Chapter 12 sunday afternoon

Mrs. Gannett walked into the kitchen, stepping gracefully, her beautiful calico sundress fluttering in response to the melody in her head.Alva is washing glasses in the kitchen.It is half past two, and after half past twelve, everyone started to go to the kitchen to find something to drink.Ordinary people.Most of them had seen Alva two or three times since he had worked at the Gannetts.Mrs. Gannett's brother was there, and his wife, the Vances, and the Fredericks.Mrs. Gannett's parents also came in for a while after prayer at St. Martin's, and brought with them a young nephew, perhaps Mrs. Gannett's cousin, who stayed when they came home.Mrs. Gannett's natal relatives are on the right, she has three sisters, all blond, blunt, careless women, more athletic than she and her very frank muscular parents, two old men with hair It's all completely white.Mrs. Gannett's father owned an island in Georgian Bay where he built summer homes for each of his daughters.Within a week, Alva could see the island.On the other hand, the street where Mrs. Gannett's mother lives is close to the city center, half of which are houses built with red bricks. There are no trees on the street, and they are all almost identical red brick houses. She lives in her red brick house half of.Mrs. Gannett picked her up once a week and drove her home to have dinner with her and drink nothing but grape juice until she got home.Once, when Mr. and Mrs. Gannett were in a hurry and went out after dinner, she came into the kitchen to help Alva clear the dishes.Her manner was strange and cold, just like the women of the Alva family, and they were also like this when they were with their maids.Alva cared less about this than the tactful, considerate kindness of Mrs. Gannett's sisters.

Mrs. Gannett opened the refrigerator, stood propped against the door, and finally spoke, with what seemed to be a giggle: "Alva, I think we can have lunch..." "Okay." Alva replied.Mrs. Gannett looked at her.Alva never said anything bad, she never said anything bad, it would be rude to say that.Mrs. Gannett wouldn't unrealistically expect a high school girl, even a country high school girl, to answer "yes, ma'am."That's what the old maid in her mother's kitchen said.But there was nothing more irritating than Alva's tone, which often had an artificial lightness, a certain exaggerated casualness and cheerfulness, for Mrs. Gannett could find no reason for dislike.In any case, she stopped giggling, and her tanned and powdered face suddenly looked serious and unhappy.

"Potato salad," she said, "aspic, custard. Don't forget to reheat the bagels. Are the tomatoes peeled? Good—oh, yes, Alva, I don't think these radishes look too good." , what do you think? Better cut it, you remember when Gene cut the turnips into roses, you know how they go around and cut the petals. It looks pretty." Alva began clumsily chopping radishes.Mrs. Gannett walked around the kitchen, frowning, running her fingertips over the blue and coral dining table.Her hair was tied in a bun on the top of her head, highlighting her slender brown neck, which seemed to have been roughened by the sun.Her tanned skin made her look firm and dry.However, Alva, who almost never basks in the sun and stays indoors at the hottest time of the day, is seventeen years old this year. She wishes her waist and legs could be thinner. She is jealous of her brown skin and her slender elegance. shape.Mrs. Gannett's appearance, as if entirely artificial, possessed a superb figure.

"Cut the white cake with a thread, you know how to cut it. I'll tell you how much sherbet and maple mousse. Mr. Gannett only wants vanilla, it's in the freezer... oh, in the freezer And there's plenty of dessert for you. . . Oh, Derek, you monster!" Mrs. Gannett ran out into the yard and called, "Derek, Derek!" Stern, there was something pleasant in the anger.Alva knew that Derek was Mr. Vance, a stockbroker, and she had just remembered in time that she could not look over the two-part door to see what was going on.That was one of the dilemmas she faced Sunday.Everyone was drinking, everyone was relaxing, everyone was so excited, and she had to keep in mind that she couldn't show a little bit of relief and excitement.She couldn't drink, of course, unless it was the bottom of the glass they sent back to the kitchen—unless it was gin, cold and sweet.

