East of Eden

Kate said, “This isn’t the first time you’ve followed me. What do you want?”

He dipped his head. “Nothing,” he said.

“Who told you to do it?” she demanded.

“Nobody—ma’am.”

“You won’t tell me, will you?”

Cal heard his own next speech with amazement. It was out before he could stop it. “You’re my mother and I wanted to see what you’re like.” It was the exact truth and it had leaped out like the stroke of a snake.

“What? What is this? Who are you?”

“I’m Cal Trask,” he said. He felt the delicate change of balance as when a seesaw moves. His was the upper seat now. Although her expression had not changed Cal knew she was on the defensive.

She looked at him closely, observed every feature. A dim remembered picture of Charles leaped into her mind. Suddenly she said, “Come with me!” She turned and walked up the path, keeping well to the side, out of the mud.

Cal hesitated only for a moment before following her up the steps. He remembered the big dim room, but the rest was strange to him. Kate preceded him down a hall and into her room. As she went past the kitchen entrance she called, “Tea. Two cups!”

In her room she seemed to have forgotten him!. She removed her coat, tugging at the sleeves with reluctant fat gloved fingers. Then she went to a new door cut in the wall in the end of the room where her bed stood. She opened the door and went into a new little lean-to. “Come in here!” she said. “Bring that chair with you.”

He followed her into a box of a room. It had no windows, no decorations of any kind. Its walls were painted a dark gray. A solid gray carpet covered the floor. The only furniture in the room was a huge chair puffed with gray silk cushions, a tilted reading table, and a floor lamp deeply hooded. Kate pulled the light chain with her gloved hand, holding it deep in the crotch between her thumb and forefinger as though her hand were artificial.

“Close the door!” Kate said.

The light threw a circle on the reading table and only diffused dimly through the gray room. Indeed the gray walls seemed to suck up the light and destroy it.

Kate settled herself gingerly among the thick down cushions and slowly removed her gloves. The fingers of both hands were bandaged.

Kate said angrily, “Don’t stare. It’s arthritis. Oh—so you want to see, do you?” She unwrapped the oily-looking bandage from her right forefinger and stuck the crooked finger under the light. “There—look at it,” she said. “It’s arthritis.” She whined in pain as she tenderly wrapped the bandage loosely. “God, those gloves hurt!” she said. “Sit down.”

Cal crouched on the edge of his chair.

“You’ll probably get it,” Kate said. “My great-aunt had it and my mother was just beginning to get it—” She stopped. The room was very silent.

There was a soft knock on the door. Kate called, “Is that you, Joe? Set the tray down out there. Joe, are you there?”

A mutter came through the door.

Kate said tonelessly, “There’s a litter in the parlor. Clean it up. Anne hasn’t cleaned her room. Give her one more warning. Tell her it’s the last. Eva got smart last night. I’ll take care of her. And, Joe, tell the cook if he serves carrots again this week he can pack up. Hear me?”

The mutter came through the door.

“That’s all,” said Kate. “The dirty pigs!” she muttered. “They’d rot if I didn’t watch them. Go out and bring in the tea tray.”

The bedroom was empty when Cal opened the door. He carried the tray into the lean-to and set it gingerly on the tilted reading table. It was a large silver tray, and on it were a pewter teapot, two paper-thin white teacups, sugar, cream, and an open box of chocolates.

“Pour the tea,” said Kate. “It hurts my hands.” She put a chocolate in her mouth. “I saw you looking at this room,” she went on when she had swallowed her candy. “The light hurts my eyes. I come in here to rest.” She saw Cal’s quick glance at her eyes and said with finality, “The light hurts my eyes.” She said harshly, “What’s the matter? Don’t you want tea?”

“No, ma’am,” said Cal, “I don’t like tea.”

She held the thin cup with her bandaged fingers. “All right. What do you want?”

“Nothing, ma’am.”

“Just wanted to look at me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How do I look?” She smiled crookedly at him and showed her sharp white little teeth.

“All right.”

“I might have known you’d cover up. Where’s your brother?”

“In school, I guess, or home.”

“What’s he like?”

“He looks more like you.”

“Oh, he does? Well, is he like me ?”

“He wants to be a minister,” said Cal.

“I guess that’s the way it should be—looks like me and wants to go into the church. A man can do a lot of damage in the church. When someone comes here, he’s got his guard up. But in church a man’s wide open.”

“He means it,” said Cal.

She leaned toward him, and her face was alive with interest. “Fill my cup. Is your brother dull?”

“He’s nice,” said Cal.

“I asked you if he’s dull.”

“No, ma’am,” said Cal.

She settled back and lifted her cup. “How’s your father?”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Cal said.

“Oh, no! You like him then?”

“I love him,” said Cal.

Kate peered closely at him, and a curious spasm shook her—an aching twist rose in her chest. And then she closed up and her control came back.

“Don’t you want some candy?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Why did you do it?”

“Why did I do what?”

“Why did you shoot my father and run away from us.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No. He didn’t tell us.”

She touched one hand with the other and her hands leaped apart as though the contact burned them. She asked, “Does your father ever have any—girls or young women come to your house?”

“No,” said Cal. “Why did you shoot him and go away?”