The Tree of Heaven | Page 8

itself to any group. But for her
black gown she really might not have belonged.
Mrs. Fleming went slowly, not because she was old, for she was only
sixty, but because, though she said, and thought, that she was wrapped
up in Frances and her children, she was still absorbed, fascinated by her
sacred sense of bereavement. She moved as if hypnotized by her own
sorrow.

To her three unmarried daughters she behaved with a sort of mystic
hostility, a holy detachment and displeasure, as if she suspected them
of getting over it, or of wanting to get over it if they could. But to her
one married daughter and to her grand-children she was soft and gentle.
So that, when they happened to be all together, her moods changed so
rapidly that she seemed a creature of unaccountable caprice. One
minute her small, white, dry face quivered with softness and gentleness,
and the next it stiffened, or twitched with the inimical, disapproving
look it had for Louie and Emmeline and Edith.
The children lifted up their pure, impassive faces to be kissed at. Old
Nanna brought Baby John and put him on his grandmother's knee.
Dorothy and Nicholas went off with Mary-Nanna to the party. Michael
forgot all about playing with himself. He stayed where he was, drawn
by the spectacle of Grannie and the Aunties. Grannie was clucking and
chuckling to Baby John as she had clucked and chuckled to her own
babies long ago. Her under lip made itself wide and full; it worked with
an in and out movement very funny and interesting to Michael. The
movement meant that Grannie chuckled under protest of memories that
were sacred to Grandpapa.
"Tchoo--tchoo--tchoo--tchoo! Chuckaboo! Beautiful boy!" said
Grannie.
Auntie Louie looked at her youngest nephew. She smiled her
downward, sagging smile, wrung from a virginity sadder than Grannie's
grief. She spoke to Baby John.
"You really are rather a nice boy," Auntie Louie said.
But Edie, the youngest Auntie, was kneeling on the grass before him,
bringing her face close to his. Baby John's new and flawless face was
cruel to Auntie Edie's. So was his look of dignity and wisdom.
"Oh, she says you're only rather nice," said Auntie Edie. "And you're
the beautifullest, sweetest, darlingest that ever was. Wasn't she a nasty
Auntie Louie? Ten little pink toes. And there he goes. Five little
tootsies to each of his footsies."

She hid herself behind the Times disturbing Jane.
"Where's John-John?" she cried. "Where's he gone to? Can anybody tell
me where to find John-John? Where's John-John? Peep-bo--there he is!
John-John, look at Auntie Edie. Oh, he won't pay any attention to poor
me."
Baby John was playing earnestly with Grannie's watch-chain.
"You might leave the child alone," said Grannie. "Can't you see he
doesn't want you?"
Auntie Edie made a little pouting face, like a scolded, pathetic child.
Nobody ever did want Auntie Edie.
And all the time Auntie Emmy was talking to Frances very loud and
fast.
"Frances, I do think your garden's too beautiful for words. How clever
of you to think of clearing away the old flower-beds. I hate flower-beds
on a lawn. Yet I don't suppose I should have had the strength of mind to
get rid of them if it bad been me."
As she talked Auntie Emmy opened her eyes very wide; her eyebrows
jerked, the left one leaping up above the right; she thrust out her chin at
you and her long, inquiring nose. Her thin face was the play of agitated
nerve-strings that pulled it thus into perpetual, restless movements; and
she made vague gestures with her large, bony hands. Her tongue went
tick-tack, like a clock. Anthony said you-could hear Emmy's tongue
striking the roof of her-mouth all thee time.
"And putting those delphiniums all together like that--Massing the
blues. Anthony? I do think Anthony has perfect taste. I adore
delphiniums."
Auntie Emmy was behaving as if neither Michael nor Baby John was
there.

"Don't you think John-John's too beautiful for words?" said Frances.
"Don't you like him a little bit too?"
Auntie Emmy winced as if Frances had flicked something in her face.
"Of course I like him too. Why shouldn't I?"
"I don't think you do, Auntie Emmy," Michael said.
Auntie Emmy considered him as for the first time.
"What do you know about it?" she said.
"I can tell by the funny things your face does."
"I thought," said Frances, "you wanted to play by yourself."
"So I do," said Michael.
"Well then, go and play."
He went and to a heavenly place that he knew of. But as he played with
Himself there he thought: "Auntie Emmy doesn't tell the truth. I think it
is because she isn't happy."
Michael kept his best things to himself.