Free Dancing Lessons by Olive Senior Page B

her, at the very least, not to be a hypocrite. Like so many others I could name.
    Millie came and went with news of Sam from time to time, but eventually he moved away and I lost track of him. By this time his mother—my dear Ma D—was dead and I had no contact with the rest of the family. I struggled on alone with the children, once more mired in work and making ends meet. Was I bitter? Did I resent Sam? You bet. Especially after I found out that behind my back, all this time he was in touch with the children, bent on seducing them away from me.
    When She got married he showed up at the wedding. More, he had a leading role. It was such a blow to me, on what should have been a happy occasion, to see him looking a bit battered but still cocky and full of life, dressed in a fine silk suit, his hair white but freshly cut, as if he had just stepped out of a fancy barbershop. I thought it was just like her, wasn’t it, to take away from me every drop of joy there was that day, bringing him back on the scene like that. I thought he had totally vanished from my life as my father had done. I thought that was how it was with me and men.

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    WELL, MY SON WANDERED off too, didn’t he? Even before he was old enough to consider himself a man. Charles Junior. After that I made sure he became his father’s responsibility. To tell the truth now, I wasn’t too bothered by his going—I was actually relieved, for the boy by then, at sixteen, was more than I could manage. How a good boy could suddenly turn so bad, I don’t know. Up to his third year in boarding school, Junior was the sweetest; he was easygoing, polite, willing to do what you asked, did well at school. Much easier to raise than the girls, I would say.
    I don’t know if his father going off like that had anything to do with it. Junior was about thirteen at the time. I never said a word to those children about Sam. Even after I sent off his clothes I didn’t tell them he wasn’t coming back. I didn’t want to talk about it, seeing everything I had invested in life bouncing and scattering like dried pimento grains falling from a badly sewn crocus bag. I suppose the children noticed his clothes were no longer in our room, his shaving stuff had disappeared from the bathroom, come Monday his clothes were not among the washing on the line. But they said nothing, not even Miss Big-mouth Shirley. It was as if the man of the house had fallen into space, leaving this silence behind that wasn’t a silence really, more like a painful ringing in the ear. I didn’t realize how his absence dragged us all down. How mistaken I was to think I was the only one who suffered because I was the one who had been shamed. Say what you will, the children loved their father. When he was around, he was good with them. He was affectionate and playful and indulgent the way I never was. But there, he left, and the only one in the house who mentioned his name was the little one, Lise. About a week after he left she came right out and asked, “Where’s Papa?” Nobody answered.
    He and I did exchange letters about the children’s schooling. Junior had done well in his first few years and I didn’t want to have to take him out of school, so I swallowed my pride and asked his father to continue paying the fees. He did too, though it was still a struggle finding money for everything else he needed as a boarder. But I truly wanted my children to have the best, and as I saw it, only education would give it to them since I had no legacy.
    If only Junior had kept at his lessons, who knows what he might have turned out to be. He was bright, make no mistake. Even in that school with boys coming from these rich homes, he did well, never coming less than third in his class. He got prizes too, for good conduct, athletics, maths, and others I can’t remember. I was so proud of him, though I’m not sure how I showed it. I think now I was more