However, the unreal feeling of alternating indifference and recklessness is very strong in the afternoon.Alva saw that the people coming out of the bathroom were all absorbed and depressed.She caught glimpses of women in dimly lit bedrooms, swaying at their reflections in the mirror, slowly applying lipstick.Someone had fallen asleep on the study couch.At this time, the curtains on the glass walls of the living room and dining room were drawn, blocking out the hot sun.These curtained, carpeted rooms, in cool tones, seem to float in an underwater light.Alva found himself barely remembering the rooms at home, where so much could fit in such a small room, while here was an undisturbed soft surface, where the space, the whole long and wide passage, was empty , except for two tall Danish vases standing in the corner at the end.The carpet, walls and ceiling are all grey-blue.Alva walked silently down the corridor, hoping to see a mirror or bump into something.She doesn't know where she is.

Before taking her lunch to the yard, she combed her hair in front of the small mirror across the kitchen table, pushing the curls up the side of her face.She retied her apron and pulled the wide belt tighter.She couldn't help it, the uniform belonged to Jean, and Alva asked if it was too big when she tried it on for the first time.Mrs. Gannett didn't think so, though.The uniform was blue, the color of most uniforms in the kitchen, with white cuffs and collars, and a scalloped apron.She had to wear stockings and white Cuban heels, which made a heavy, deliberate, vulgar sound on the stone path in the yard compared to pumps or loafers.However, no one looked at her, and she walked towards the long iron table with plates, napkins, and dishes.Only Mrs. Gannett came and rearranged the things.There always seemed to be something missing from Alva's table setting, although there was nothing wrong with it.

While they ate, she sat at the kitchen table eating her lunch, leafing through an old Time magazine.There was no bell in the yard, of course, and Mrs. Gannett exclaimed, "There, Alva!" or simply, "Alva!" with the same effect as a bell, discreet and penetrating.In the middle of a conversation with someone, suddenly called that, and then continued to laugh, the situation is quite strange.It was as if her voice was mechanical, and she only needed to press a switch for Alva's sake. At the end of the meal, they went into the kitchen with their own dessert plates and coffee cups.Mrs. Vance said the potato salad was delicious.Mr. Vance, already drunk, said, "It tastes good, it's so good."He was standing right behind Alva, right in front of the sink, so close that she could feel his breath and even where his hands were; he didn't really touch her.Mr. Vance was a large man with curly hair and a ruddy complexion.He had brown hair, and Alva found him worrisome because he was the type of man she used to respect most.Mrs. Vance, on the other hand, was perpetually eloquent, and when she spoke to Alva she seemed less confident in herself, and more enthusiastic than the other women.The situation of the Vance family seemed unstable on this occasion, and Alva did not know why, perhaps because they had less money than the others.In any case, they were always very funny, very warm-hearted, and Mr. Vance was perpetually drunk.

"North, all the way to Georgian Bay, Alva?" said Mr. Vance.Mrs. Vance said, "Oh, you'll like it, Gannett's place is pretty nice." Mr. Vance said, "Go out there and get some sun, eh?" And off they went.Alva was able to walk now, and she turned to get the dirty dishes when she caught sight of Mrs. Gannett's cousin, God knows who.The man was thin and rough, like Mrs. Gannett, but darker.He said, "Do you have any more coffee here?" Alva poured him the rest, which was only half a cup, and he stood there to drink it, watching her pile up the saucers, and said, "It's fun, isn't it?" ?” She looked up, saw him smile and went out.

After washing the dishes Alva is fine.Dinner started very late.But she couldn't leave the house, Mrs. Gannett might find her for something.She couldn't go into the yard either, they were all there.She went upstairs, then remembered that Mrs. Gannett had said that she could go to the study and pick up any book, and she went downstairs again to look for a book.In the corridor she met Mr. Gannett, who looked at her with great seriousness, his eyes intent, but seemed to be going away in silence, before changing his mind and saying: "This, Alva, er, this, are you full?" This is no joke, Mr. Gannett never jokes.In fact, he has asked this question two or three times before.It seemed he felt he had a duty to her, a duty to keep her well fed.Alva always said rest assured, his face flushed with embarrassment.Is she a cow?She said, "I'm going to the library to get a book to read. Mrs. Gannett said I could..."

