The Small Rain Read online

  “Um-hum,” Pete nodded.

  “Father never would tell me anything. Aunt Manya told me that her shoulder had been crushed and bones in her arm broken and her face and neck were cut, too. I kept thinking I’d see her in just a little while. But I never have. And this year when I’ve asked Father about her he’s been mad at me, and Aunt Manya’s acted funny. Sometimes I’ve wondered if Mother’s been at Aunt Manya’s place in Connecticut, because Aunt Manya drives out almost every week end, and she never takes me and I think that’s sort of funny. And that’s all I know, Pete.”

  “That’s about all I know, too, kitten,” Pete said. “My show was in Boston when she had the accident, but it was in all the papers, of course. But they didn’t say much, except that she’d been badly injured and probably wouldn’t be able to play again. I didn’t know anybody at the time who knew your mother or who could give me any information, so I just had to take what the papers said. And lately there’ve been only rumors, and you know what theatrical rumors are, kitten, completely not to be trusted.”

  “Well, what were the rumors?” Katherine demanded.

  She knew Pete was sorry he had spoken, but he went on. “There was one that she came to the opening night.”

  “Pete!”

  “It’s just a rumor. There’s probably not an ounce of truth in it. Remember that time when everyone said Madame Sergeievna was going to marry that dreadful creature, and she’d never even met him? I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Yes, you should, Pete. It’s not right that I should be treated like a baby.”

  Pete smiled, but all he said was, “Look, kitten, maybe you’d better not tell anyone about this little talk.”

  “Of course not, Pete. Pete, what was the matter with Aunt Manya tonight?”

  “Oh, I don’t think anything was, baby. Everybody has an off performance once in a while.”

  “Aunt Manya doesn’t unless there’s something the matter.”

  “Well, she’s probably just tired. She’s been doing a lot.”

  From downstairs a voice shouted. “Pete! Pete Burns!”

  “I guess my girl’s here,” Pete said. “Good night, kitten. Don’t worry your little head.” He pushed the chair back against the wall, looked in the mirror to smooth down his hair and see that his tie was straight, and left.

  Katherine finished taking off her make-up, wiped her face with witch hazel, and dressed. She locked her dressing-room door, went downstairs, hung her key on the board, and wandered across the stage toward Manya’s dressing room. Irina was sitting outside the door, reading a newspaper, and she looked worried when she saw Katherine.

  “You’d better wait upstairs, Miss Katherine,” she said. “Madame Sergeievna isn’t ready yet.”

  “I’ll wait here with you.”

  Irina looked anxiously toward the dressing-room door. “I want to read my paper. You’ll be more comfortable upstairs.”

  Suddenly a man’s voice, loud and excited, was heard through the closed dressing-room door. “I know you want to talk to Julie alone, Manya, but really, I—”

  And then Manya’s voice, gentle, soothing, the words indistinct.

  “That was my father,” Katherine said.

  Irina stood up. “I’ll tell Madame Sergeievna you’re here.”

  “Oh, no, don’t. I’ll go upstairs.” She turned, grabbed her key, and almost ran back toward her dressing room. On the iron stairs she bumped into Pete Burns coming down with his girl, and she wanted to catch hold of him, to say, “Pete, Father’s in Aunt Manya’s dressing room and something’s the matter and they were talking about Mother,” but he wasn’t alone, so all she said was, “Good night, Pete.”

  “Good night, kitten. You know Rosa, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Hello. Good night.”

  “Is anything the matter?” Pete asked.

  “No. Aunt Manya isn’t ready for me yet. That’s all. Good night.” And she ran the rest of the way upstairs and to her dressing room.

  It was almost an hour before Manya was ready. In the taxi on the way home she put her arm around Katherine, drew her close, and said, “Baby, I didn’t dream I’d be so long. I should have had Nanny come for you or let Pete take you home.”

  “It’s all right,” Katherine said. “Pete had a date with his girl and anyhow I’m not sleepy.”

  Manya fingered one of Katherine’s smooth heavy braids for a while before she spoke. Then she said, “Would you like to drive out to the country with me tomorrow night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll get Nanny to pack your little bag for you, then.” The taxi drew up in front of the apartment house, and Manya asked Katherine, “What does the meter say?”

  “Fifty-five,” Katherine answered.

  She was always allowed to have some supper and stay up an hour after the theater. Tonight she wandered into Manya’s study, pulled The Oxford Book of English Verse off the shelf, and curled up in the big red-plush chair. Nanny brought her a bowl of vegetable soup and went to draw her bath. She ate the soup quickly and began leafing through the book, reading a poem here and there, reading the verses aloud, half singing them to little tunes of her own making.

  After a while Manya came in and sat down opposite her. Katherine put the book down and watched her aunt, watched her pull off all her rings and shake them in her hands like dice, as she always did when she was nervous. And Katherine noticed that she was speaking with practically no accent. Onstage Manya had only a slight musical inflection in her speech to mark it as being foreign, but in private life she almost always spoke with a heavy Russian accent, saying that it helped her to keep her identity. Only when she was particularly distraught did the accent go.

