Men and Angels by Mary Gordon Read Free Book Online Page A

pieces of puzzles, crayons, blocks, naked dolls were sprawled around the floor. She looked behind the door. There it was, a chocolate chip cookie, covered with dust and hair. She remembered that she had just given Mrs. Davenport an extra five dollars. How had she allowed that woman in her house, with her children, even for a moment? She picked up the cookie, and crushing it in the palm of her hand she walked to the telephone.
    Trembling, she dialed the number of the people in Syracuse that Laura had worked for.
    “Oh, she’s a model of patience,” said Joan Chamberlain. “And, you know, she’s always ready to do extra housework. She’s quiet, though, she keeps to herself. And I think she’s very religious. Not that that makes any difference, I mean, if you know it ahead of time.”
    “But you feel you can recommend her?” Anne said.
    “Oh yes, sure, there’s nothing wrong with Laura. Really, I’m sure you’ll be happy with her. I’m sure she’ll be just fine in your house.”
    The cookie was beginning to melt in her hand. She flushed it down the toilet, walked back to the telephone and dialed Hélène’s number. Laura answered the phone.
    “I was wondering if you could start working for me,” Anne said.
    “What about tomorrow?” Laura said.
    “Splendid,” said Anne. “I’ll be here all day. Just come whenever you’re ready.”
    “I’m ready,” said Laura.

Three
    S HE KNEW SHE HAD been sent to Anne to save her. Once she might have worried. She might have been afraid Anne wouldn’t like her. Anne was the sort of person who used to be able to make her feel bad about herself. Now she never felt bad about herself. Anne was very pretty. People liked Anne. She had one of those houses people wanted to be in. Once she would have wanted Anne to be her friend, to invite her to her house. She would have wanted Anne to tell Laura’s mother that Laura was a wonderful person. Anne was the sort of person her mother would listen to. If Anne told Laura’s mother that Laura was the best thing that had happened in the children’s lives, her mother would have to change her mind. Not like what happened with the other people. The Rutherfords at home. They told her mother she wasn’t good for the children. But that was the parents, not the children. The children liked her, she knew they did. They wanted her to stay. They said so when she asked them.
    Her mother said she wasn’t any good with children. Her mother said she didn’t know why Laura got it in her head to work with children, because she wasn’t any good. She said Laura had never been good with children, she hadn’t been any good with her own sister, why did she think she’d be good with anybody else’s children. If she couldn’t be good with her own sister. If she couldn’t get along in her own family. If she never had been able to. What did she think the world was all about?
    When she was twelve, her mother told her she would never be beautiful. She enrolled her in a typing course that summer, because she would have to work to support herself. Her mother said men married beauty: it gave them pleasure. It gave pleasure to the world, her mother said. If you were not beautiful, you did not give pleasure. If you were not good-natured. If you were not lively, were not smart. “She’s a pleasure.” “It’s a pleasure to be near her.” “The pleasure of her company.” What was this pleasure that she could not give? Pleasure, the word sounded to her heavy and fat, like sheep. They ate grass and then were shorn and then were eaten.
    Her mother was beautiful. That was why her father loved her. “Try and please your mother,” her father would tell her when her mother sent her away, sent her to her room. “I can’t stand the sight of you,” her mother said. “Try and please your mother.” Tears. “Don’t cry or I’ll give you something to cry for.” Tears. “Out of my sight.” “Try and please your mother.” “Your mother doesn’t mean