"Well, yes, yes, you can take whichever you like." Mr. Gannett said, pushing open the study door for her unexpectedly, and leading her to the bookshelf.He stood there frowning and asked, "What books do you like?" He pointed to the suspense and historical fiction layer with brightly colored covers, but Alva said, "I haven't read King Lear." "King Lear." Mr. Gannett repeated, "Oh." He didn't know where the book was, but Alva found it himself and took it down. "I haven't seen it either," she added.It wasn't going to impress him, but it was something she might like to read, and she didn't want to take a copy of King Lear back to her room.She was quite happy when she came out of the study.She had told him that she had other things to do than eat. King Lear often makes a stronger impression on men than on women.For Mrs. Gannett, it was no different.A maid is a maid.

However, when she returned to her room, she didn't want to read a book.Her room was over the garage and it was very hot.The uniform wrinkled sitting on the bed, and she had no other ironed one to change into.She couldn't take it off and just put on her petticoat, because Mrs. Gannett might call her at any moment and ask her to appear at once.She stood at the window, looking at the streets on both sides.The street was a crescent moon, a wide arc of gentle curves with no sidewalks.Once or twice Alva walked down this street feeling a little too conspicuous.No one is ever seen walking on this street.The houses are far away from each other, all huddled behind beautiful lawns, rockeries, and ornamental plants, far away from the road.As for the area in front of the house, no one will stay except the Chinese gardener.The lawn setting, along with swings and garden tables, are on the back lawn, enclosed by a fence, stone wall, and country-like fencing.This afternoon, there were cars parked in the street, voices from behind the house, and loud laughter.It was hot but clear, and everything, from the stones to the stuccoed houses, from the flowers to the colorful cars, looked real, shiny, precise, and perfect.As far as the eye can see, there is nothing random.The streets, too, are like advertisements, with an aggressive image, a cheerful summer spirit.Alva was dizzy from the laughter, from the people whose lives were closely tied to this street.She was sitting in a solid chair with an old-fashioned children's table in front of her.All the furniture in this room was brought from other rooms and rearranged.Only here you can find things that don't quite match, they are not related to each other, and the wooden furniture is not spacious, low and dull.She started writing letters home. — This house, like the others, is gigantic and basically very modern.There wasn't a single weed on the lawn, and the gardeners they hired spent all day each week mowing what looked like a perfect lawn.I think guys are emotional enough that they make a lot of fuss about the perfect lawn.They go out once in a while and live a rougher life, but overall it's very complicated, and everything has to be that way.That's true of everything, everywhere they go. Don't worry about my loneliness, don't worry about being spoiled, don't worry about the fate of such maids.I won't let anyone do this to me.Besides, I am not a maid in the true sense, but a summer job.I don't feel lonely, why should I be lonely?I just have to watch, and I'm interested in watching.Mom, of course I can't eat with them, don't laugh, it's not the same thing as hired labor.Also, I prefer to eat alone.If you write to Mrs Gannett she won't understand what you're talking about.I really don't mind.Never write! I thought it would be better that I take the afternoon off to meet her in the city when Marion comes.I don't really want her here.I don't know what to do with the maid's relatives.However, if she wanted to come, there would be no problem.I don't know how Mrs. Gannett's going to react, that's all, I'll try to make her as comfortable as possible and keep her from sneaking up on bad things, even though she's fine. We're going to Georgian Bay in a week and of course I'd love to.When I get there, I can swim every day, she (Mrs. Gannett) said— The room was too hot.She put the unfinished letter on the table, under the blotting paper.The radio was blaring in Margaret's room.She walked towards Margaret's door, hoping it was open.Margaret was not yet fourteen, and the difference in age made up for the rest, and it was a good time with Margaret. The door is open.Spread out on the bed were Marguerite's petticoats and summer skirts.Alva had never known that she had so many clothes. "I'm not packing," said Margaret, "I know I'm crazy, well, I just want to see what clothes I have. I hope my clothes are okay," she said, "I hope it's not too— —” Alva touched the clothes