Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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He did not know why it was so; he could not understand. But from that day he felt that he began to live again, to be once more a part of the moving world about him. He would ask himself over and over again why it was so, and stay bewildered before this truth that he could not answer or explain, and which he began to accept as a holy mystery.
One day in early spring Tonie sat with his mother upon a piece of driftwood close to the sea.
He had returned that day to the ChĂȘniĂšre Caminada. At first she thought he was like his former self again, for all his old strength and courage had returned. But she found that there was a new brightness in his face which had not been there before. It made her think of the Holy Ghost descending and bringing some kind of light to a man.
She knew that Mademoiselle Duvigné was dead, and all along had feared that this knowledge would be the death of Tonie. When she saw him come back to her like a new being, at once she dreaded that he did not know. All day the doubt had been fretting her, and she could bear the uncertainty no longer.
âYou know, Tonieâ âthat young lady whom you cared forâ âwell, someone read it to me in the papersâ âshe died last winter.â She had tried to speak as cautiously as she could.
âYes, I know she is dead. I am glad.â
It was the first time he had said this in words, and it made his heart beat quicker.
Maâme Antoine shuddered and drew aside from him. To her it was somehow like murder to say such a thing.
âWhat do you mean? Why are you glad?â she demanded, indignantly.
Tonie was sitting with bis elbows on his knees. He wanted to answer his mother, but it would take time; he would have to think. He looked out across the water that glistened gem-like with the sun upon it, but there was nothing there to open his thought. He looked down into his open palm and began to pick at the callous flesh that was hard as a horseâs hoof. Whilst he did this his ideas began to gather and take form.
âYou see, while she lived I could never hope for anything,â he began, slowly feeling his way. âDespair was the only thing for me. There were always men about her. She walked and sang and danced with them. I knew it all the time, even when I didnât see her. But I saw her often enough. I knew that some day one of them would please her and she would give herself to himâ âshe would marry him. That thought haunted me like an evil spirit.â
Tonie passed his hand across his forehead as if to sweep away anything of the horror that might have remained there.
âIt kept me awake at night,â he went on. âBut that was not so bad; the worst torture was to sleep, for then I would dream that it was all true.â
âOh, I could see her married to one of themâ âhis wifeâ âcoming year after year to Grand Isle and bringing her little children with her! I canât tell you all that I sawâ âall that was driving me mad! But nowââ âand Tonie clasped his hands together and smiled as he looked again across the waterâ ââshe is where she belongs; there is no difference up there; the curĂ© has often told us there is no difference between men. It is with the soul that we approach each other there. Then she will know who has loved her best. That is why I am so contented. Who knows what may happen up there?â
Maâme Antoine could not answer. She only took her sonâs big, rough hand and pressed it against her.
âAnd now, ma mĂšre,â he exclaimed, cheerfully, rising, âI shall go light the fire for your bread; it is a long time since I have done anything for you,â and he stooped and pressed a warm kiss on her withered old cheek.
With misty eyes she watched him walk away in the direction of the big brick oven that stood open-mouthed under the lemon trees.
A Gentleman of Bayou TĂȘcheIt was no wonder Mr. Sublet, who was staying at the Hallet plantation, wanted to make a picture of Evariste. The âCadian was rather a picturesque subject in his way, and a tempting one to an artist looking for bits of âlocal colorâ along the TĂȘche.
Mr. Sublet had seen the man on the back gallery just as he came out of the swamp, trying to sell a wild turkey to the housekeeper. He spoke to him at once, and in the course of conversation engaged him to return to the house the following morning and have his picture drawn. He handed Evariste a couple of silver dollars to show that his intentions were fair, and that he expected the âCadian to keep faith with him.
âHe tellâ me he wantâ put my picture in one fine âMagâzine,âââ said Evariste to his daughter, Martinette, when the two were talking the matter over in the afternoon. âWâat foâ you reckon he wantâ do dat?â They sat within the low, homely cabin of two rooms, that was not quite so comfortable as Mr. Halletâs negro quarters.
Martinette pursed her red lips that had little sensitive curves to them, and her black eyes took on a reflective expression.
âMebbe he yeard âbout that big fish wâat you ketch lasâ winta in Carancro lake. You know it was all wrote about in the âSuga Bowl.âââ Her father set aside the suggestion with a deprecatory wave of the hand.
âWell, anyway, you got to fix yoâseâf up,â declared Martinette, dismissing further speculation;
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