The Death of Ruth by Elizabeth Kata Read Free Book Online Page A

advise us. We would move to a new environment, an apartment, somewhere on the waterfront—no garden—Molly and I would take up fishing, sailing …

Chapter Three
    Before leaving home this morning John had looked at me with an expression of scorn. He spoke to me harshly and bitterly. ‘Molly,’ he said, ‘You have become a destructive woman! Do you realize that? Are you aware that you have developed an unhealthy, a ludicrous power complex?’
    It is dreadful to have John despise me. If he knew the truth he would realize how mistaken his opinion of me is, for I am bent only on preservation, and I am not powerful. I resemble a mouse crouching between the claws of a well-fed cat, awaiting the moment that the cat will feel the pangs of hunger.
    Last night it was as though the claws of the cat pressed in on me and pricked my skin, drew a little blood.
    Ralph Moyston, Jodie, Rob and John, all filled with excitement and with a dozen and varied happy plans for their futures, had gathered together in our living room. Money at last! Quite a lot of money! Our two houses were to be sold, pulled down. Jodie wanted to call Bill—her steady boyfriend—tell him that Ralph had promised her a sizeable amount of money to purchase a piece of land and that they, Jodie and her young man, could be married much earlier than they had planned.
    â€˜Call him now, Jo,’ Rob advised, ‘call him now.’
    I looked up from my book on
Plants and their Diseases
, and speaking for the first time, I said calmly and coldly, ‘Don’t call Bill, Jodie, I am not selling this property and if they can’t purchase this one right next door to their land, theywill not want to buy your parents’ home. Just forget about it.’
    John finally broke the silence that followed my statement, saying, ‘What are you saying, Molly?’ He was startled and quite aghast.
    â€˜I think you heard me loud and clear,’ I replied without looking up as I firmly underlined a paragraph in my book. ‘I’ve no intention of selling the house. I have lived here for many years. It’s all I want—or need.’
    â€˜She’s joking, or out of her mind!’ cried Rob. ‘Aunty Molly, you must be kidding! Think of the money! You can have a much nicer house. You—’
    â€˜You wouldn’t be so cruel, so selfish,’ cried Jodie. ‘No one could!’
    Ralph made no comment. I glanced up and saw the regretful expression on his face and I flashed my eyes back to the blur of the printed page of my book.
    Never, not once, since that now far-off dreadful day, have Ralph Moyston and I been alone together. Not once have we mentioned that which lies beneath John’s camellia bushes.
    In many ways I admire Ralph and I depend on him. He is standing up to the stress and strain more courageously than I. It is always easier for me when he is at home … nearby … for Ralph knows everything. Only he and I know why it is impossible for me to leave the house, the garden that I hate with a violence that poisons every moment of my waking hours and that fills with nightmare the few restless periods of sleep I get.
    Of course, Ralph could not come out openly on my side, for he is implicated too, quite dangerously so. I could not bear to look at him again, and so, without raising my eyes, I murmured, ‘You don’t want to sell, or do you, Ralph?’
    Ralph replied gently, ‘For myself—no—not really. It would only be for Jodie and Rob. For myself—one way or the other—I don’t mind …’
    â€˜I mind,’ John expostulated harshly, ‘This property belongs to me, I bought it with money that I have slaved for over the years. It is the only thing in the world that I own, and now, at last, it is going to pay dividends. What you do, Ralph, depends on you. I am selling. That is definite.’
    â€˜Wow-ee!’ Like a gust of wind Jodie rushed over