on the bed, the exquisite colors made her very happy.Smooth narrow bodice, carefully pleated and fitted, and curly, grotesque, swollen webbing under petticoats.There is an artificial, beautifully extraordinarily pure purity in these garments.Alva is not jealous, not jealous, it has nothing to do with her.This is part of Margaret's world, this is the exacting pattern of private schools, tunics, black stockings, hockey, choirs, summer sailing, parties, boys in blazers— "Where are you going in these clothes?" Alva asked. "To Ojibway. Hotel. There's a dance every weekend, and everyone goes on a boat. Friday night is the kids, Saturday night is the parents, and everybody else, and that's the dance I'm going to." Margery "If I'm not a social loser," said Dot gloomily. "Both Davis girls are." "Don't worry." Alva seemed to be condescending, "It will definitely be fine." "I don't really like dancing," said Margaret. "I prefer sailing, for example. But you have to dance, don't you?" "You'll like it," Alva replied.Then there was going to be a ball, and they would go by boat, and she would watch them go and hear them come home.And all of this is what she should have expected—— Margaret sat cross-legged on the floor, looked at Alva with her blunt but pure expression, and said, "Do you think I should start hugging and kissing this summer?" "Yes," Alva replied, "I will," she added almost vindictively.Margaret looked confused and said, "I heard that's why Scottie didn't ask me for Easter..." There was no sound, and Marguerite stood up quietly. "Mom is here." She didn't make a sound, but moved her lips.Mrs. Gannett came in almost at once, smiling with effort and said, "Oh, Alva, here you are." Margaret replied, "Mum, I'm telling her about the island." "Oh, Alva, there's a lot of glasses downstairs right now. Maybe you can go and clean them up now? Clean them out now, so they won't get in the way while dinner is being made... by the way, Alva, have you A clean apron?" "The yellow one is too tight, ma'am, I tried..." "Honey, there's no need to take all these things out, we're leaving in a week..." Alva went downstairs, through the blue corridor.She heard someone talking seriously in the study, she was a little drunk, and when she saw her walking past, the door of the sewing room was gently closed from the inside.She went into the kitchen, thinking now of the island.They own an entire island, and as far as the eye can see, there is nothing that is not theirs.The rocks, the sun, the pine trees, and the deep, cold water of the bay.What is she doing there?What can a maid do?She can go swimming when she is free.You can also go for a walk alone.Sometimes, maybe when they go shopping, she can take the boat.There, there won't be so much to do as here.Mrs. Gannett said.She said the maids loved going there.Alva thought of the other maids, the smarter, more adaptable girls, did they really like them?What freedom or fulfillment had they discovered that she had not? She filled the sink with water, took out the colander, and started washing the glasses.No big deal, listening to the incomprehensible muffled sounds around her—the sounds of other people's lives, boats, cars, dancing—looking at the street in the blinding, unending sun and the small town promised to her. Island, but she felt heavy due to the sweltering heat, tired and indifferent.Here she had no voice, no strength at all. She must remember to go upstairs and change an apron before supper-time. She heard the door open and someone come in from the yard.Mrs. Gannett's cousin. "Another cup for you," he said, "where should I put it?" "Anywhere," replied Alva. "Say thanks," said Mrs. Gannett's cousin.Alva wiped his hands on his apron, turned his head in surprise, and then she ceased to be surprised.She leaned back against the table, waiting, and Mrs. Gannett's cousin took her lightly, as if playing a skilful game, and kissed her for a little while. "She told me to go to the island some weekend in August," he said. Someone called him in the yard, and he went out, with a graceful gait, or rather, with the ludicrous silence of a small person.Alva still leaned against the table, standing still. The stranger's touch relaxes her, her body becomes comfortable, as if expectant.She sensed a lightness and confidence in the house that she hadn't found before.So, there must be something she hadn't thought about, about herself, about these people, and how life with them wasn't so unreal.Now, she didn't mind thinking of the island anymore, of the rocks exposed to the sun, and the little black pines.She sees it differently now; it's even possible that she really wants to go.But there was always something going on, and there was something she hadn't explored—some weakness, some new humiliation that she didn't yet understand.