Forgiveness

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

I am home after midnight, and the darkness has taken its toll on me. I have to sit down at the table and write down what I have seen.

The last week of my life was spent in France.

The days I spent in France were nothing less than a kind of "rehearsal" for the news of my escape. They were the first time I had an opportunity to think about the matter on my own terms. I know that other men saw it on my own terms, but I gathered nothing from the news of my escape.

I remember with satisfaction that my mistress was in Paris when I was gone. That she was to report to me the next day.

When I arrived in Paris, I found that the place was hopping with excitement.

It was a fine, handsome house, with a front-salute and a marvellous garden. Every expert in the art of French cooking had come here, and I was delighted to find that a large number of the friends of the old house had been anxious to see me. I was even more delighted to find that my mistress, whose mother had been in Paris for many years, had made her home in this fort.

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"You know what you did?" she said, her eyes very wide. "Are you sure you didn't stab her in the heart?"

"I heard her scream," I said. "Then I heard her shout."

"Well, I'll be damned," she said. "I'll make a show of it when I get home."

"Ah, I've got it," I said. "I'll make a show of it when I get home."

"I'll make a show of it when I get home," she said again. "That's all I'll say."

"We'll find a way for it," I said. "If you don't mind, I'll take it to your room. I'll be glad to be home in a couple of hours."

"By all means," she said, smiling. "By all means. I'll make a show of it when I get home."

And I did.

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"Why, Miss Bovary?" I ask, as she walks into the kitchen.

"Oh, yes, that's the girl," she shrugs. "She's a big girl, you know. He'll understand. I'm just going to tell him how I've survived."

"Oh, I see," I say, making a sign with my hand with the thumb. "You'll be over there soon, will you?" I follow her through to the kitchen.

"Oh, I can't wait, Mr. Jeeves," she says. "I can't wait to get out of bed. I'll be a good-looking woman, if only I could shave off my hair. But, as I said, I'll be a good-looking woman if I can shave off my hair as well."

"Well, you'll need to come with me," I say. "Did you use my name?"

"No, I don't think so," she replies. "I must have a new name."

"It's nice of you to call me Miss Bovary, for once."

"Yes, it will do me good," she says. "I should be happy to come with you to London."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. She does her best to keep me from slipping away. She's a witch, and I am not. There's no excuse for it. I'll have to do some searching myself.

He paused. "No, no, I don't think so. What about the house she lives in?"

"That's where I am taking her," she said. "She's a poor woman, and she's got the house to her own, and I'm going to take care of her, and she doesn't want to go. She's got her own place out there now, but I'll sleep there, and then I'll go back to the house. But you'll have to go and tell her your story, and I'll take care of your own."

"What about my wife?"

"She's not a witch, and she's not a good girl, and she wants to keep her own house away from me."

"You're leaving your wife?"

"It's a fine thing to do, and I don't understand how you haven't done it."

"The wife's a good witch, but she's not as good as she ought to be. She won't help me, and I'll have to do my share. If you shall help me, I'll give you my word that you've got no further intention of doing anything to disturb my peace."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. It's not the least comfort to me, that she should feel so much more at home in the house where she made her career.

For a moment she looks at me with the air of one who is glad to be out of it. Then she says, "I'll be back at the yard in twenty minutes."

I guess I can say that she's glad that she has come to her senses. I suspect that she would have lived in that house with her husband in her own life, if she had known the truth.

She's not in my house any more.

"I used to come there all the time," she says. "But it's all over now."

"I have to go."

"I'll leave you to sleep."

"Oh, it's a very good bed."

"We had a nice little retirement, my dear. It looks very old, but it's yours. You can carry it."

"Yes, leave it."

"It's a comfortable bed, Gentlewoman."

"It's very comfortable."

"I'll be glad to take it with me."

"Go on."

"I'll be glad to sleep on it. I'll sleep in it myself, if you wish."

"Then let me be your guest."

"It's not necessary."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"I am sorry to say that the journey has gone rather poorly," she says, "and I'm sorry that I should have to return to the office.

"I had the idea to send you and your wife away by boat to a place where it was easier to meet them. I think that if we could get a house in a country where we could afford to live, we might even make a profit. It is very warm there, but I do not know whether it is very cold.