  —I mustn’t ask her anything, Katherine thought.—I’ll find out more if I wait till she’s ready to talk.

  After a while Manya slipped her rings back onto her fingers, reached over to Katherine, and took the book out of her lap. Katherine, watching her, noticed that there were deep circles under her eyes and that her hands trembled a little as she turned the pages until she found her place. Then she sat staring down at the page for a long time. Finally she got up and walked hurriedly out of the room. Katherine could see that she was crying.

  She gazed after her, and when Manya had disappeared through the door and down the hall and around the corner, Katherine kept staring at the bright rectangle of light the door made of the hall. After a while she got up, and picked up the book from the sofa, where Manya had flung it, its leaves all crumpled. She smoothed the pages down very carefully, and when she came to one that still had little wet spots on it like rain, left there by Manya’s tears, she knew that the short verses with the title heavily underscored were what had made Manya cry. Softly she read to herself:

  Western wind, when wilt thou blow,

  The small rain down can rain?

  Christ, if my love were in my arms

  And I in my bed again!

  For some reason her tears mingled on the crumpled page with Manya’s. She put her head down on the book and sobbed in a sudden outburst of agony.

  Nanny came in and picked her up, asking with anxiety, “Whatever’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What are you crying about?”

  “Nothing. I—I don’t know.”

  “I’ve never heard such nonsense. It’s all those books your Aunt Manya lets you read. Your bath’s ready. Come along to bed.” Nanny’s voice was sharp, but her hands were gentle as she stroked Katherine’s head.

  TWO

  After the play the next night, Manya had her car brought around to the stage door. Katherine said good night to Pete, followed Manya out, and climbed into the car beside her. They started off in silence. Manya headed west to the river to get up on the drive that would lead them to the Merritt Parkway. She drove silently, smoking constantly. Katherine looked out the window, but she kept watching Manya out of the corner of her eye, watching her carefully when she lit her cigarettes and wondering
why she was so silent. They had driven for an hour when Manya said abruptly, staring ahead through the windshield, “Katherine.”

  “Yes?” Manya never called her Katherine. Always Katya or Katyusha or baby.

  “You will see your mother tonight.”

  Katherine began to tremble. “Oh—” she said, and she, too, stared ahead through the windshield.

  They drove on for about fifteen minutes. Then Manya spoke again. “You’ll find her a little changed.” And after a long pause, “But not really.”

  Katherine didn’t say anything. She sat very tense, staring into the blackness, until Manya turned off the Parkway and headed down a small road.

  “Are we nearly there?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  Again Katherine sat silent. She ventured a quick glance and saw that Manya’s lips were set and that her hands were tight on the steering wheel. In the small rear-view mirror she could see Manya’s eyes, clouded, unhappy, unveiled.

  They turned off on a dirt road, and Manya said, “Here we are.” She drove up a steep hill and stopped in front of a small white gate. Someone was standing at the gate, waiting. Katherine opened the door, tumbled out of the car, and fell into her mother’s arms.

  “Oh, Mother—” she gasped. “Mother—”

  Julie’s arms were tight around her, Julie’s cheek close to hers. Katherine nestled against her, trembling. It was a long time before Julie said anything. Then she whispered, “Darling, you’re trembling, you’re shaking.” She kept Katherine pressed tightly to her, holding her close when Katherine tried once to pull away. She, too, was trembling.

  “Let’s go inside.” Katherine felt Manya’s hand on her shoulder and felt her mother stiffen.

  “Not yet, Manya, not yet,” her mother said.

  “Julie.” Manya’s voice was sharp. “Stop being a fool. Come along.”

  “I’ll put the car in.”

  “Charlot will put the car in.”

  “But he’s—”

  “Julie. Charlot will put the car in. Come along.” Manya took Julie’s hand. “Come along, Katyusha, and Julie and I’ll show you the house. Sleepy?”

  “No.” Katherine put her arm around her mother and whispered, “Oh, Mother.”

  Manya led the way into the house. They entered into a small hall, lighted by a kerosene lamp on a round mahogany table. Three doors opened off the hall, and a stairway. Manya opened the center door, and they went into a large dark Victorian room filled with books and photographs of theater people and comfortable chairs and two grand pianos. Manya began turning on the lamps.

  “Oh, Manya,” Julie said.

  “You’ve got to stop being an idiot.” Manya bent down and put a match to the fire that was laid in the fireplace.

  Julie pushed Katherine away from her and said, “Let me look at you, my darling.”

  Katherine stared up at her mother. It was the same beautiful face, in spite of a deep scar that ran across one cheek and down onto her neck, the same beautiful face, in spite of the lines that pain and agony had left on it. It was her mother, her mother, and she was safe once more.

  “You’ve grown,” Julie said slowly. “You aren’t a baby any more. You’re grown up. Even your braids are longer. You’re thin. You’re still much too thin. But you’re still my Katherine.”

