Chapter 5 chapter Five

In the dining room, Terry the boy is giving another science presentation. "Lead salts dissolve more easily in cold water than in hot water. If you add potassium iodide, you get a yellow precipitate of lead iodide." He looked at his mom expectantly, but wasn't really filled with hope.Parents, from young Terrence's point of view, were always a sad disappointment. "You know those, mother—" "I don't know anything about chemistry, dear." "You can read about it in books," Terrence said. It's a simple statement of fact, but behind it lurks a certain melancholy and longing.

Gerda did not hear the melancholy and longing.She fell into the unfortunate trap she had set, round and round.She'd been feeling unlucky since she'd gotten up this morning, aware that this long, scary weekend with the Angkatell family would finally be upon her.Staying in the fantasy manor was always a nightmare for her.She always felt bewildered and abandoned.Lucy Angkatell, never said a complete sentence.Her quick incoherent speech, and her obvious attempts to be friendly, make her the character she fears the most.But others are about as bad.For Gerda it was two days of pure suffering—enduring it all for John.

And John, as he stretched out this morning, emphasized in a tone of 100% cheerfulness: "It's a wonderful feeling to think that we're going to spend the weekend in the country. It will do you good, Gerda, and it's just what you need." She smiled mechanically, and said with an unselfish firmness, "It will be a pleasure." Her sad eyes looked around the bedroom.The wallpaper, striped cream-white with black dots, matched the wardrobe; the mahogany dresser with a mirror over the front;All these lovely things, she won't see them again until next Monday. Instead, tomorrow morning, an old noisy maid entered that strange bedroom, set down a cup of morning tea in a pretty saucer by the bed, drew the curtains, and rearranged and folded Gerda's clothes —something that made Gerda feel too hot and uncomfortable.She'll lie miserably, put up with it, try to console herself by thinking "only one morning left."Just like in school, counting the days.

Gerda did not have a good time at school.Schools are even less comforting than elsewhere.Better at home.But even at home, things aren't great.Because all of them, of course, were smarter than her, smarter than her.Their comments, alert, impatient, not very friendly, had howled in her ears like a storm. "Oh, do it quickly, Gerda." "Give me that creamfinger!" "Oh, don't let Gerda do that, she'll be doing it for a long time Yes." "Gerda never comprehended anything . . . " Didn't they, all of them see, that it only made her duller, more stupid?She's getting worse and worse.Her fingers were clumsier, her intellect was slower, and she was more at a loss for what people said.

Until one day, out of the blue, she caught hold of the problem and found a solution.Almost by accident, but literally, she found a weapon of defense. She had grown duller, and her bewildered gaze had grown even more blank.But now, when they say impatiently: "Oh, Gerda, how stupid you are, do you understand?" she can secretly chuckle behind the blank look... because she is not what they think she is. So stupid.Often, when she pretends not to understand, she really does.And often on purpose, she slows down whatever she does.She smiled to herself as impatient fingers snatched things from her.

Because warmth and happiness are a private understanding of superiority.She started, quite often, a little bit happier.Yes, you know more than people think you know, it's really interesting to be able to do a thing and not let anyone know that you can do it. And it pays off, you suddenly find that people are often doing things for you.That will save you a lot of trouble.And, if people get used to doing things for you, you don't have to, and people have no way of knowing how badly you're doing.So, slowly, after you turn around, you are almost back to your starting point again.Feel that you are as free as anyone else in the world to stand your ground.

(But this is impossible, Gerda is terrified, taking control of herself with the Angkatels, who are always so far ahead of you that you even feel Not that you were on the same street with them. How she hated the Angkatells! But it was good for John--John liked it. He came home refreshed--not so sometimes Love is mad.) Dear John, she thought.John was fantastic.Everyone thinks so.What a capable doctor, and so kind to patients.Always working so exhaustingly -- putting so much care into the patients in the hospital -- he wasn't compensated for all that work.John is so careless - so truly noble.

She had known, from the beginning, that John was talented and would reach the pinnacle of his career.He chose her, and he could have married a woman who was much smarter than her.He didn't mind her dullness and stupidity and not being very beautiful. "I'll take care of you," he had said.Beautifully, rather imperiously, "Don't worry about anything, Gerda, I'll take care of you..." Just like a man should do.How good it was to remember that John had chosen her. He had said with his sudden, attractive, half-defensive smile: "I like the way I behave, you know, Gerda."