"But you have the idea that if you would stay and live with us, we might be able to get a good house for you. I think that it would be better for you to be without your wife for a little while, and then to come back.

"Well, I have an idea that we might make a good deal of money, and that you might find it an easy way, if you would do what I command you, to get off to your own country. I would not like to leave you here without a doubt, but I believe that we have found a place where we can live well.

"I would ask you now, dear girl, to tell me what you would do if you had the chance to live with me.

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"You will not ask me to come in?" I asked

"I could," said she. "I have heard that you are in a hurry, and you will do well to let me out."

"I cannot spare the time to come in," said I. "I am going to be very busy. I have to get back to the apartment again. What is it? Can I come in?"

"No," said she. "You are a long way from me. You must see the road. The door is locked."

"Why not?"

"I think you will find it easier to come in when you know where it is, and where it leads."

"I will find it easier to come in," I replied.

"And you will find it easier to come out," said she. "Let me go, and see you about it."

"No," said I. "I will wait for you in the street."

"I did not mean that," said she.

"I did not mean that," I repeated. "Come in, and see me."

She went through the street and through the apartments in which she lived, and then she came back to me.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Here," I replied, "I have a book and a cup of tea."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. She said she'd give me a kiss and not make a fuss about it.

"I'm sorry, I can't be rude," she said. She was the one who had raised me, and I'm sure that she would have done the same; but she had to make a great effort to make me forget my own happiness.

"But I think we can make it a little easier to you, Mr. Wagstaff," she said, as she swept me into the room.

"I'll be happy to hear that," I said. "But I'm afraid I must keep my mouth shut."

"If you don't mind, sir, I'll be pleased to make a private apology. Would you like to see it, sir, to-night?"

"Of course," I said, "and I'll be glad to show you my room and my bed."

"You're quite right, sir, I should like to see it."

"I am sure that I have no objection."

"Well, sir, I'll tell you, and if you like, I'll tell you my room."

"Come, sir, I'll make a draft for it."

"Well, sir, sir!" I cried, "it's a matter of principle!"

"But you make me a present of it."

"It is a little too much, sir."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"You don't have to."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I understand that, but I don't think you're welcome. I've never been here before."

"I don't suppose you've done anything in your life worth reading."

"Well, I haven't. All I can do is prepare for the future."

"You know, Doctor, I've been in the Navy since I was nineteen, and I don't believe I've ever spent a night in jail."

"I don't suppose you mean I've never spent a night in jail."

"No! I mean that I've never been in jail," she said, with a sigh. "I've been in the Navy for a year and a half and I haven't spent a night in the penitentiary, but I don't feel I possess the right to accuse you of any crime."

"You very much agree with that."

"I do. The truth is that I'm all over the place, and it's a very tiresome business. I can't do my research any more, and my investigations are frequently interrupted by letters and letters from other parts of the world. I can't get out of my own way, and I have never been on the road for more than a few weeks."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"It's not too late," she said. "You can turn right up the street and walk back to the village. You'll get out of there in a few minutes."

"I'll take the train."

"It's not too late," she said. "You can go to the station on the eastern side of the road and you'll be back in a few minutes."

"All right, but I'll stand."

"All right," she said. "I'll go."

"I'll stand."

I walked up the steps to the front door, turned, and, as I walked out, I heard her walking down the street. I walked a little way behind her, and she was standing straight up by the gate.

"He's from England," she said. "He's not too keen on it."

"I don't know what he wants with it," I said.

"That's a shame," she said. "He's got a great way of getting off in London, and he's got a lot of mates in his country."

"He's got a lot of mates?"

"He's got a lot of mates, and he's going to be very useful to me."

"He'll come over to London when he's ready," she said. "He'll take care of the town."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. But it's the same now. It's like the difference between two people who are at each other's throats at the theatre. She'll give me her blood, and I'll take hers.

It's not only a matter of human institutions, I think. She has told me many things about the most sad aspects of her own life.

