[86516] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Search Alcohol Rehab Options
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Alcohol Rehab)
Wed Aug 10 14:18:41 2016
Date: Wed, 10 Aug 2016 14:10:39 -0400
From: "Alcohol Rehab" <alcohol-rehab@lnubu.com>
To: <mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu>
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<p>Search Alcohol Rehab Options<br /> I don' t know if I have mentioned =
or conveyed to you that Mrs. Gustus was a determined woman. At any rate she=
was, and it would therefore be waste of time to describe the gradual defea=
t of Kew. The final stage was the despatch of Kew to call on Nana in the Br=
own Borough. Jay' s letter had the Brown Borough postmark, so it had appare=
ntly been sent to Nana to post. Nana might be described as the Second Clue =
in the pursuit of Jay. She was the Family' s only link with Jay. The one dr=
awback of Nana as a clue was that she was never to be found. Mrs. Gustus ha=
d called six times, but had been repulsed on each occasion by a totally dum=
b front door. But then Nana never had liked Anonyma. Nana was simple hersel=
f in an amateurish, unconscious sort of way, and I expect she disliked Anon=
yma' s professional rivalry in the matter of simplicity. But Kew was always=
a favourite. The ' bus roared up the canyons of the City, and its voice ac=
companied Kew in his tuneful meditations. A ' bus is not really well adapte=
d for meditation. On my feet I can stride across unseen miles musing on lov=
e, in a taxi I can think about to-morrow' s dinner, but on a ' bus my thoug=
hts will go no further than my eyes can see. So Kew, although he thought he=
was thinking of Jay, was really considering the words in front of him--To =
Stop O' Bus strike Bell at Rear.[Footnote: He must have changed at the Bank=
into a Tilling ' bus.] He deduced from this that it was an Irish ' bus, an=
d supposed that this accounted for its rather head-long behaviour. He spent=
some moments in imagining the MacBus, child of a sterner race, which would=
run gutturally without skids, and wear a different cut of bonnet. He dismo=
unted into a faint yellow fog diluted with a faint twilight, in the Brown B=
orough. The air was vague, making it not so much an impossibility to deciph=
er the features of people approaching as a surprise to find it possible. A =
few rather premature bar row-flares adapted Scripture to modern conditions =
by hiding their light under tin substitutes for bushels, in the hope of pro=
tecting such valuables as cat' s meat and bananas from aerial outrage. Kew =
pranced over prostrate children, and curved about the pavement to avoid art=
ificially vivacious passers-by, who emerged from the public-houses. Nana li=
ved in a little alley which was like a fiord of peace running in from the s=
hrill storm of the Brown Borough. Here little cottages shrank together, pas=
sive resisters of the twentieth century. Low crooked windows blinked throug=
h a mask of dirty creepers. Each little front garden contained a shrub, and=
was guarded by a low railing, although there would have been no room for a=
trespasser in addition to the shrub. Nana' s house, at the end of the alle=
y, looked along it to the far turmoil of the mother-street. Kew insulted th=
e gate, as usual, by stepping over it, and knocked at the door. He held his=
breath, so that he might more keenly hear the first whisperings of the flo=
or upstairs, which would show that Nana was astir. A gardenful of cats came=
and told him that his hopes were vain. Cats only exist, I think, for the c=
hastening of man. They never come to me except to tell me the worst, and to=
crush me with quiet sarcasm should my optimism survive their warning. But =
before the cats had finished speaking, there was a most un-Nana-like sound =
of bounding within, and Jay appeared. She threw herself out of the darkness=
of the door on to the twilit Kew. The cats were ashamed to be seen watchin=
g this almost canine display, and went away. " I didn' t know you were=
n' t in France," said Jay to Kew. " I didn' t know you weren' t i=
n Heaven," said Kew to Jay. " What' s all this about golden seas =
and aeroplanes snarling around?" " Oh, snarling.... That' s just =
what they do," said Jay. " Let' s pretend I said that." It s=
eemed as if childhood turned its face to them again after a thousand years.=
These roaring months of War run like a sea between us and our peaceful beg=
innings, so that a catchword flashed across out of our past is as beautiful=
and as incredible as the light in a dream. When they were little they used=
to bargain for expressive words. Their childhood was full of such hair-spl=
ittings as: " If you tell how we said Wank-wank to the milkman, you mu=
st let me have the old lady who had a palpitation and puffocated running af=
ter the ' bus." They were not spontaneous people. They were born with =
too great a love of words, a passion for drama at the expense of truth, and=
a habit of overweighting common life with romance. It was perhaps good for=
them to have acquired such a very simple relation by marriage as Anonyma. =
" About the sea," said Jay, " I' ll tell you later." &q=
uot; Well, tell me first why you found home so suddenly unbearable. You' ve=
stood it for eighteen years." " I' ve been a child all through t=
hose eighteen years. And to a child just the fact of grown-upness is so adm=
irable. I wonder why. But under the fierce light that beats from the eye of=
a woman suddenly and violently grown old, Cousin Gustus and Anonyma don' t=
--well, Kew, do they?" The dusk filled the room as water fills a cup, =
and to look up at the light of an outside lamp on the ceiling was like look=
ing up through water at the surface. Jay wore a dress of the same colour of=
the dusk, and her round face, faint as a bubble, seemed to float on its ba=