Oh no problem.She's always trying to give in to him in everything.Even lately when he's been so irritable and neurotic - nothing seems to cheer him up.And for whatever reason, nothing she did was right, and one could not blame him.He's so busy, so selfless— OMG, that plate of lamb!She should have sent it back.Still no sign of John coming.Why can't she make the right decision?The undercurrent of misfortune swept through her body again.That plate of lamb!This horrible weekend with the Ang Carter family.She has a headache.God, she's going to have a headache right now.And whenever she had a headache, John was always annoyed.He never gave her any medicine.And for a doctor, this is a breeze.Instead, he would always say, "Don't think about it, there's no use in hurting yourself with drugs. Go for a brisk walk."

That plate of lamb!Looking at it, Gerda felt the words repeated in her aching head, "That plate of lamb, that plate of lamb, that plate of lamb..." Tears of self-pity welled up in her eyes. "Why," she thought, "is there nothing I can do right?" Terrence looked across the table at his mother, then at the plate of mutton on the bone.He thought: "Why can't we eat? How stupid are grown-ups. Any judgment!" He said loudly and in a cautious tone: "Nicholson Minor and I are going to make nitroglycerin on his father's bush." "Really, dear? That would be interesting," said Gerda.

If she rings the bell now, tell Lewis to take this plate of bone-in lamb away—there's still time. Terrence looked at her with faint curiosity.He instinctively felt that making nitroglycerin was not something his parents would encourage.He cleverly chose a suitable opportunity and casually told his mother about it.His judgment proved correct.If by chance a fuss went wrong and he was blamed, he would say, in a hurt tone, "I told mother." He still felt vaguely disappointed. "Even Mother," he thought, "should know about nitroglycerin." He sighed.A strong sense of loneliness that can only be felt in childhood swept over his body.His father listened impatiently, and his mother was too inattentive.Zener, on the other hand, was a stupid kid. There are pages and pages of interesting chemical experiments, but who pays attention to them? boom!Gerda jumped up.It was the closing sound of John's office.John is going upstairs. John Crystal burst into the room with a vigor all his own.Happy, hungry, impatient. "God," he cried as he sat down, sharpening his cleaver vigorously. "How I hate those patients!" "Oh, John," Gerda complained quickly, "don't say that, they'll think you mean it." She made a slight gesture with her head turned towards the children. "I mean it," said John Crystal. "No one should be sick." "Father was joking," Gerda said quickly to Terrence. Terrence looked at his father with the calm demeanor he had about everything. "I don't think he was joking," he said. "If you hate patients, you shouldn't be a doctor, dear," said Gerda, smiling softly. "That's exactly why," said John Crystal, "no doctor likes to be sick. God, this plate of meat is as cold as a rock. Why don't you send it warm?" "Well, honey, I don't know. You see, I thought you were coming—" John Crystal rang the bell, and Lewis walked in quickly. "Take this down and tell the kitchen to heat it up," he said curtly. "Yes, sir." Lewis, slightly faux pas, tried to convey in those two words exactly how she felt about a housewife sitting at a table watching a plate of flesh and blood go cold. Gerda went on, even more incoherently: "I'm so sorry honey, it's all my fault, but at first, look, I thought you were coming, but then I thought, well, if I do send it back..." John interrupted impatiently. "Oh, what does it matter? It doesn't matter at all. It's not worth making a fuss about." Then he asked, "Is the car here?" "I want it here. Corley ordered it." "Then we can leave as soon as dinner is over." Across Albert Bridge, he thought, then Clapham Common - take the short cut from Crystal Palace - Croydon - Purry Lane, then avoid the main road - take the fork on the right up May Seeley Hill - along the Haverston Ridge - abruptly to the right of the suburbs, across Colmerton and up the Saffre Heights - golden red woods - woodlands everywhere below you - The soft breath of autumn, and down from the top of the mountain. Lucy and Henry... Henrietta... He hadn't seen Henrietta for four days.The last time he saw her, he was very angry.There was that look in her eyes.Not detached, not casual—he couldn't quite describe it—the look that saw something—something that wasn't there—something that wasn't John Crystal! He said to himself: "I know she's a sculptor. I know her work is brilliant. But damn, can't she put it aside sometimes? Can't she think of me sometimes—and not the other of something?" He is unjust.He knows he is unjust.Henrietta rarely talked about her work—less obsessed with it than most artists he knew.It was only on very rare occasions that her preoccupation with her inner visions would destroy the integrity of her concern for him.And it always aroused his fierce rage. At one point, he said sharply and forcefully, "If I asked you, would you give up all of this?" "All—what do you mean?" There was a hint of surprise in her soft voice. "All—all of this." He circled the sculpture room in an all-encompassing gesture. He immediately said to himself