Death and the Woman - Gertrude Atherton

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Death and the woman by Gertrude Atherton. Her husband was dying,
and she was alone with him. Nothing could exceed the
desolation of her surroundings. She and the man who was
going from her were in the third floor back of

(00:20):
a New York boarding house. It was summer, and the
other boarders were in the country. All the servants except
the cook had been dismissed, and she, when not working,
slept profoundly on the fifth floor. The landlady also was
out of town on a brief holiday. The window was

(00:40):
open to admit the thick, unstirring air. No sound rose
from the row of long, narrow yards, nor from the tall,
deep houses annexed. The latter deadened the rattle of the streets.
At intervals, the distant elevated lumbered protestingly long, its grunts

(01:01):
and screams muffled by the hot, suspended ocean. She sat there,
plunged in the profoundest grief that can come to the
human soul. For in all other agony, hope flickers. However, Forlornely,
she gazed dully at the unconscious, breathing form of the

(01:24):
man who had been friend and companion and lover during
five years of youth, too vigorous and hopeful to be
warped by uneven fortune. It was wasted by disease. The
face was shrunken. The night garment hung loosely about a
body which had never been disfigured by flesh, but had

(01:47):
been muscular with exercise and full blooded with health. She
was glad that the body was changed, glad that its
beauty too, had gone some otherware than into the coffin.
She had loved his hands as apart from himself, loved
the strong, warm magnetism. They lay limp and yellow on

(02:11):
the quilt. She knew that they were already cold, and
that moisture was gathering on them. For a moment, something
convulse within her. They had gone too. She repeated the
words twice, and after them forever and the while the

(02:34):
sweetness of their pressure came back to her. She leaned
suddenly over him. He was in there, still somewhere where
if he had not ceased to breathe, The eagle, the soul,
the personality was still in the sodden clay which had
been shaped to give its speech. Why why could it

(02:57):
not manifest itself to her? Was it still conscious in
their unable to project itself through the disintegrating matter, which
was the only medium its creator had vouchsafed it. Did
it struggle there? Seeing her agony sharing it, Longing for
the complete disintegration which had put an end to its torment,

(03:21):
She called his name. She even shook him, slightly, mad
to tear the body apart and find her mate. Yet,
even in that tortured moment, realizing that violence would hasten
his going, the dying man took no notice of her,
and she opened his gown and put her cheek to

(03:42):
his heart, calling him again. There had never been more
perfect union. How could the bond still be so strong
if he were not at the other end of it?
He was there her other part until dead, he must
be living. There was no intermediate state. Why should he

(04:03):
be as entombed and unresponding as if the screws were
in the lid. But the faintly beating heart did not quicken.
Beneath her lips. She extended her arms, suddenly describing eccentric
lines above about him, rapidly opening and closing her hand
as if to clutch some escaping object, then sprang to

(04:25):
her feet and went to the window. She feared insanity.
She had asked to be left alone with her dying husband,
and she did not wish to lose her reason and shriek.
A crowd of people about her. The green plots in
the yards were not apparent. She noticed something heavy, like
a pall, rested upon them. Then she understood that the

(04:50):
day was over and that night was coming. She returned
swiftly to the bedside, wondering if she had remained away
hours or seconds, and if he were dead. His face
was still discernible, and death had not relaxed it. She
laid her own against it, then withdrew it with shuddering flesh,

(05:10):
her teeth smiting each other, as if an icy wind
had passed. She let herself fall back in the chair,
clasping her hands against her heart, watching with expanding eyes
the white sculptured face, which, in the gathering dark was
becoming less defined of outline. Did she light the gas

(05:31):
It would draw mosquitoes, and she could not shut from
him the little air he must be mechanically grateful for,
and she did not want to see the opening eye,
the falling jaw. Her vision became so fixed that at
length she saw nothing and closed her eyes and waited

(05:53):
for the moisture to rise and relieve the strain. When
she opened them, his face had disappear. The humid waves
above the house tops put out even the light of
the stars, and the night was come. Fearfully, she approached
her ear to his lips. He still breathed. She made

(06:15):
a motion to kiss him, then threw herself back in
a quiver of agony. They were not the lips she
had known, and she would have nothing less. His breathing
was so faint that, in her half reclining position, she
could not hear it, could not be aware. At the
moment of his death, she extended her arms resolutely and

(06:37):
laid her hand on his heart. Not only must she
feel his going, but so strong had been the comradeship
between them, it was a matter of loving honor to
stand by him to the last. She sat there in
the hot, heavy night, pressing her hand hard against the
ebbing heart of the unseen and awaited death. Suddenly, an

(07:02):
odd fancy possessed her. Where was death? Why was he tarrying?
Who was detaining him? From what quarter would he come?
He was taking his leisure, drawing near with footsteps as
measured as those of men keeping time to a funeral
march by a wayward deflection. She thought of the slow

(07:23):
music that was always turned on in the theater when
the heroine was about to appear or something eventful to happen.
She had always thought that sort of thing ridiculous and inartistic.
So had he. She drew her brows together angrily, wondering
at her levity, and pressed her relaxed palm against the

