A Desertion

by Stephen Crane

　　

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The yellow gaslight that came with an effect of difficulty through thedust-stained windows on either side of the door gave strange hues to thefaces and forms of the three women who stood gabbling in the hallway ofthe tenement. They made rapid gestures, and in the background theirenormous shadows mingled in terrific conflict."Aye, she ain't so good as he thinks she is, I'll bet. He can watch over'er an' take care of 'er all he pleases, but when she wants t' fool 'im,she'll fool 'im. An' how does he know she ain't foolin' im' now?""Oh, he thinks he's keepin' 'er from goin' t' th' bad, he does. Oh, yes.He ses she's too purty t' let run round alone. Too purty! Huh! MySadie--""Well, he keeps a clost watch on 'er, you bet. On'y las' week, she metmy boy Tim on th' stairs, an' Tim hadn't said two words to 'er b'foreth' ol' man begin to holler. 'Dorter, dorter, come here, come here!'"At this moment a young girl entered from the street, and it was evidentfrom the injured expression suddenly assumed by the three gossipers thatshe had been the object of their discussion. She passed them with aslight nod, and they swung about into a row to stare after her.On her way up the long flights the girl unfastened her veil. One couldthen clearly see the beauty of her eyes, but there was in them a certainfurtiveness that came near to marring the effects. It was a peculiarfixture of gaze, brought from the street, as of one who there saw asuccession of passing dangers with menaces aligned at every corner.On the top floor, she pushed open a door and then paused on thethreshold, confronting an interior that appeared black and flat like acurtain. Perhaps some girlish idea of hobgoblins assailed her then, forshe called in a little breathless voice, "Daddie!"There was no reply. The fire in the cooking-stove in the room crackledat spasmodic intervals. One lid was misplaced, and the girl could nowsee that this fact created a little flushed crescent upon the ceiling.Also, a series of tiny windows in the stove caused patches of red uponthe floor. Otherwise, the room was heavily draped with shadows.The girl called again, "Daddie!"Yet there was no reply."Oh, Daddie!"Presently she laughed as one familiar with the humors of an old man."Oh, I guess yer cussin' mad about yer supper, Dad," she said, and shealmost entered the room, but suddenly faltered, overcome by a feminineinstinct to fly from this black interior, peopled with imagined dangers.Again she called, "Daddie!" Her voice had an accent of appeal. It was asif she knew she was foolish but yet felt obliged to insist upon beingreassured. "Oh, Daddie!"Of a sudden a cry of relief, a feminine announcement that the starsstill hung, burst from her. For, according to some mystic process, thesmoldering coals of the fire went aflame with sudden, fierce brilliance,splashing parts of the walls, the floor, the crude furniture, with a hueof blood-red. And in the light of this dramatic outburst of light, thegirl saw her father seated at a table with his back turned toward her.She entered the room, then, with an aggrieved air, her logic evidentlyconcluding that somebody was to blame for her nervous fright. "Oh, yeron'y sulkin' 'bout yer supper. I thought mebbe ye'd gone somewheres."Her father made no reply. She went over to a shelf in the corner, and,taking a little lamp, she lit it and put it where it would give herlight as she took off her hat and jacket in front of the tiny mirror.Presently she began to bustle among the cooking utensils that werecrowded into the sink, and as she worked she rattled talk at her father,apparently disdaining his mood."I'd 'a' come home earlier t'night, Dad, on'y that fly foreman, he kep'me in th' shop 'til half-past six. What a fool! He came t' me, yeh know,an' he ses, 'Nell, I wanta give yeh some brotherly advice.' Oh, I knowhim an' his brotherly advice. 'I wanta give yeh some brotherly advice.Yer too purty, Nell,' he ses, 't' be workin' in this shop an' paradin'through the streets alone, without somebody t' give yeh good brotherlyadvice, an' I wanta warn yeh, Nell. I'm a bad man, but I ain't as bad assome, an' I wanta warn yeh.' 'Oh, g'long 'bout yer business,' I ses. Iknow 'im. He's like all of 'em, on'y he's a little slyer. I know 'im.'You g'long 'bout yer business,' I ses. Well, he ses after a while thathe guessed some evenin' he'd come up an' see me. 'Oh, yeh will,' I ses,'yeh will? Well, you jest let my ol' man ketch yeh comin' foolin' 'roundour place. Yeh'll wish yeh went t' some other girl t' give brotherlyadvice.' 'What th' 'ell do I care fer yer father?' he ses. 'What's he t'me?' 'If he throws yeh downstairs, yeh'll care for 'im,' I ses. 'Well,'he ses, 'I'll come when 'e ain't in, b' Gawd, I'll come when 'e ain'tin.' 'Oh, he's allus in when it means takin' care 'o me,' I ses. 'Don'tyeh fergit it, either. When it comes t' takin' care o' his dorter, he'sright on deck every single possible time.'"After a time, she turned and addressed cheery words to the old man."Hurry up th' fire, Daddie! We'll have supper pretty soon."But still her father was silent, and his form in its sullen posture wasmotionless.At this, the girl seemed to see the need of the inauguration of afeminine war against a man out of temper. She approached him breathingsoft, coaxing syllables."Daddie! Oh, Daddie! O--o--oh, Daddie!"It was apparent from a subtle quality of valor in her tones that thismanner of onslaught upon his moods had usually been successful, but to-night it had no quick effect. The words, coming from her lips, were likethe refrain of an old ballad, but the man remained stolid."Daddie! My Daddie! Oh, Daddie, are yeh mad at me, really--truly mad atme!"She touched him lightly upon the arm. Should he have turned then hewould have seen the fresh, laughing face, with dew-sparkling eyes, closeto his own."Oh, Daddie! My Daddie! Pretty Daddie!"She stole her arm about his neck, and then slowly bended her face towardhis. It was the action of a queen who knows that she reignsnotwithstanding irritations, trials, tempests.But suddenly, from this position, she leaped backward with the madenergy of a frightened colt. Her face was in this instant turned to agrey, featureless thing of horror. A yell, wild and hoarse as a brute-cry, burst from her. "Daddie!" She flung herself to a place near thedoor, where she remained, crouching, her eyes staring at the motionlessfigure, spattered by the quivering flashes from the fire. Her armsextended, and her frantic fingers at once besought and repelled. Therewas in them an expression of eagerness to caress and an expression ofthe most intense loathing. And the girl's hair that had been a splendor,was in these moments changed to a disordered mass that hung and swayedin witchlike fashion.Again, a terrible cry burst from her. It was more than the shriek ofagony--it was directed, personal, addressed to him in the chair, thefirst word of a tragic conversation with the dead.It seemed that when she had put her arm about its neck, she had jostledthe corpse in such a way that now she and it were face to face. Theattitude expressed an intention of arising from the table. The eyes,fixed upon hers, were filled with an unspeakable hatred.* * * * * * The cries of the girl aroused thunders in the tenement. There was a loudslamming of doors, and presently there was a roar of feet upon theboards of the stairway. Voices rang out sharply."What is it?""What's th' matter?""He's killin' her!""Slug 'im with anythin' yeh kin lay hold of, Jack!"But over all this came the shrill, shrewish tones of a woman. "Ah, th'damned ol' fool, he's drivin' 'er inteh th' street--that's what he'sdoin'. He's drivin' 'er inteh th' street."

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