Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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There was a strong, hot breeze blowing from the river, and it swept fitfully and in gusts through the cabin, bringing with it the weedy smell of cacti that grew thick on the bank, and occasionally a shower of reddish dust from the road. Odalie for a while was greatly occupied in keeping in place her filmy skirt, which every gust of wind swelled balloon-like about her knees. Aunt Pinkyâs little black, scrawny hand had found its way among the droopy curls, and strayed often caressingly to the childâs plump neck and shoulders.
âYou riclics, honey, dat day yoâ granpappy say it wur pinchinâ times anâ he reckin he bleege to sell Yallah Tom anâ Susan anâ Pinky? Donâ know how come he think âbout Pinky, âless caze he sees me playinâ anâ trapsinâ rounâ wid you alls, day in anâ out. I riclics yit how you tuân wâite like milk anâ fling yoâ arms rounâ liâle black Pinky; anâ you cries out you donâ wanâ no saddle-marâ; you donâ wanâ no silk dresses and fingâ rings anâ sich; anâ donâ wanâ no idication; des wants Pinky. Anâ you cries anâ screams anâ kicks, anâ âlow you gwine kill fusâ pusson wâat dar come anâ buy Pinky anâ kiars her off. You riclics dat, honey?â
Odalie had grown accustomed to these flights of fancy on the part of her old friend; she liked to humor her as she chose to sometimes humor very small children; so she was quite used to impersonating one dearly beloved but impetuous, âPaulette,â who seemed to have held her place in old Pinkyâs heart and imagination through all the years of her suffering life.
âI recâlecâ like it was yesterday, Aunt Pinky. How I scream anâ kick anâ maman gave me some medâcine; anâ how you scream anâ kick anâ Susan took you down to the quarters anâ give you âtwenty.âââ
âDas so, honey; des like you says,â chuckled Aunt Pinky. âBut you donâ riclic dat time you cotch Pinky cryinâ down in de holler behine de gin; anâ you say you gwine give me âtwentyâ ef I donâ tell you wâat I cryinâ âbout?â
âI reclecâ like it happenâd today, Aunt Pinky. You been cryinâ because you want to marry Hiram, ole Mr. Benitouâs servant.â
âDas true like you says, Miss Paulette; anâ you goes home anâ cries and kiars on anâ wonâ eat, anâ breaks dishes, anâ pesters yoâ granâpap âtell he bleedge to buy Hiâum fâom de Benitous.â
âDonât talk, Aunt Pink! I can see all that jusâ as plain!â responded Odalie sympathetically, yet in truth she took but a languid interest in these reminiscences which she had listened to so often before.
She leaned her flushed cheek against Aunt Pinkyâs knee.
The air was rippling now, and hot and caressing. There was the hum of bumble bees outside; and busy mud-daubers kept flying in and out through the door. Some chickens had penetrated to the very threshold in their aimless roamings, and the little pig was approaching more cautiously. Sleep was fast overtaking the child, but she could still hear through her drowsiness the familiar tones of Aunt Pinkyâs voice.
âBut Hiâum, he done gone; he nuva come back; anâ Yallah Tom nuva come back; anâ ole Marster anâ de chillunâ âall goneâ ânuva come back. Nobody nuva come back to Pinky âcep you, my honey. You ainâ gwine âway fâom Pinky no moâ, is you, Miss Paulette?â
âDonâ fret, Aunt Pinkyâ âIâm goinââ âto stay withâ âyou.â
âNo pussun nuva come back âcepâ you.â
Odalie was fast asleep. Aunt Pinky was asleep with her head leaning back on her chair and her fingers thrust into the mass of tangled brown hair that swept across her lap. The chickens and little pig walked fearlessly in and out. The sunlight crept close up to the cabin door and stole away again.
Odalie awoke with a start. Her mother was standing over her arousing her from sleep. She sprang up and rubbed her eyes. âOh, I been asleep!â she exclaimed. The cart was standing in the road waiting. âAnâ Aunt Pinky, sheâs asleep, too.â
âYes, chĂ©rie. Aunt Pinky is asleep,â replied her mother, leading Odalie away. But she spoke low and trod softly as gentle-souled women do, in the presence of the dead.
PolydoreIt was often said that Polydore was the stupidest boy to be found âfrom the mouth of Cane river plumb to Natchitoches.â Hence it was an easy matter to persuade him, as meddlesome and mischievous people sometimes tried to do, that he was an overworked and much abused individual.
It occurred one morning to Polydore to wonder what would happen if he did not get up. He hardly expected the world to stop turning on its axis; but he did in a way believe that the machinery of the whole plantation would come to a standstill.
He had awakened at the usual hourâ âabout daybreakâ âand instead of getting up at once, as was his custom, he resettled himself between the sheets. There he lay, peering out through the dormer window into the gray morning that was deliciously cool after the hot summer night, listening to familiar sounds that came from the barnyard, the fields and woods beyond, heralding the approach of day.
A little later there were other sounds, no less familiar or significant; the roll of the wagon-wheels; the distant call of a negroâs voice; Aunt Sineyâs shuffling step as she crossed the gallery, bearing to Mamzelle AdĂ©laĂŻde and old Monsieur JosĂ© their early coffee.
Polydore had formed no plan and had thought only vaguely upon results. He lay in a half-slumber awaiting developments, and philosophically resigned to any turn which the affair might take. Still he was not quite ready with an answer when Jude came and thrust his head in at the door.
âMista Polydore! O Mista Polydore! You âsleep?â
âWâat you want?â
âDan âlow he ainâ gwine wait yonda wid de wagon all day. Say does you inspect âim to pack dat
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