Friday, April 20, I9.'.6
THE NEBRASKAN
Hoge t
JlcN ' A- 3 C f i I v
r6C 1VE tCTURD FAST THE OL AGAIN
Poor George . . . conf.
The time I spent there was
quite confusing. They gave me
ihock treatments, and I saw mice
on the ceiling and knew I was going
to die, and they were torturing Mr.
Wright and he didn't come to see
me for a long time.
Then one afteAoon he came
walking into my worn. I was so
happy to see him that I snapped
out of my depression immediately.
He told me he had tried to get in
to visit me, but they wouldn't al
low him into the room.
He had finally managed to get
past them, and we had a wonder
ful afternoon. Be left just before
tuppertime.
When the attendant came in, she
seemed surprised to see me feeling
so well. I didn't tell her that Mr.
Wright had come back, because
1 knew he was why I was there,
and I didnt like the place.
I improved daily ate all of
my meals and even joined in the
games. Mr. Wright visited me as
often as he could get in. At the
end of a week, they released me.
When I had told Mr. Wright how
I had been treated, we both agreed
it would be better if I acted as
though I thought he didn't exist
when others were around. When
the psychiatrists questioned me
before I left, I pretended that I
had completely forgotten Mr.
Wright.
George was delighted st my
rapid "recovery The first week
I was home, he treated me like a
queen took me to dinner, brought
me candy, ven spoke to me at
breakfast.
Soon he drifted back to his nor
mal routine ve only went out on
Sundays; we seldom talked to each
other.
In that first week, I saw Mr.
Wright only for a few minutes dur
ing my morning walk. He under
stood perfectly why it was that
way. As George became his old
self, our visits became longer. The
first time Mr. Wright came to the
house after I was out of the hospi
tal, George brought the neighbor
over again.
This time, however, 1 pretended
that Mr. Wright wasn't there.
George muttered, "Must still be
jumpy . . . Guess it was a mis
take," and 'ushered the neighbor
out of the door.
I explained the situation to him
end said he would just have to
resign himself to it. I didn't really
like to see him suffer, but what
else could I do It seemed quite
sensible to me.
t think he actually did resign
himself to it after a while. He
even began to talk to Mr. Wright
himself, though his conversation
was limited to such things as,
"Dont yoa th'-ik it's about time
how you wen. home?"
We lived that way for almost a
year until George failed to get up
for breakfast one morning. When
I went into the oedroom, I couldnt
arouse him. 1 called the neighbor,
who called the doctor, who said his
death was due to an old heart
condition.
I was naturally shocked, but,
I must confess, I felt no deep sense
of loss. My communication had
been mainly with Mr. Wright;
George had become almost a house
hold fixture.
For a while, Mr. Wright visited
me more frequently and filled any
emptiness that might have been
left by George's death.
One day it dawned on me that
now I could go out and do the
things 1 had wanted to do all my
life, but I knew I couldnt desert
Mr. Wright.
A week later he began to com
plain about his health; his stom
ach wasn't behaving the way it
should have. It must have been a
cancer, and I'm glad he didnt
have to suffer long.
A couple of weeks after his first
pain, he told me be was going to a
hospital and wouldn't be back. The
next morning when I awoke, 1
knew he was dead.
I was more upset by his death
than I had been by George's. I
stayed home for a few days and
mourned him; then began to go
out and do the things 2 knew Mr.
Wright would like to see me do
I began to write again, and the
things that 1 had discussed with
the old man were a good source of
articles and stories.
There is only one thing that still
puzzles me. You see, in the week
before George's death, Mr. Wright
had had insomnia, and had asked
me to buy him some sleeping pills.
I had put them in the bathroom
cupboard, and the morning after
George's death, the box was empty.
I somehow felt reluctant to ask
Mr. Wright what he had done with
them.
Fools . . .
Out from Pa 1.
an invariable custom.
If he had had an exceptionally
good day, he might tell a joke or
two at the table, usually directing
them to his daughter, as he did
tonight. She had come to the table
late, explaining, "Sorry the dogs
broke away from me. Now Blackie
will probably be pregnant, tod."
"Daughter!" Mrs. Stuart had
been shocked. The rest of the fam
ily had glossed ever the remark in
eating.
After the coffee, which Conrad
was still too young to share, Mr.
Stuart condescended to remark,
"A good meal, Isabel." She looked
at him gratefully and went on j
cleaning dishes.
As she saw her daughter putting
on her coat and boots, she said
to her, "Cant you stay home to
night?"
' No, Mother I'm going down
town with father. He needs help
tonight." Because she moved in
both of their worlds freely, Es
merelda was the medium by
which her mother and father might
hav coalesced.