(07:45):
heart had kept guard over. For a moment. The sweat
stood on her face, and then the pent of breath
burst forth from her lungs. He still lived. Once more,
the fancy wantoned above the star death. Where was he?
What a curious experience to be sitting alone in a

(08:10):
big house. She knew the cook had stolen out, waiting
for death to come and snatch her husband from her. No,
he would not snatch. He would steal upon his prey,
as noiselessly as the approach of sin to innocence, an invisible, unfair,
sneaking enemy with whom no man's strength could grapple, if

(08:33):
he would only come like a man and take his
chances like a man. Women had been known to reach
the hearts of giants with the dagger's point, but he
would creep upon her. She gave an exclamation of horror.
Something was creeping over the window sill. Her limbs pulsed,
but she struggled to her feet and looked back, Her

(08:54):
eyes dragged about against her own volition. Two small green
stars glared menacingly at her just above the sill. Then
the cat possessing them leaped downwards, and the stars disappeared.
She realized that she was horribly frightened. Is it possible,

(09:14):
she thought, am I afraid of death? And of death
that has not yet come? I've always been rather a
brave woman. He used to call me heroic, But then
with him it was impossible to fear anything. And I
begged them to leave me alone with him as the
last of earthly boons. Oh shame, but she was still

(09:39):
quaking as she resumed her seat and laid her hand
again on his heart. She wished that she had asked
Mary to sit outside the door, that there was no
bell in the room. To call would be worse than
desecrating the house of God. And she would not leave
him for one moment to return and find him dead,

(09:59):
gone alone. Her knees smote each other it was idle
to deny it. She was in a state of unreasoning terror.
Her eyes rolled apprehensively about. She wondered if she should
see it when it came, wondered how far off it was?
Now not very far. The heart was barely pulsing. She

(10:23):
had heard of the power of the corpse to drive
brave men to frenzy, and had wondered, having no morbid
horror of the dead, but this to wait, and wait,
and wait, perhaps for hours past the midnight on to
the small hours, while that awful determined leisurely something stole

(10:49):
nearer and nearer. She bent to him who had been
her protector, with a spasm of anger. Where was the
indomitable spirit that had held her all these ears with
such strong and loving clasp. How could he leave her?
How could he desert her? Her head fell back and
moved restlessly against the cushion, Moaning with the agony of loss.

(11:13):
She recalled him as he had been. Then fear once
more took possession of her, and she sat erect, rigid, breathless,
awaiting the approach of death. Suddenly, far down in the
house on the first floor, her strained hearing took note
of a sound, a wary, muffled sound, as if some

(11:37):
one were creeping up the stair fearful of being heard. Slowly,
it seemed to count a hundred between the laying down
of each foot. She gave a hysterical gasp, Where was
the slow music. Her face her body were wet, as
if a wave of death sweat had broken over them.

(11:59):
There was a stiff feeling at the roots of her hair.
She wondered if it were really standing erect, but she
could not raise her hands to ascertain. Possibly it was
only the coloring matter freezing and bleaching. Her muscles were flabby,
her nerves twitched helplessly. She knew that it was death

(12:21):
who was coming to her through the silent, deserted house.
Knew that it was the sensitive ear of her intelligence
that heard him, not the dull, coarse, grained ear of
the body. He toiled up the stairs painfully, as if
he were old and tired with much work. But how

(12:41):
could he afford to light With all the work he
had to do every minute, every second, he must be
in demand to hook his cold, hard finger about a
soul struggling to escape from its putrefying tenement. But probably
he had his emissaries, his minions. For only those worthy

(13:01):
of the honor did he come in person. He reached
the first landing and crept like a cat down the
hall to the next stair, then crawled slowly up as
before light. As the footfalls were, they were squarely planted,
unfaltering slow. They never halted mechanically. She pressed her jerking

(13:25):
hand closer against the heart. Its beats were almost done.
They would finish, she calculated, just as those footfalls paused
beside the bed. She was no longer a human being.
She was in intelligence and an ear. Not a sound

(13:45):
came from without. Even the elevated appeared to be temporarily
off duty. But inside the big quiet house, that footfall
was waxing louder louder, until iron feet crashed on iron
stairs and echo thundered. She had counted the steps one, two, three,

(14:13):
Irritated beyond endurance of the long, deliberate pauses between. As
they climbed and clanged with slow precisions, she continued to
count audibly with equal precision, noting their hollow reverberation. How
many steps had the stair she wished, knew no need.

(14:35):
The colossal trampling announced the lessening distance in an increasing
volume of sound, not to be misunderstood. It turned the curve,
it reached the landing. It advanced slowly down the hall.
It paused before her door. Then knuckles of iron shook
the frail panels. Her nerveless tongue gave no invitation. The

(14:58):
knocking became more imperior as the very walls vibrated. The
handle turned swiftly and firmly, with a wild, instinctive movement,
she flung herself into the arms of her husband. When
Mary opened the door and entered the room, she found
a dead woman lying across a dead man. End of

(15:24):
death and the woman