantation, she could barely discern the cluster of roofs through the mist. But here the sound of the waterfall was stronger; she supposed she was near the gorge, although there was no sign of it. The path turned here and went along rough open ground upward. She climbed at a steady gait, breathing slowly and deeply, for perhaps half an hour, and was surprised to find that the jungle had been cut away on all sides in this portion of the mountainside. For a time she thought the sky was growing brighter, and that the sun was about to break through, but as the path leveled out and she was able to see for some distance ahead, she saw that the mist was even thicker up here than down below.
    At certain points there was a steep declivity on each side of the path. It was impossible to see how deeply the land fell away. There were a few nearby plants and rocks, the highest fronds of a tree-fern a little beyond, and white emptiness after that. It