Eleven by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online Page A

box, closed its lid, and stuck the box in the refrigerator. Victor jumped a little as the refrigerator door slammed. It would be awfully cold in there for the terrapin. But then, he supposed, fresh or brackish water was cold now and then, too.
    “Veector, cut the lemon,” said his mother. She was preparing the big round tray with cups and saucers. The water was boiling in the kettle.
    Mrs. Badzerkian was prompt as usual, and his mother poured the tea as soon as she had deposited her coat and pocketbook on the foyer chair and sat down. Mrs. Badzerkian smelled of cloves. She had a small, straight mouth and a thin moustache on her upper lip which fascinated Victor, as he had never seen one on a woman before, not one at such short range, anyway. He never had mentioned Mrs.Badzerkian’s moustache to his mother, knowing it was considered ugly, but in a strange way, her moustache was the thing he liked best about her. The rest of her was dull, uninteresting, and vaguely unfriendly. She always pretended to listen carefully to his poetry recitals, but he felt that she fidgeted, thought of other things while he spoke, and was glad when it was over. Today, Victor recited very well and without any hesitation, standing in the middle of the living-room floor and facing the two women, who were then having their second cups of tea.
    “Très bien,” said his mother. “Now you may have a cookie.”
    Victor chose from the plate a small round cookie with a drop of orange goo in its center. He kept his knees close together when he sat down. He always felt Mrs. Badzerkian looked at his knees and with distaste. He often wished she would make some remark to his mother about his being old enough for long pants, but she never had, at least not within his hearing. Victor learned from his mother’s conversation with Mrs. Badzerkian that the Lorentzes were coming for dinner tomorrow evening. It was probably for them that the terrapin stew was going to be made. Victor was glad that he would have the terrapin one more day to play with. Tomorrow morning, he thought, he would ask his mother if he could take the terrapin down on the side walk for a while, either on a leash or in the paper box, if his mother insisted.
    “—like a chi-ild!” his mother was saying, laughing, with a glance at him, and Mrs. Badzerkian smiled shrewdly at him with her small, tight mouth.
    Victor had been excused, and was sitting across the room with a book on the studio couch. His mother was telling Mrs. Badzerkianhow he had played with the terrapin. Victor frowned down at his book, pretending not to hear. His mother did not like him to open his mouth to her or her guests once he had been excused. But now she was calling him her “lee-tle ba-aby Veec-tor . . .”
    He stood up with his finger in the place in his book. “I don’t see why it’s childish to look at a terrapin!” he said, flushing with sudden anger. “They are very interesting animals, they—”
    His mother interrupted him with a laugh, but at once the laugh disappeared and she said sternly, “Veector, I thought I had excused you. Isn’t that correct?”
    He hesitated, seeing in a flash the scene that was going to take place when Mrs. Badzerkian had left. “Yes, Mama. I’m sorry,” he said. Then he sat down and bent over his book again.
    Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Badzerkian left. His mother scolded him for being rude, but it was not a five- or ten-minute scolding of the kind he had expected. It lasted hardly two minutes. She had forgotten to buy heavy cream, and she wanted Victor to go downstairs and get some. Victor put on his grey woollen jacket and went out. He always felt embarrassed and conspicuous in the jacket, because it came just a little bit below his short pants, and he looked as if he had nothing on underneath the coat.
    Victor looked around for Frank on the sidewalk, but he didn’t see him. He crossed Third Avenue and went to a delicatessen in the big building that he could see from