Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
Book online «Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ». Author Kate Chopin
âHowdy,â offered the woman.
âHowdy,â the girl returned.
âDid you see a yalla calf wid black spots a tâarinâ down de lane, missy?â
âNon; not yalla, anâ not with black spotâ. Mais I see one liâle wâite calf tie by a rope, yonda ârounâ the benâ.â
âDat warnât hit. Dis heah one was yalla. I hope he done flung hisseâf down de bank anâ broke his nake. Sarve âim right! But whar you come fâom, chile? You look plum woâ out. Set down dah on dat bench, anâ leâ me fotch you a cup oâ coffee.â
Azenor had already in his eagerness arranged a tray, upon which was a smoking cup of café au lait. He had buttered and jellied generous slices of bread, and was searching wildly for something when Tranquiline reentered.
âWâat become oâ that half of chicken-pie, Tranquiline, that was yere in the garde manger yesterday?â
âWâat chicken-pie? Wâat garde manger?â blustered the woman.
âLike we got moâ âen one garde manger in the house, Tranquiline!â
âYou jisâ like ole Maâame Azenor useâ to be, you is! You âspecâ chicken-pie gwine lasâ etarnal? Wâen someâpin done spâilt, I flings itâ way. Datâs meâ âdatâs Tranquiline!â
So Azenor resigned himselfâ âwhat else could he do?â âand sent the tray, incomplete, as he fancied it, out to Lalie.
He trembled at thought of what he did; he, whose nerves were usually as steady as some piece of steel mechanism.
Would it anger her if she suspected? Would it please her if she knew? Would she say this or that to Tranquiline? And would Tranquiline tell him truly what she saidâ âhow she looked?
As it was Sunday, Azenor did not work that afternoon. Instead, he took a book out under the trees, as he often did, and sat reading it, from the first sound of the Vesper bell, that came faintly across the fields, till the Angelus. All that time! He turned many a page, yet in the end did not know what he had read. With his pencil he had traced âLalieâ upon every margin, and was saying it softly to himself.
Another Sunday Azenor saw Lalie at massâ âand again. Once he walked with her and showed her the shortcut across the cotton-field. She was very glad that day, and told him she was going to workâ âher grandmother said she might. She was going to hoe, up in the fields with Monsieur Le BlĂŽtâs hands. He entreated her not to; and when she asked his reason, he could not tell her, but turned and tore shyly and savagely at the elder-blossoms that grew along the fence.
Then they stopped where she was going to cross the fence from the field into the lane. He wanted to tell her that was his house which they could see not far away; but he did not dare to, since he had fed her there on the morning she was hungry.
âAnâ you say yoâ granâmaâs goinâ to let you work? She keeps you fâom workinâ, donc?â He wanted to question her about her grandmother, and could think of no other way to begin.
âPoâ ole grandâmĂšre!â she answered. âI donâ bâlieve she know mosâ time wâat sheâs doinâ. Sometime she sayâ I aint no betta anâ one nigga, anâ she foâce me to work. Then she say she know Iâm goinâ be one canaille like maman, anâ she make me set down still, like she would want to kill me if I would move. Her, she onây wantâ to be out in the woodâ, day anâ night, day anâ night. She ainâ got her right head, poâ grandâmĂšre. I know she ainât.â
Lalie had spoken low and in jerks, as if every word gave her pain. Azenor could feel her distress as plainly as he saw it. He wanted to say something to herâ âto do something for her. But her mere presence paralyzed him into inactivityâ âexcept his pulses, that beat like hammers when he was with her. Such a poor, shabby little thing as she was, too!
âIâm goinâ to wait yere nexâ Sunday foâ you, Lalie,â he said, when the fence was between them. And he thought he had said something very daring.
But the next Sunday she did not come. She was neither at the appointed place of meeting in the lane, nor was she at mass. Her absenceâ âso unexpectedâ âaffected Azenor like a calamity. Late in the afternoon, when he could stand the trouble and bewilderment of it no longer, he went and leaned over PĂšre Antoineâs fence. The priest was picking the slugs from his roses on the other side.
âThat young girl from the Bon-Dieu,â said Azenorâ ââshe was not at mass today. I suppose her grandmother has forgotten your warning.â
âNo,â answered the priest. âThe child is ill, I hear. Butrand tells me she has been ill for several days from overwork in the fields. I shall go out tomorrow to see about her. I would go today, if I could.â
âThe child is ill,â was all Azenor heard or understood of PĂšre Antoineâs words. He turned and walked resolutely away, like one who determines suddenly upon action after meaningless hesitation.
He walked towards his home and past it, as if it were a spot that did not concern him. He went on down the lane and into the wood where he had seen Lalie disappear that day.
Here all was shadow, for the sun had dipped too low in the west to send a single ray through the dense foliage of the forest.
Now that he found himself on the way to Lalieâs home, he strove to understand why he had not gone there before. He often visited other girls in the village and neighborhoodâ âwhy not have gone to her, as well? The answer lay too deep in his heart for him to be more than half-conscious of it. Fear had kept himâ âdread to see her desolate life
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