I've only come to this place to fill in the blanks. The palace is the toughest, it's narrow, and it's terribly ugly. In the days of my father I have never been in the palace, but I have seen the king. It was at the king's command that I got the job of studying the Knights of the Round Table. By the time I was here I had seen him twice, and he was a fool to refuse me the grand jobs that came my way. I didn't give him credit for it, but he still made me a set of blind shoulders. But I did not care to look around, and I have been walking through the temple for a long time.

It was on my first night that I saw the gold-finch in the cage. It stood at the top of the stairs, like a monkey in a cage. I shook it off my shoulder and let it go. It had a sort of spidery, black wrapped snout.

"What's it looking at? And how long has it been here?"

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. It was always her fault for keeping that door.

When I opened it, a twisted lamp glimmered like a snake, out of which rose a grey face, and its features were painted with black rings. The light shone through a petticoat which hung loose under it. A pair of grey glasses rested on a short grey beard, and bottomless black eyes stared from under the brim of a blue hat. I saw that my cousin was dressed as a sailor, with a black cape and a grey coat, and that he had a large, black, quilted hat, which hung loose, and was forced down by a long, black steel leash.

"I'll see you," said he. "I'll see you."

He walked out of the door, and, rising in his bed, he threw himself upon his pillow, and said to himself, "I must see you once more."

He rose and went to bed only a few minutes after I had gone to bed. He had had enough of the night. On the morning of my return the metal leash was gone, and I found him sitting up as usual in his rocking-chair. He looked up and smiled at me; he looked at me with a curious smile, and then he smiled back, and laughed, and laughed again. The smile of a sailor. And the dark eyes of that old sailor.

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

'You can't believe your eyes!' she said as she opened her door, and bent down to kiss my cheek.

She had a rather queer way of looking at me, but she had a different sense of humour about it, and she still looked a bit pale.

'You have no need to be so careful, my dear girl.'

The idea of trying to please her was irresistible, but she had taken the same view of the inn which I had taken of my little father. She was a woman of her own opinion with respect to it. She said to me that it had been the best bed, and the best table, and she had not a soul to throw away.

'When I went to bed last night I started thinking of my father, and I found that I had resolved never to have him again. I hope I have done him no harm. But I hold him as my father's best friend.'

'I know, my dear girl, that you would have him alive if I could see him. I know that you would have him alive if I could see him now.'

'I know to a certain extent.'

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. But I was still back in the dark room, and here I am, looking up at the shutters of my own room.

"Why are you here, sir?"

"I'm quite alone."

"I say, it was a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"It's only that I've lived with you for a week."

"Oh, you were never alone, sir. Yes, you were hardly alone."

"I was done, sir, with the world; and I had to find a new home. I was a man of my word, sir, and I was willing to risk everything in it, sir. I did it with a view to making a living. I have no doubt that I did it well. But in a quarter of an hour it was over; and the world was no place for me. It was a dreadful thing to see the world in so horrible a light. It was like a day of a man in his sleep, and he was tired from the business of his life. He next wakes up, and he is a terrible man. He ought to have been a man of his word. But he was not, sir, and he never will be. He was a man of his word, sir, and he was one of the most repulsive men in the world."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"I don't mind," said she, "that you may say things you do not mean. I'd rather not consider myself a fool. But I do not believe that I'm never going to be a fool, nor will I ever admit that I love you, and it is not possible that I should."

"You have no right to expect me to say that I love you now," I answered, "or to believe that your heart is filled with it. It is a miserable thing to feel that you love me, and yet if it were so easy to find out all the secrets of my heart, I should rather not be forced to come to a conclusion."

"But why should I wait until you come?" she asked, "to know why you hate me, and why you hate me now? Why do you not write to me? Why do you not have me speak to you? Why do you not come to me every day? Why do you not come myself to hear you? Why do you not come to me to tell me what you are thinking?"

"I have no right to say that I love you," I answered. "I love you in all my power, and with all my power you cannot fight my heart and me out of it. You cannot understand what I think of you, and yet you are willing to consider yourself a man of your word. I will leave you to it."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. I've kept my word. It's no use to talk about it now.

"But what about those people?"

"Well, there's a place. We'll have to find it. And business is good."

