Part 4
"My hair is soaking wet," she said. "I look a fright." She looked over at me. "I have quite
wavy hair when it's dry."
"I can see that, I can see you have."
"Not actually curly, but quite wavy," she said. "Are you married?"
I said I was.
She nodded. "Are you very deeply in love with your wife? Or am I being too personal?"
I said that when she was, I'd speak up.
She put her hands and wrists farther forward on the table, and I remember wanting
to do something about that enormous-faced wristwatch she was wearing--perhaps
suggest that she try wearing it around her waist.
"Usually, I'm not terribly gregarious," she said, and looked over at me to see if I knew
the meaning of the word. I didn't give her a sign, though, one way or the other. "I purely
came over because I thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely
sensitive face."
I said she was right, that I had been feeling lonely, and that I was very glad she'd
come over.
"I'm training myself to be more compassionate. My aunt says I'm a terribly cold
person," she said and felt the top of her head again. "I live with my aunt. She's an
extremely kind person. Since the death of my mother, she's done everything within her
power to make Charles and me feel adjusted."
"I'm glad."
"Mother was an extremely intelligent person. Quite sensuous, in many ways." She
looked at me with a kind of fresh acuteness. "Do you find me terribly cold?"
I told her absolutely not--very much to the contrary, in fact. I told her my name and
asked for hers. She hesitated. "My first name is Esme. I don't think I shall tell you my
full name, for the moment. I have a title and you may just be impressed by titles.
Americans are, you know."
I said I didn't think I would be, but that it might be a good idea, at that, to hold on to
the title for a while.
Just then, I felt someone's warm breath on the back of my neck. I turned around and
just missed brushing noses with Esme's small brother. Ignoring me, he addressed his
sister in a piercing treble: "Miss Megley said you must come and finish your tea!" His
message delivered, he retired to the chair between his sister and me, on my right. I
regarded him with high interest. He was looking very splendid in brown Shetland
shorts, a navy-blue jersey, white shirt, and striped necktie. He gazed back at me with
immense green eyes. "Why do people in films kiss sideways?" he demanded.
"Sideways?" I said. It was a problem that had baffled me in my childhood. I said I
guessed it was because actors' noses are too big for kissing anyone head on.
"His name is Charles," Esme said. "He's extremely brilliant for his age."
"He certainly has green eyes. Haven't you, Charles?" Charles gave me the fishy look
my question deserved, then wriggled downward and forward in his chair till all of his
body was under the table except his head, which he left, wrestler's-bridge style, on the
chair seat. "They're orange," he said in a strained voice, addressing the ceiling. He
picked up a comer of the tablecloth and put it over his handsome, deadpan little face.
"Sometimes he's brilliant and sometimes he's not," Esme said. "Charles, do sit up!"
Charles stayed right where he was. He seemed to be holding his breath.
"He misses our father very much. He was s-l-a-i-n in North Africa."
I expressed regret to hear it.
Esme nodded. "Father adored him." She bit reflectively at the cuticle of her thumb.
"He looks very much like my mother--Charles, I mean. I look exactly like my father."
She went on biting at her cuticle. "My mother was quite a passionate woman. She was
an extrovert. Father was an introvert. They were quite well mated, though, in a
superficial way. To be quite candid, Father really needed more of an intellectual
companion than Mother was. He was an extremely gifted genius."
I waited, receptively, for further information, but none came. I looked down at
Charles, who was now resting the side of his face on his chair seat. When he saw that I
was looking at him, he closed his eyes, sleepily, angelically, then stuck out his tongue--
"My hair is soaking wet," she said. "I look a fright." She looked over at me. "I have quite
wavy hair when it's dry."
"I can see that, I can see you have."
"Not actually curly, but quite wavy," she said. "Are you married?"
I said I was.
She nodded. "Are you very deeply in love with your wife? Or am I being too personal?"
I said that when she was, I'd speak up.
She put her hands and wrists farther forward on the table, and I remember wanting
to do something about that enormous-faced wristwatch she was wearing--perhaps
suggest that she try wearing it around her waist.
"Usually, I'm not terribly gregarious," she said, and looked over at me to see if I knew
the meaning of the word. I didn't give her a sign, though, one way or the other. "I purely
came over because I thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely
sensitive face."
I said she was right, that I had been feeling lonely, and that I was very glad she'd
come over.
"I'm training myself to be more compassionate. My aunt says I'm a terribly cold
person," she said and felt the top of her head again. "I live with my aunt. She's an
extremely kind person. Since the death of my mother, she's done everything within her
power to make Charles and me feel adjusted."
"I'm glad."
"Mother was an extremely intelligent person. Quite sensuous, in many ways." She
looked at me with a kind of fresh acuteness. "Do you find me terribly cold?"
I told her absolutely not--very much to the contrary, in fact. I told her my name and
asked for hers. She hesitated. "My first name is Esme. I don't think I shall tell you my
full name, for the moment. I have a title and you may just be impressed by titles.
Americans are, you know."
I said I didn't think I would be, but that it might be a good idea, at that, to hold on to
the title for a while.
Just then, I felt someone's warm breath on the back of my neck. I turned around and
just missed brushing noses with Esme's small brother. Ignoring me, he addressed his
sister in a piercing treble: "Miss Megley said you must come and finish your tea!" His
message delivered, he retired to the chair between his sister and me, on my right. I
regarded him with high interest. He was looking very splendid in brown Shetland
shorts, a navy-blue jersey, white shirt, and striped necktie. He gazed back at me with
immense green eyes. "Why do people in films kiss sideways?" he demanded.
"Sideways?" I said. It was a problem that had baffled me in my childhood. I said I
guessed it was because actors' noses are too big for kissing anyone head on.
"His name is Charles," Esme said. "He's extremely brilliant for his age."
"He certainly has green eyes. Haven't you, Charles?" Charles gave me the fishy look
my question deserved, then wriggled downward and forward in his chair till all of his
body was under the table except his head, which he left, wrestler's-bridge style, on the
chair seat. "They're orange," he said in a strained voice, addressing the ceiling. He
picked up a comer of the tablecloth and put it over his handsome, deadpan little face.
"Sometimes he's brilliant and sometimes he's not," Esme said. "Charles, do sit up!"
Charles stayed right where he was. He seemed to be holding his breath.
"He misses our father very much. He was s-l-a-i-n in North Africa."
I expressed regret to hear it.
Esme nodded. "Father adored him." She bit reflectively at the cuticle of her thumb.
"He looks very much like my mother--Charles, I mean. I look exactly like my father."
She went on biting at her cuticle. "My mother was quite a passionate woman. She was
an extrovert. Father was an introvert. They were quite well mated, though, in a
superficial way. To be quite candid, Father really needed more of an intellectual
companion than Mother was. He was an extremely gifted genius."
I waited, receptively, for further information, but none came. I looked down at
Charles, who was now resting the side of his face on his chair seat. When he saw that I
was looking at him, he closed his eyes, sleepily, angelically, then stuck out his tongue--
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