  Katherine gazed at her hungrily, mutely, until Julie said, brusquely, “Well? How about me? Do you still know me?” Katherine nodded. “Have I changed too much?”

  “You’re not changed. You’re not changed.”

  Julie raised a hand to her face and traced the scar with one finger. Katherine reached up and caught hold of her hands and shouted over and over, “You’re not changed! You’re not changed!”

  After a moment Julie broke away and almost bumped into Manya coming in with a tray laden with a bottle of white wine and three glasses. Julie took the bottle, which was already uncorked, and poured herself a glassful. Manya put the tray down on a long table in front of the bookshelves and stood watching while Julie finished her drink and poured another, then filled a glass for Manya and put a little in the third glass for Katherine.

  “Do you want some, baby?”

  “Yes, please.” Katherine took the glass and held it tightly. The wine felt warm and comforting as she swallowed it. Julie curled up in a big blue chair, pulling Katherine down beside her. Katherine leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder and sipped at her wine. After a little while Julie turned her face around so she could see it.

  “Sleepy, baby?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll have a long talk, shall we?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d better take you up to bed now. Coming, Manya?”

  Manya crossed to her desk. “Not quite yet. I want to write a letter.”

  “All right. I’ll be down. Come on, baby.”

  Katherine stood up, and Julie put an arm around her and led her into the hall and up the stairs. The wine made her a little dizzy, and it was good to have the wine making her brain feel funny because she knew it would have felt that way anyhow, and knowing that it was partly the wine made everything seem less confusing. She felt her mother’s arm close around her and felt drowsy and happy—the kind of happiness she had felt on the opening night of the play when she had taken a curtain call all by herself.

  Julie took her into a small room paneled in blue, where there was just room for a bed, a chair, and a low chest of drawers. Katherine stood still while Julie undressed her, and she realized that her mother’s left arm was stiff and gave her a good deal of pain, although she tried to hide it.

  “I practiced two hours every day.”

  “Did you, baby?”

  “Every day. Sunday, too.”

  “You shall play for me tomorrow.”

  “All right. Will you—I’m all undressed and it’s cold! My pajamas are downstairs!”

  “Get into bed quickly and I’ll get them.”

  Katherine slipped her naked body in between the cold sheets and watched her mother go out of the room. Julie, in her blue tweed suit, was still the most erect person Katherine had ever seen, but she was very thin. As thin as Katherine. It was cold between the sheets with nothing on, and she shivered, but Julie was back in a few minutes with flannel pajamas, and she climbed into them quickly.

  “Tired, darling?” Julie asked.

  “A little. There’s still lots of snow here, even if it is April, isn’t there, Mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “There isn’t much snow in New York.”

  “Isn’t there?” Julie switched off the lamp and the moonlight came in the window and hit down against the snow and its reflection came in the window again. Julie went over to the window and pushed it open wide. She stood there, looking out.

  “There’s one side of the moon nobody ever sees,” Katherine said.

  Julie didn’t answer.

  “We turn around, I mean the world does, around the sun and around on our own axis, and the moon turns around us but we both turn so that we only see one side of the moon and the moon only sees one side of us,” Katherine said. “That’s interesting, isn’t it, Mother?”

  “Yes. Manya tells me you read a lot.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like to read?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you like to practice?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to be a pianist?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t want to be an actress?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Not sure?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Well, you’ve still got a long time to decide.”

  “Yes.”

  “It isn’t because of me you want to be a pianist, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Because a decision like that must never be because of somebody else. It’s got to be for you, yourself, alone.”

  “I know, Mother.”

&nbs
p; “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Oh, Mother!”

  “What, my darling?”

  “Oh, Mother … it’s so good … to be able to say ‘Oh, Mother’ and have you hear it.”

  “Baby!”

  “Why couldn’t I have been with you? Where have you been?”

  “It’s too late to talk now, darling. We’ll have a long talk tomorrow.”

  “But I won’t have to leave you now, will I? Can’t we all go home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Katherine sat up excitedly. “But I don’t want to leave you. I won’t!”

  “You won’t have to leave me.”

  “Then can’t we go home? Can’t we, Mother?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But I won’t have to leave you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been here at Aunt Manya’s all the time?”

  “No. Only the past week.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Baby, I said we’d talk tomorrow.”

  “Couldn’t we talk now?”

  “It’s too late.”

  “But I’m not sleepy.”

  “Tomorrow morning we’ll go for a long walk all by ourselves and we’ll talk and talk and talk. You go to sleep now.”

  “Where are you sleeping?”

  “Just across the hall.”

  “Will you sing to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tickle behind my ears?”

  Julie tweaked Katherine’s nose in the old familiar way. “If you’re a good girl.”

  “I’m a good girl.”

  Julie bent down and began to kiss her, little loving kisses that made her feel like a baby again, completely secure and protected. Then Julie began to sing, softly, in the low, rather husky voice Katherine had tried so often to hear in her mind, and had never quite been able to. And she was sleepy. And she was asleep.