in his mind: "Fool! Why did you ask her to do that?" and said to himself again: "Let her say 'Of course.' Let her lie to me! If she just said 'Of course I will.' Whatever It doesn't matter if she means it or not! But let her say it. I need peace." She didn't say anything for a while.Her gaze became dreamily blurred and detached.Her brow furrowed slightly. Then she said slowly: "I suppose it will, if necessary." "Necessary? What do you mean by necessary?" "I don't really know what I mean, John, it's necessary, like amputation is necessary." "A complete surgical operation." "You're angry. What do you want me to say?" "You know very well. One word will do. Yes. Why can't you say it? You say enough things to people to please them, never caring if they're true or not. Why not to me? Look at For God's sake, why not with me?" She still answered slowly: "I don't know . . . really, I don't know, John. I can't—that's all. I can't." He walked up and down for a minute or two.Then he said: "You would drive me mad, Henrietta. I never felt I had any influence over you." "Why do you want to have it?" "I don't know, that's just how I am." He collapsed into a chair. "I want to be the most important." "You are the most important, John." "No. If I were to die, the first thing you'd do would be tear yourself down and start making some damn sad woman or some sad portrait." "I doubt it will. I believe—yes, maybe I will. It sucks." She sat there looking at him with dejected eyes. The pudding was burnt.Krystal raised an eyebrow, and Gerda hurriedly apologized. "I'm sorry, honey. I can't figure out why this happened, it's all my fault. Give me the top and you eat the bottom." The pudding was burnt because he, John Crystal, was in the consulting room a quarter of an hour more than needed, thinking about Henrietta, Mrs. Grabert, making that ridiculous pair of St. Nostalgia brushed over him, and it was his fault.Gerda was trying to take responsibility, what a stupid move.And she's trying to eat the mush herself like crazy, why does she always have to sacrifice herself?Why was Terrence watching him in that slow, interested way?Why, oh, why did Zenner have to sniff so constantly?Why are they all so damn maddening? His wrath fell on Zenner. "Why on earth don't you blow your nose?" "She has a little cold, my dear." "No, she didn't. You always thought she had a cold! She's all right." Gerda sighed.She would never understand why a doctor, who spends his time treating other people's ailments, is indifferent to the health of his own family members.He always scoffed at any mention of sickness. "I sneezed eight times before lunch," Zenner said solemnly. "Fever cold!" said John. "It's not because it's hot," Terrence said. "The thermometer in the hall reads fifty-five degrees." John stood up. "Have you finished eating? Well, let's get into the car. Are you ready to go, Gerda?" "Wait a minute, John. I've got a little stuff to put in." "You should have done this long ago. What have you been doing all morning?" He stormed out of the restaurant in a huff.Gerda also hurried away and went into her bedroom.Her eagerness to go faster made her move slower.But why couldn't she be ready sooner?His own suitcase was packed and placed in the hall.Why on earth— Zenner walked up to him, clutching a handful of sticky cards. "Can I tell your fortune, Daddy? I know how. I've counted Mother's, Terry's, Lewis's, and Jane's and the cook's." "OK." He wondered how much longer it would take Gerda.He wanted to get out of this bad house and this bad street and this city of sore, sniffling, sick people.He wanted to touch the woods and the wet leaves--and the refined indifference of Lucy Angkatell.She always has that look on her face that makes you think she doesn't even have a physical existence. Zenner is solemnly dealing the cards. "The one in the middle is you, Father, the King of Hearts. The person to be told is always the King of Hearts. Then I turn over the rest of the cards. Two are to your left, and two are to your right, and, One on your head - that's the one who controls you, one on your feet - you can control it. And one - covers you!" "Now," Zeng Na took a deep breath, "let's turn them over, and the one on your right is a square Q—very intimate." "Henrietta," he thought, momentarily amused by Zenner's seriousness. "Nearby is the Jack of Clubs—some rather young man." "The one on your left is the eight of spades—that's a secret enemy. Do you have a secret enemy, Father?" "Not as far as I know." "Also, next to it is the Queen of Spades—that's a rather old woman." "Mrs Angkatell," he said. "Now this one is on top of your head and has control over you - the Queen of Hearts." "Veronica," he thought. "Veronica!" Then thought, "What a fool I am! Veronica means nothing to me now." "This is the person under your feet, the person you can control - the Q of clubs." Gerda hurried into the room. "Now I'm quite ready, John." "Oh, wait, mother, wait, I'm reading Daddy's fortune. There's only one last card left, Daddy—this is the most important one, the one that covers you." Zenner's tiny sticky fingers turned it over.She took a breath. "Oh—it's the Ace of Spades! That usually means death—but—" "Your mother," said John, "is going to run over somebody on the way out of London. Come on, Gerda. Good-bye, you two, and be good, be good."