Free Sunday Best by Bernice Rubens Page B

wasn’t there. Then my father suddenly darted across the room. My mother, who was hovering indifferently on the side, was a sitting duck for his lecherous hands, and he pounced on her, feeling her up and down, and I was astounded that out of all those women, he did not recognize the feel of his own wife. Not even the material of her dress, which he had probably never noticed, or the feel of her body, and I wondered when he had really touched her last. My mother sensed the danger of the situation, and vainly tried to get away, but my father was pawing at her, and in such delight and lechery, that it was patently obvious he had no notion who she was.
    There was much laughter amongst the guests and I couldhave killed them all for it, but they were not to know of the consequences of my father’s ignorance. My mother was trembling with fear, and I knew, as well as she, that on his discovery, he would punish her. The guests were laughing less now, curious as to how much more skin-pawing he needed to identify a body with which he had presumably slept for fifteen years. And as their curiosity grew, they became silent. My father, hearing the laughter trickle away, thought something amiss, and keeping one hand cupped on my mother’s breast, with the other he tore away the blindfold. I dared not look at him, but for my mother’s sake, I had to. As for her, she hung her head, as if in shame of her identity. ‘Jesus,’ I heard my father say, and then he looked round at his guests and was sobered into the realization of what he must have revealed of his state of matrimony. He caught sight of his hand on my mother’s breast, and he flicked it away with disgust, as if he had touched a heap of dung. My mother slunk into the nearest chair, and one of the guests, with great presence of mind, put on a record. The music cheered the proceedings slightly, but it was obvious that welcome had been outstayed, and shortly afterwards, even before the record had been played out, the guests were taking their leave.
    I went to bed as soon as they started to go. I had qualms about leaving my mother with him, but I needed desperately to be alone. I despised him, and I was afraid of what my hatred would lead to. I lay in bed and waited for their footsteps on the landing. I must have fallen asleep and when I awoke in the middle of the night, I could see the landing light still seeping through the bottom of my door. I wondered what they were still doing downstairs, and I dared to tip-toe across the landing to have a look. The living-room door was still open, and the light was still on, and I heard my mother weeping. I ran quickly downstairs, and as I entered the room, I knew by the sudden joy in my heart that my father was dead, and that I need not fear the winter. And indeed he sat there dead, as my mother said, from the heart, and I didn’t know why she was weeping.
    Neither do I know why I’ve told you all this. And you can believe it or not, I don’t care. He was my father and I can tell you what I like about him. There he was, in the chair, dead from a heart-attack. Well, for what other reason should a man drop dead in the middle of the night? Anyway,I shall leave him there. He’s interfered with my story and I don’t want to refer to him again. But he was dead all right, and you can take it from me, and I’m pretty unprejudiced about these things, it was his heart. I don’t know why I should bother to convince you. He’s dead and that’s the end of it, and I’ll prove it by never mentioning him again.
    I must try to get back to my story, and I can now, because he’s not on my mind any more. I’ve just got to clean the place out after him.

Chapter Seven
    I didn’t realize what a mess my father left behind, so I cannot wholly guarantee that I shall never speak of him again, but if I do, it will only be by way of spring-cleaning, to clear a path for more relevant thought. So for