"I'll see what I can do," she said. "I understand you're pursuing your own interests, but you haven't quite had your fill of it yet."

"Well, I'm a very busy man. I've got to keep up with other people. I see, you're afraid I'm going to be out of business. But it's sufficient, I think. When it's no longer necessary, I'll be able to keep up with you."

"I see. That'll be very agreeable, I hope. I'll look after you."

"And you're a very pleasant and sensible man, very nice as well. You're a good man, too. I wish you could see me, but when you're away I think you'll have to go."

"I shall be happy to see you again, sir," said she, smiling. "I think you'll be pleased if you'll come here sometime, and then we'll have a meeting to talk over it."

"I shall not have to leave my house unless I see you again, sir, and I hope I shall see you again."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. Which was always the reason I made my choice, but she wasn't going to ask the same question again.

"You know, Miss, I am very sorry to hear of your son, but I cannot help it. I know how he feels, and I know he will be a good father. He will be a good man, and I'm sure he has the best interests of his family in heart."

"What, then, of your wife?"

"She will not be in the house any longer, and I must tell you that I am afraid her daughter is not to be expected any longer. She thinks she knows better than me, and I am sure she is very wise in her opinions. But good heavens, what a difference a woman makes! She will never have a daughter, if she can help it. Your wife will have a daughter soon, and she will be a widow to you. I have no doubt that her daughter may be the most beautiful woman of her age in the world, but it is my doubt that she will be the one to whom you will chiefly look for a wife."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. Pestered me with my old tricks; she set me up with a contemporary in the West End, and in the nature of things, she made him the most charming of friends.

She would have made every one of us a true gentleman. She would have made us all do exactly what she wanted.

I should give her all credit in the world if, after my arrival, I had taken the trouble to oil her cheeks, to paint her hair, to make her a fine personage. But I had no intention of doing so. I had been looking for a wife much longer than I ever had a suitable one; and I had put the business of my own life behind me. I had become a man, and I had to work.

I looked into her eyes, and I saw that she was thinking with a kind of wisdom and a curiosity which no one could love.

'I must go,' she said, 'with the idea that I am going to be the most beautiful woman in the world.'

'You are the most beautiful woman in the world!' said I, 'with all the beauty of your complexion, with all the gracefulness of your figure, and with the gracefulness of your voice. I cannot do without you.'

'Oh,' she cried, 'you are the most beautiful woman in the world! You look so beautiful that I can hardly believe it. I have never seen anything like it before.'

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"Really, I can't believe you're here," she says. "I can't believe I opened the door to you, but I've heard of some strange things going on around here. We should find out if you're anything but a fellow. It is for you and me alone to decide who lives and who dies in the flat."

My heart leaps out of my chest as I stand there, meeting her gaze, and my mind turns to the pictures of the house which I had seen of her father in the living-room one morning. She's sitting on the edge of her bed, her face the same pale as her eyes. She's looking up at me with a curious smile.

"You've got your own picture," she says. "Come and see it—it's just a bed-side drawing which I took a while ago. I'm quite sure you'll like it."

"I understand," I say. "The rest is in my hands."

"You will be very glad to be able to draw it, as it was my dream to make The Old House. It's the only picture I've ever made."

"It's a wonderful picture," I say. "I've never seen anything like it. It must be worth something. I have always said that my work is finished."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. She always calls me 'the old lady' and 'the lady-killer' and 'the farmer.' She had been married to me for thirty-five years, and I was her only child. She was too tired to be bothered, but she had some slight law of her own. She was a widower, and she often retired to the inn, where she would be a good housekeeper. Sir John was too much of a fool to tell her that I was his patron.

'What is that?' she asked.

'It's a sort of license, Sir John,' I answered. 'You can't be a taxi driver in London, and you can't be a taxi driver in Hertfordshire, and you can't be a taxi driver in Northern Ireland.'

'I can't, Sir John,' said she. 'I must be a brute in the streets of Dublin.'

'I must be a brute in the streets of Dublin,' I said. 'But you must be my patron, Sir John, to make me your servant, and to make me your patron's servant. I'll come down to Greenwich to-morrow morning, and you will stay with me.'

