A Fair Maiden by Joyce Carol Oates Read Free Book Online

from grand."
    Katya laughed. She could think of no reply to Mr. Kidder's remark. In her fevered imagination of the past twenty-four hours, she'd rehearsed what she might say to Marcus Kidder, but in these scenarios only Katya spoke, not Mr. Kidder.
    Out of her straw bag Katya took the handmade card. "This is for you, Mr. Kidder. From Tricia Engelhardt, who adores Funny Bunny and has made me read it to her a dozen times already."
    The envelope of red construction paper was decorated with animal stickers. Mr. Kidder took it from Katya with a perplexed smile. You could see he had no idea who Tricia Engelhardt was. But when he removed the card and read the thank-you note Katya had composed, he was stricken with sudden emotion. "Why, this is a ... work of art. This is"—to Katya's dismay, he spoke haltingly, brushing at his eyes with his fingertips—"very beautiful."
    Katya stared. It was weakness in adults she hated, that frightened her.
    Her grandfather Spivak had been a prison guard at Glassboro for nearly thirty years. He'd ruined his health with smoking, heavy drinking; he shuffled when he walked, as if broken-backed; but he wasn't weak. Never would he have been stricken with emotion like this, for something so trivial. And Katya's father, whom she had not seen in some time, would never have displayed such weakness before witnesses. She was sure!
    Boldly, Katya prowled about the room. She scarcely listened to the white-haired man's halting speech; she'd have liked to press her hands over her ears. Here was a room of surpassing beauty, she thought. Not cluttered and smelling of paint and turpentine like Mr. Kidder's studio but furnished with beautiful things like a show window. The floor was polished hardwood—parket?— parkay? —and over it lay a large oval Oriental rug of a dark dusty-rose color. Surrounding the piano were sofas with brightly colored pillows, white wicker chairs, lamps with flaring white shades. On the walls, grass green wallpaper: silk? On the mantel above a wide white brick fireplace were vases containing glass flowers—Mr. Kidder's fossil flowers—of striking colors and shapes. There was a stereo set in a carved mahogany cabinet, and there were shelves of records so tightly crammed together that Katya's head ached to see them. So much music! And none of Mr. Kidder's music, she seemed to know, would be familiar to her.
    Solemnly she said, "This is a very beautiful room, Mr. Kidder. I think this must be a special room."
    "Yes it is, dear. At the moment."
    Dear! She smiled.
    At the Engelhardts' house, Katya Spivak was invisible. Unless Mrs. Engelhardt suddenly spoke to her, with a quick hard smile and a request, or a reprimand. In her own household in Vineland, Katya Spivak was likely to be even less visible, for often there was no one home: her mother's work hours shifted mysteriously. But here in Mr. Kidder's drawing room, Katya Spivak was wholly visible.
    Conscious of Mr. Kidder watching her as she moved about the room like a curious child. Conscious at the same time of her ponytail swinging between her shoulder blades, her smooth tanned legs springy and taut as a dancer's legs. In the mirror above the mantel there was a very pretty young girl with streaked-blond hair and a daring red slash of a mouth, thrilling to see. And in the corner of her eye Katya saw, or believed she saw, Mr. Kidder moving toward her. She steeled herself for the man's touch, his embrace; she would push away from him if he tried to embrace her. But she felt instead only a tentative stroke of her ponytail. She did not turn around but moved away as if not noticing. And when she went to peer curiously at a shelf of records (all Mozart? Katya was sure she'd never heard any of Mozart's music), she saw, to her surprise, that Mr. Kidder hadn't moved and could not have touched her hair; he was only gazing at her with a smile of longing. In his hand was the construction-paper card, which he seemed to be taking so seriously. He said,