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

off balance than he intended and had scared himself, so he sat down and began to swing his legs.
    “The next time they’re here you’re going to behave yourself, is that clear?” She spoke as severely as possible, but by this time she knew that somehow he had defeated her.
    A small, affirmative noise came from him and she decided that was the most she could hope for, at least for the time being. She returned to the house, puzzled by the violence of his reaction. Tarquin of course had been extremely rude to sneer, and, in truth, Mrs. Bridge herself did not like Tarquin. Even so she was baffled by Douglas’s extraordinary hostility, and she was quite apprehensive about the future.
    The Leacocks continued to appear, unannounced, every few weeks Tarquin always with a book and Douglas was unquestionably able to divine their approach, because he vanished a few minutes before they arrived and nobody could find him until shortly after they had gone. Mrs. Bridge, while disapproving of some of the things Tarquin did and said, was nevertheless impressed by his brilliance.
    Progressive education was Lucienne Leacock’s favorite topic of conversation; politics was second. Mrs. Bridge did not know a great deal about either. Mrs. Leacock was a Socialist who voted the straight Democratic ticket because, as she phrased it, “We poor bloody Socialists never have a chance.” Mrs. Bridge had never before known a Socialist, and only a very few Democrats, moderate Democrats at that, and she felt slightly guilty as she sat on the porch or in the living room listening to Mrs. Leacock lambast the conservatives.
    As for the public educational system, well, she could not speak of it without profanity, and at every word Mrs. Bridge inwardly flinched. Superior children, the same as Socialists, did not have a chance. The system was geared to bourgeois mediocrity. Tarquin, as anyone could guess, attended a private school and he was as voluble a critic of public education as his mother, despite the fact he had never been inside a pub-lic school. He seemed unusually scornful of the school Douglas attended. Mrs. Leacock listened with an intent, forceful expression to whatever he said, afterward suggesting how he might have expressed himself more vigorously.
    Progressive education had certainly developed Tarquin’s sense of being an individual, but some of the results were so startling that Mrs. Bridge was reduced to a bewildered silence. One April afternoon while they were enjoying the rose garden Mrs. Leacock suddenly threw back her head and gave a loud neighing laugh and then, fixing Mrs. Bridge with a forcible look, she said, “Priceless! I must tell you. About two years ago when we lived in New Haven?” She looked at Tarquin to see if her memory was correct.
    “New Haven/’ said Tarquin, grinning.
    “This young monster threw a temper tantrum, and what a tantrum! He set fire to the garage.”
    “I used benzine,” said Tarquin indifferently as he began to pull the petals from a particularly fine rose. “I should have used kerosene.”
    Mrs. Bridge often thought about that afternoon. She did not think the Leacocks had been joking; on the other hand it seemed impossible that Tarquin could be so irresponsible. She was puzzled and irked and could not finally decide how she felt toward the Leacocks; at times she was positive she disliked them, then a moment later she would feel ashamed of herself. If only Tarquin would not curse! Mrs. Bridge had no use for profanity; she had always considered it not only vulgar but unnecessary, and was distressed by the fact that Lucienne Leacock encouraged the boy to swear. Furthermore, Tarquin smoked cigarettes and was allowed to stay up as late at night as he wanted to; yet he was not an adult, he was a boy, a large, shambling fleshy boy with a flushed, freckled complexion and moist red lips the color of liver. His eyes were alert and glassy, yellowish-brown and luminous like the eyes of a dog, and very