"Yes, sir," she said, "I will do that."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"I think," she said, "you know what I like the most about you."

"Oh, please do," I said. "I don't know what else it is. It always gets me through the night."

"You're really quite funny," she said, and laughed again. "You may as well go and put on your own dress."

"You'll find it comfortable."

"I've got a very good imagination."

She smiled. "I don't mean to say that you'll take me to bed."

"But it's easy to see now," I said.

"I see that my imagination is a splendid one."

"How about this? You are quite the giddy fellow. You pass out and wake up in the middle of the night, and then you wake up and sleep in again. I don't know how you manage it. You don't even know whether you want to wake up again."

"I see that it is impossible to keep my mind off it."

"Oh, yes, I know that, too. But this is a kind of amusing game. You have to live your life in this way, and then you have to have some sort of talk with yourself about it."

"I thought I was about to be a philosopher."

"Oh, you are a good philosopher too."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. She would never have spoken to me if I hadn't been a liar."

"She and I have a daughter, I see. A very beautiful one, I must say. She was a very faithful girl, and I hope she will be a good wife."

"She is a very old one, but she is a very beautiful one," said I. "At any rate she is a good-natured girl, and I hope she will go to live with her father, who is a very rich man. I should like to see him again if I could live with him."

"I should like to see him again," said she. "But I don't suppose he would want his daughter to live with him. He is quite enough of a man to let go his wife."

"But he has brought his daughter with him," said I. "She has been quite faithful to him, and has been very healthy. She would be happy to live with him, and to be a good wife. She is very proud of her daughter, and she has a very fine voice. She is a very good reader, and I do not blame her for having read a book of hers. I have been reading it the whole day. I must say that I have never seen her laugh, but it has made me sick to my stomach."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. We're going to be free, and she'll be just as happy as when she was mom."

"She doesn't know how to love," he said. "I don't know how to help her. She's got no idea how to love. She's a fool to think she's going to be a good mother."

"She's wrong," he said at last. "I'm not going to have her to that end."

"She's right," I said, without a whisper. "I should have been a good father."

"I'm sure you will be a good father," he said. "But you're not going to meet her if you're not going to have her. You don't know her. But you will not see her without her."

"I'll meet her," I said. "You should have my word."

"You're a dull old man, and I should be glad to have you with me."

"I am the dull old man," I said. "I don't expect you to get along with me like a duck. I don't want to go out at night with the dog. And I don't refuse to sleep with you. When I say I'll sleep with you, I mean it."

"You'll be right there with me, then," he said. "You'll be right at home. I'll be with you."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives.

"Come on in, boys," she said. "You're going to enjoy yourself."

I was a little frightened, but I didn't dare look away. I was only a boy, but, in my mind, I had seen all that had been done to him.

"I'm going to see you take your coats off, then, sir," she said. "You'll see me remove your shirt."

I looked at her with a curious face, but all I could do was nod my head.

"You'll have your shirt off," she said. "It'll be best to have your hair cut short at the same time, sir."

I felt a sense of shame on my cheeks, and I dropped my coat and went down to my room to change. I stayed there for a few hours and then walked to the door.

I stood there, with my coat on my back, and my hat on my head, my face hot with embarrassment.

"I'll see you take your coat off, sir," she said, "at once, sir."

I'm home late, after midnight. By now she surely knows, but she won't spreak of it. She already forgave me before I entered the door. She always forgives. She doesn't actually mean it, but I can see how it could be construed.

She's been waiting for me since I came home from the office and we have a conversation about what will happen at the party. She is no longer a customer.

"We should start with what we can do with that house."

"Well," says she, "they seem to have found it quite lucrative. I think we should turn them into a gallery."

"You should," I say. "I'm sure I can buy the house."

"Yes, I will," says she. "I can pay you well." I have the money in my pocket, but I left it at my mother's house. I am not sure that I will ever come back from my trip. I think I shall stay a couple of years.

I find myself looking out with a new and quite different sight. The door is wide open, and I am standing on the threshold. It is the first time I have seen that house in many years. Caught by a faulty light I have been looking around in the house, but I cannot see anything. I am quite sure that my eyes have been fixed upon it all my life.