ckground unsupported. " Didn' t you think about adopting a baby?"=
suggested Kew. " That evidently put Cousin Gustus' s back up." &=
quot; I didn' t put Cousin Gustus' s back up so high as he put mine," =
answered Jay. " Oh, Kew, what are the old that they should check us? W=
hat' s the use of this war of one generation against another? Old people an=
d young people reach a deadlock that' s as bad as marriage without the poss=
ibility of divorce. Isn' t all forced fidelity wrong?" " What did=
you do, tell me, and what are you going to do?" " Oh well, I fel=
t something like frost in the air, and I couldn' t define it. Really, it wa=
s work waiting to be done. Not work for the poor, but work with the poor. A=
t home I talked about work, and Anonyma wrote about it, and Cousin Gustus s=
huddered at it. You were doing it all right, but where was I? Three days a =
week with soldiers' wives. My brow never sweated a drop. I thought there mu=
st be something better than a bird' s-eye view of work. So I took a job at =
a bolster place.... Oh well, it doesn' t matter now. I earned ten shillings=
a week, and paid half-a-crown for a little basement back. On Saturdays I g=
ot my Sunday clothes out of pawn, and came to tea with Nana. Do you remembe=
r the scones and the Welsh Rarebit that Nana used to make? I believe those =
things were worth the terror of the pawnshop. Oh, Kew, those pawnshops! Tho=
se little secret stalls that put shame into you where none was before. The =
pawn man--why is it that when you' re already frightened is the moment that=
men choose to frighten you? Because weakness is the worst crime. That I ha=
ve proved. My work was putting fluff into bolsters. There was a big bright =
grocers' calendar--the Death of Nelson--and if I could see it through the f=
og of fluff I felt that was a lucky day. I had to eat my lunch there, raspb=
erry jam sandwiches--not fruit jam, you know, but raspberry flavour. It was=
n' t nice, and it used to get fluffy in that air. The others sat round and =
munched and picked their teeth and read Jew newspapers. Have you ever notic=
ed that whichever way up you look at a Jew newspaper, you always feel as if=
you could read it better if you were standing on your head? My governor wa=
s a Jew too. He wasn' t bad, but he looked wet, and his hair was a horror t=
o me. His voice was tired of dealing with fluff--though he didn' t deal wit=
h it so intimately as we did--and it only allowed him to whisper. The forew=
oman was always cross, but always as if she would rather not be so, as if s=
he were being cross for a bet, and as if some one were watching her to see =
she was not kind by mistake. She looked terribly ill, because she had worke=
d there for three months, which was a record. I stood it five weeks, and th=
en I had a hemorrhage--only from the throat, the doctor said. I wanted to g=
o to bed, but you can' t, because the panel doctors in these parts will not=
come to you. My doctor was half an enormous mile away, and it seemed he on=
ly existed between seven and nine in the evenings. So I stayed up, so as no=
t to get too weak to walk. I went and asked the governor for my stamps. I h=
ad only five stamps due to me, only five valuable threepences had been stop=
ped out of my wages. But I had a silly conviction at that time that the Ins=
urance Act was invented to help working people. What an absurd idea of mine=
! I went to the Jew for my card. He said mine was a hard case, but I was no=
t entitled to a card; nobody under thirty, he said, was allowed by law to h=
ave a card. So I said it was only fair to tell him I was going to the Facto=
ry and Insurance Inspectors about him. I told him lots of things, and I was=
so angry that I cried. He was very angry too, and made me feel sick by spl=
ashing his wet hair about. He said it was unfair for ladies to interfere in=
things they knew nothing about. I said I interfered because I knew nothing=
about it, but that now I knew. I said that ladies and women had exactly th=
e same kind of inside, and it was a kind that never thrived on fluff instea=
d of food. I told him how I spent my ten shillings. He couldn' t interrupt =
really, because he had no voice. Then I fainted, and a friend I have there,=
called Mrs. Love, came in. She had been listening at the door. She was ver=
y good to me. " Then, when I was well again, I found another job, but =
I shan' t tell you what it is. As for the Inspectors, I complained, but--wh=
at' s the use? So long as you must put fluff of that pernicious kind into b=
olsters, just so long will you kill the strength and the beauty of women. I=
t looked so like a deadlock that it frightened me, and now in this wonderfu=
l life I lead, my Friend won' t let me think of it. A deadlock is a dreadfu=
l accident, isn' t it? because in theory it doesn' t exist. I am working fo=
r a new end now. Isn' t it splendid that there is really no Place Called St=
op? There is always an end beyond the end, always something to love and loo=
k forward to. Life is a luxury, isn' t it? there' s no use in it--but how d=
elightful!" " You haven' t told me about the sea yet," said =
Kew. " Because I don' t think you' d believe me. We were always liars,=
weren' t we? That' s because we' re romantic, or if it' s not romance, the=
symptoms of the disease are very like. Why can' t we get rid of it all as =
Anonyma does? She has no gift except the gift of being able to get rid of s=
uperfluous romance. She takes that great ease impersonally, her pose is, ' =
It' s a gift from Heaven, and an infernal bore.' But I never get nearer to =
joy than I do in this Secret World of mine, and with my Secret Friend."=
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<font size=3D"2">Change your options by visiting <a href=3D"=
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