Mrs. Bridge by James Salter, Evan S. Connell Read Free Book Online

Bridge, somewhat disconcerted by Lucienne Leacock’s progressive ideas and a little frightened by Tarquin’s self-possession, nevertheless felt vaguely flattered at being the object of so much attention.
    One afternoon, while the three of them were drinking iced tea on the back porch, Douglas came sauntering home from a baseball game. He was barefoot his sneakers were tied together by the laces and were dangling around his neck so that the toes bumped against his chest and he had an apple in his mouth, and as he approached it became obvious that he was trying to eat the apple without using his hands. He was twist-ing his head around and making agonized faces. He did not see the visitors until he had opened the screen door. Then he stopped dead, looked first at Tarquin, then at Mrs. Leacock, then at his mother, and then back at Tarquin. Unmistakably Mrs. Bridge saw this Tarquin’s upper lip curled backward in a sneer. Slowly Douglas took the apple out of his mouth and said in a low voice, in which there was no ignoring the hostility, “How’d you like a punch in the snoot?”
    Mrs. Bridge had trained her children to be courteous no matter what occurred, for she valued courtesy as highly as she valued cleanliness, honesty, thrift, consideration, and other such qualities. Douglas, though rebellious, had never failed her when, so to speak, the chips were down. She knew he disliked being polite to visitors, but he was, nonetheless; in fact, though he grumbled more than his sisters, Mrs. Bridge had noticed with some surprise that he was actually less apt to be rude to guests than were the girls. He did try hard to be de-cent, and she knew it was difficult for him. He had been doing so well recently that she was flabbergasted by his remark to Tarquin, and by the absolute antagonism apparent in his stance he was now standing just inside the screen with his fists balled and his head thrust truculently forward. Mrs. Bridge was so amazed that for several seconds she was unable to speak. Upon recovering her wits she began to get to her feet but was restrained by Mrs. Leacock who had been smiling rather earnestly at Douglas from the moment he first wandered into view.
    “What else would you do, Doug?” said Mrs, Leacock. “We’d like to hear.”
    Douglas then gave her a long, baleful stare. Mrs. Bridge had not been so shocked in years. Without a word, as though there were no one on the porch, Douglas put the apple in his mouth and slowly backed out the door and around the corner of the house.
    “Young man,” Mrs. Bridge began, furiously shaking a finger at him when she found him sitting in the rafters of the garage a few minutes after the departure of the guests, “I don’t know what got into you and I honestly don’t care, but you’re most certainly going to hear from your father when he gets home/’
    Douglas stepped across to another rafter and peered into the corner where some wasps had bulk a nest.
    “What in the world made you behave like that?” demanded Mrs. Bridge, who was as nonplused as she was humiliated.
    Douglas mumbled; it was not clear what he said.
    “Well, I don’t care whether you like him or not,” she continued, assuming he had made some reference to Tarquin. “When we have guests you’ll treat them courteously. How would you like it if we visited them and Tarquin behaved as you did?”
    “I’m not going to visit them,” he answered, still looking at the wasp nest.
    “Well,” said Mrs. Bridge after a pause, “we’re not going to have any more of that, and that’s final. Now I mean business. I’ve never been so ashamed in my life.”
    Douglas was sorry he had embarrassed his mother, but he could not say so. With his arms outstretched for balance he began to walk the length of the rafter.
    “You’re going to fall and break your neck/’ said Mrs. Bridge.
    Douglas did not reply. He teetered a little and his mother gasped. He had only meant to frighten her but he had gotten a little farther