The Bird’s Nest by Shirley Jackson Read Free Book Online

said.
    â€œIt was nice to see you, Elizabeth. And, Morgen, do make a point of getting to that science lecture. Maybe we can all go together—”
    â€œThanks again,” Aunt Morgen said.
    When the door had closed behind them and they were going down the walk in the cool night air Aunt Morgen took Elizabeth’s arm and said, “Look, kiddo, you frightened me. Are you sick?”
    â€œI have a headache.”
    â€œNo wonder, after all that sherry.” Aunt Morgen stopped under the street light and took Elizabeth’s chin and turned her face to look at her. “You’re
not
tight on sherry,” Aunt Morgen said, wondering. “You look all right and you talk all right and you walk all right—there
is
something wrong. Elizabeth,” she said urgently, “
what
is it, kiddo?”
    â€œHeadache,” Elizabeth said.
    â€œI wish you’d talk to me,” Aunt Morgen said. She put her arm through Elizabeth’s and they began to walk on. “I get so goddamned
worried
,” Aunt Morgen said. “All during the bridge game I—”
    â€œWhat bridge game?” Elizabeth said.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    â€œWell, now, Morgen,” Doctor Ryan said. He leaned back in his chair and the chair creaked under his huge weight, as it had been doing, Elizabeth thought, all her lifetime; she had never thought of it so clearly before, but all she remembered of Doctor Ryan after leaving his office was the way his chair creaked. “Well, now, Morgen,” Doctor Ryan said. He put his fingers together in front of him and raised his eyebrows and looked quizzically at Aunt Morgen. “Always
were
one to get het up about trifles,” he said.
    â€œHah,” said Aunt Morgen. “
I
can remember a time, Harold Ryan—”
    They both laughed, similarly, greatly, looking at one another with wrinkles of laughter around their eyes. “Damn disrespectful woman,” Doctor Ryan said, and they laughed.
    Elizabeth looked at Doctor Ryan’s office; she had been here before, with her mother, with Aunt Morgen; Doctor Ryan had been here in this office ever since Elizabeth could remember, and so far as Elizabeth knew he had no other home. He had been in Aunt Morgen’s house when her mother died, his arm around Aunt Morgen’s shoulders, his great voice saying small things; he had come once in the night, looming jovially at the foot of Elizabeth’s bed, speaking coolly through the feverish, inflamed phantoms crowding the pillow; “You’re making quite a fuss, my girl,” he had said then, “over nothing but a couple of measles.” The rest of the time, the rest of Elizabeth’s life, Doctor Ryan had been here in this office, leaning back in his chair and making it creak. Elizabeth did not know the names on the backs of any of the books in the glass-doored case behind Doctor Ryan’s back, but she knew peculiarly well the tear on the leather spine of the one third from the end on the second shelf, and wondered, now, if Doctor Ryan ever turned around and took down one of the books to look at. While Doctor Ryan and Aunt Morgen laughed, Elizabeth looked at the grey curtains over the window, and the books, and the glass inkwell on Doctor Ryan’s desk, and the little ship model which Doctor Ryan had made himself, long ago, when his fingers were nimbler.
    â€œBut honestly, Harold,” Aunt Morgen said, “she
did
frighten me. There was poor old Vergil, just opening his mouth, and Elizabeth shouts out this
obscenity—I
mean, honestly—” Aunt Morgen’s lips moved, and she made a visible effort to keep from smiling. “I mean,” she said helplessly, “I’ve thought of it
myself
, when Vergil—” She put her hands over her face and began to rock back and forth. “If you could have seen . . .” she said. “Mandalay . . .”
    Doctor Ryan covered his eyes with