But she was a calculating child;
she took from both of them and
gave to her father, who would
help her excape. He was an intel
ligent man, inheritor of English no
bility, who had found the neces
sity for earning a living sufficient.
He deliberately set for himself
too much work so that he might
stay in a world where be need
have no emotions except the super
ficial cammarade of his associates.
Esmerelda did understand him,
but she did not want his life; he
had not wanted it either, but it was
a reasonable substitute for life.
Only occasionally did the black
moods, almost insanity, which be
had given to his daughter, touch
him now.
When he was old, old, he would
turn to his wife, but now Esmer
elda could not allow that, because
their joining might keep her at
home; she labored conscientiously
covers from his head so that the
cold air would re-alert him.
People were such nuisances, he!
reflected, and ell eo disagreeable,!
even his sister. When he wasj
younger, they had haunted him in
his sanctuary, like nightmares,
but for the last sii months Hs
home in bed had been of purest
joy; he had succeeded in realis
irm that they were just a night
mare. He had, after the purge, grown
increasingly reluctant to leave the
land in which he walked wach
night, with its pure colon and
sounds.
He had begun to bring parts of j
it back with him, until, by concen- j
trating upon them, he could lg-1
nore people entirely. j
fered, except that he was absent-j
minded in recitations; consequent
ly his mother had noticed nothing.
Today he had learned that people
were still there; he felt as though
his days were all bad dreams,
dreams.
He turned the idea over; hither
to he had thought that his nights
were dreams. But if the days were
bad then they should be the
dreams; if these people were
nightmares, that would explain
why they used to be in his border
world he had simply remem
bered them upon waking.
Then it should be possible no,
wait why had they gone away if
he still dreamed? The nightmares
were becoming weaker, that was
it. Then what the nightmares call
ed sleeping must really be wak
ing, and what they called waking,
with their malicious perversion,
must be slipping into the night
; mares.
If he could just wake up, really
i wake up, from these nightmares,
then he would have conquered
them and could be at peace.
; And then he was very tired and
Uhe borderland enchantingly close;
he covered himself and allowed it
to envelop him in its fresh warmth.
Esmerelda came home at twelve
and set her alarm for eight. She
would as usual, she supposed
have to drag Conrad out of bed.
She slept soundly until the harsh
ring of her clock roused her; it
took her a few seconds to remem
ber the day of the week, that it
was a school-day, and then she
was hurrying down the hall to
wake her brother.
"Get up, lazy, it's five minutes
after eight!"
1 Walking under a hugt csiaop
i tree whose blossoms never
dropped, Conrad heard her voict
i faintly As it grew stronger, ht
remembered what he had thought
ithe night before.
' If he did not wake up, or, rather,
il he woke up, he could rid him
; self of these nightmares. He clung
to the tree trunk and concentrated
Upon the patterns of green and
white.
He heard Esmerelda's voice di
minish and finally fadt out at
together. Then he sat down to
rst, for williag the r.ighlmara away
; had been hard work. Esmerelda
was downstairs shaking her moth
I Mlltn .f Wat-, ,ctI
"What is it?"
"It's Conrad, Mother. You'd bet
ter call a doctor, but be isnt
breathing the fool!"
-.1 II III lllllll,,!...! Jill III. J, iJjlJIUllll
AUTO ON
CREASE RACK
DaniW Au
17. of Hawaii
p 1 "l
f J i slum irt
IT'S RAININ
LUCKY DUOODLSS!
WHArS THIS? For sdufion sea
paragraph bata
A SECRET
No longer need for rain to
hide the sun
And groove small wrinkles on
the earth,
Which hides its age with vege
tation, As I have done.
No longer need for dusk lb
help me mourn
In quiet trees, in grayness
and despair,
And try to keep the bright moon
pale
Because I have no lover.
Nancy ftodgers
be the lye for her mother's emo
tional sink.
It was, of course, impossible for
was not old enough to understand
that Mr. Stuart hated all children
and not just him in particular.
But it was also impossible for
him to respect his mother whose
judgments were obviously un
sound; for a tem-year-old boy, he
had done much speculating.
On fhis night, as he crawled into
his bed and pulled the covers over
his head, because his bedroom
was unhealed, he -concentrated
upon the day's fight.
He had not liked the other boy's
exploring touch and had struck
him instinctively. Trying to reason
out instinct was difficult, much too
hard.
The soft wonderworld came slid
ing in over his thought. He pushed
it back, delighting in his know
ledge that he could enter when
ever he wished, and pulled the
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CMRESS
WINDOW WASHER
JWeJum Andergon
Colorado State Teacher
Z Kl.C. raoDUCT or
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