Read Online The Long Valley by John Steinbeck - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Steinbeck
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the fuchsias, so absolutely right. And they discouraged the enemy on the other side, the brush and scrubby, untrimmed trees.
Mary walked across the lawn in the evening to her chair, and sat down. She could hear the birds gathering to come down to the pool. “Making up parties,” she thought, “coming to my garden in the evening. How they must love it! How I would like to come to my garden for the first time. If I could be two people—‘Good evening, come into the garden, Mary.’ ‘Oh, isn’t it lovely.’ ‘Yes, I like it, especially at this time. Quiet, now, Mary. Don’t frighten the birds.’ ” She sat as still as a mouse. Her lips were parted with expectancy. In the brush the quail twittered sharply. A yellowhammer dropped to the edge of the pool. Two little flycatchers flickered out over the water and stood still in the air, beating their wings. And then the quail ran out, with funny little steps. They stopped and cocked their heads, to see whether it was safe. Their leader, a big fellow with a crest like a black question mark, sounded the bugle-like “All clear” call, and the band came down to drink.
And then it happened, the wonderful thing. Out of the brush ran a white quail. Mary froze. Yes, it was a quail, no doubt of it, and white as snow. Oh, this was wonderful! A shiver of pleasure, a bursting of pleasure swelled in Mary’s breast. She held her breath. The dainty little white hen quail went to the other side of the pool, away from the ordinary quail. She paused and looked around, and then dipped her beak in the water.
“Why,” Mary cried to herself, “she’s like me!” A powerful ecstasy quivered in her body. “She’s like the essence of me, an essence boiled down to utter purity. She must be the queen of the quail. She makes every lovely thing that ever happened to me one thing.”
The white quail dipped her beak again and threw back her head to swallow.
The memories welled in Mary and filled her chest. Something sad, always something sad. The packages that came; untying the string was the ecstasy. The thing in the package was never quite—
The marvelous candy from Italy. “Don’t eat it, dear. It’s prettier than it’s good.” Mary never ate it, but looking at it was an ecstasy like this.
“What a pretty girl Mary is. She’s like a gentian, so quiet.” The hearing was an ecstasy like this.
“Mary dear, be very brave now. Your father has—passed away.” The first moment of loss was an ecstasy like this.
The white quail stretched a wing backward and smoothed down the feathers with her beak. “This is the me that was everything beautiful. This is the center of me, my heart.”
VI
The blue air became purple in the garden. The fuchsia buds blazed like little candles. And then a gray shadow moved out of the brush. Mary’s mouth dropped open. She sat paralyzed with fear. A gray cat crept like death out of the brush, crept toward the pool and the drinking birds. Mary stared in horror. Her hand rose up to her tight throat. Then she broke the paralysis. She screamed terribly. The quail flew away on muttering wings. The cat bounded back into the brush. Still Mary screamed and screamed. Harry ran out of the house crying, “Mary! What is it; Mary?”
She shuddered when he touched her. She began to cry hysterically. He took her up in his arms and carried her into the house, and into her own room. She lay quivering on the bed. “What was it, dear? What frightened you?”
“It was a cat,” she moaned. “It was creeping up on the birds.” She sat up; her eyes blazed. “Harry, you must put out poison. Tonight you simply must put out some poison for that cat.”
“Lie back, dear. You’ve had a shock.”
“Promise me you’ll put out poison.” She looked closely at him and saw a rebellious light come into his eyes. “Promise.”
“Dear,” he apologized, “some dog might get it. Animals suffer terribly when they get poison.”
“I don’t care,” she cried. “I
Mary walked across the lawn in the evening to her chair, and sat down. She could hear the birds gathering to come down to the pool. “Making up parties,” she thought, “coming to my garden in the evening. How they must love it! How I would like to come to my garden for the first time. If I could be two people—‘Good evening, come into the garden, Mary.’ ‘Oh, isn’t it lovely.’ ‘Yes, I like it, especially at this time. Quiet, now, Mary. Don’t frighten the birds.’ ” She sat as still as a mouse. Her lips were parted with expectancy. In the brush the quail twittered sharply. A yellowhammer dropped to the edge of the pool. Two little flycatchers flickered out over the water and stood still in the air, beating their wings. And then the quail ran out, with funny little steps. They stopped and cocked their heads, to see whether it was safe. Their leader, a big fellow with a crest like a black question mark, sounded the bugle-like “All clear” call, and the band came down to drink.
And then it happened, the wonderful thing. Out of the brush ran a white quail. Mary froze. Yes, it was a quail, no doubt of it, and white as snow. Oh, this was wonderful! A shiver of pleasure, a bursting of pleasure swelled in Mary’s breast. She held her breath. The dainty little white hen quail went to the other side of the pool, away from the ordinary quail. She paused and looked around, and then dipped her beak in the water.
“Why,” Mary cried to herself, “she’s like me!” A powerful ecstasy quivered in her body. “She’s like the essence of me, an essence boiled down to utter purity. She must be the queen of the quail. She makes every lovely thing that ever happened to me one thing.”
The white quail dipped her beak again and threw back her head to swallow.
The memories welled in Mary and filled her chest. Something sad, always something sad. The packages that came; untying the string was the ecstasy. The thing in the package was never quite—
The marvelous candy from Italy. “Don’t eat it, dear. It’s prettier than it’s good.” Mary never ate it, but looking at it was an ecstasy like this.
“What a pretty girl Mary is. She’s like a gentian, so quiet.” The hearing was an ecstasy like this.
“Mary dear, be very brave now. Your father has—passed away.” The first moment of loss was an ecstasy like this.
The white quail stretched a wing backward and smoothed down the feathers with her beak. “This is the me that was everything beautiful. This is the center of me, my heart.”
VI
The blue air became purple in the garden. The fuchsia buds blazed like little candles. And then a gray shadow moved out of the brush. Mary’s mouth dropped open. She sat paralyzed with fear. A gray cat crept like death out of the brush, crept toward the pool and the drinking birds. Mary stared in horror. Her hand rose up to her tight throat. Then she broke the paralysis. She screamed terribly. The quail flew away on muttering wings. The cat bounded back into the brush. Still Mary screamed and screamed. Harry ran out of the house crying, “Mary! What is it; Mary?”
She shuddered when he touched her. She began to cry hysterically. He took her up in his arms and carried her into the house, and into her own room. She lay quivering on the bed. “What was it, dear? What frightened you?”
“It was a cat,” she moaned. “It was creeping up on the birds.” She sat up; her eyes blazed. “Harry, you must put out poison. Tonight you simply must put out some poison for that cat.”
“Lie back, dear. You’ve had a shock.”
“Promise me you’ll put out poison.” She looked closely at him and saw a rebellious light come into his eyes. “Promise.”
“Dear,” he apologized, “some dog might get it. Animals suffer terribly when they get poison.”
“I don’t care,” she cried. “I
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