Free Sarah Canary by Karen Joy Fowler Page A

public without making indecent propositions to the men she met. Sometimes in the presence of her husband. She remained in this condition for about two years, until her menses ceased altogether and she recovered her health.’
     
    ‘Is this the case with Ada?’
     
    ‘Very likely. And very much to be pitied. Don’t encourage her, B.J., but don’t despise her. Somewhere, trapped inside her body, is probably a very high-minded woman who would be ashamed if she knew how she was behaving.’
     
    Ada appeared quite satisfied with herself now. She was ignoring B.J. in favor of the new woman, making clucking, consoling sounds and feeding Sarah Canary from her own spoon as if she were a little child. ‘Here’s a big bite,’ she said. Sarah Canary reached for the mush with her fingers, but Ada slapped her hand quickly with the bowl of her spoon and Sarah withdrew.
     
    ‘Does she talk?’ B.J. asked.
     
    ‘Not yet. I’m teaching her. Here’s another big bite,’ said Ada. ‘You eat nicely now.’ She looked over at B.J. with a dreamy smile. Her attention was elsewhere; her eyes no longer penetrated. ‘I’m going to make some clothes for Sarah Canary,’ she said. ‘Some lovely party dresses.’
     
    While Ada’s face was averted, Sarah Canary slipped her fingers into the mush. She was licking them when Ada turned back to her. ‘No, no!’ said Ada sharply. Her voice was extremely loud. ‘You eat nicely or you don’t eat at all.’ She rose in a fury, picking up the bowl of mush and overturning it onto the table. The warden was there instantly. A silence fell over the entire room. It was Houston. B.J. had been right about today’s assignments. The air thickened so that he could hardly breathe.
     
    ‘Now, that’s a mess,’ Houston said quietly. ‘And a mess is something I will not have.’
     
    ‘It’s her mess,’ said Ada, pointing to Sarah Canary. ‘I didn’t—’
     
    Houston put his hands around Ada’s neck and pulled her upright. ‘Some time in the wash house for you,’ he told her. The ideal hospital would have, as a matter of course, a cell for the punishment of recalcitrant lunatics. Fort Steilacoom had no shortage of cells; this was one of the aspects that recommended it for its current purposes. But females were always sent to the wash house in deference to the delicacy of their sex and to permit them to pass their sentence in some useful manner. The wash house was not a cell, but it was not dry and it was not heated. There were no windows. At Steilacoom everyone was used to making do.
     
    Houston took hold of Ada’s hair with one hand and struck her across the face with the other. ‘Papa,’ said Ada, pleadingly. ‘No, Papa.’ Houston fastened his hand about her throat again, shutting off the words. He began to pull her by the neck from the room. Ada’s shift rode up her legs, which were limp, whether by design or out of fear B.J. could not tell. Her heels bounced off the floor with each of Houston’s steps. Her face when B.J. last saw it was puffy and changing color.
     
    B.J. felt suddenly that someone was looking at him and not at the more compelling scene Houston and Ada were making. He scanned the room to see who it was. Sarah Canary had her fingers in the mush on the tabletop. She put three of her fingers in her mouth and began to hum around them. These were the first sounds B.J. had heard her make. A cold spot on the back of his neck grew colder and he knew the person staring at it must be behind him. He turned around. The Chinaman stood in the doorway and his eyes were fixed intently on B.J. He made a small gesture. Come here, it said. And then he disappeared back into the kitchen.
     
    B.J. got to his feet. The guttural sounds of Ada choking grew fainter and fainter. The corridor into the kitchen tipped upward. B.J. could climb it, but it made him pant. The Chinaman was alone, standing at the large basin, scraping the pots prior to washing them. ‘Did you need water?’