Ron Reads Boring Books
Are you tired? You will be. Because I will read to you a boring book and it will be worse than you doing nothing. This podcast is not intended to entertain you. It is intended to bore you. The length of each podcast will vary so you cannot plan your listening easily. Some reads will be short. Some will be excruciatingly long. There will be no intro or outro music. The only sound is my voice and other random sounds as they happen. I change my voice as I read the dialog. Also, I have a southern accent and do not read well. Thank you for listening.
Ron Reads Boring Books
The Heartless Garden Party
Ron reads Katherine Mansfield's "The Garden Party," a poignant short story exploring class divisions, mortality, and a young woman's awakening to life's harsh realities beyond her privileged existence.
• The Sheridan family prepares for an elaborate garden party at their estate
• Laura, the youngest daughter, interacts with workmen and questions class distinctions
• News arrives of a workman's death in the nearby poor cottages
• Laura suggests canceling the party out of respect, but her family dismisses her concerns
• The party proceeds successfully despite Laura's misgivings
• Laura delivers leftover food to the dead man's family
• She experiences a profound moment seeing the peaceful dead man
• The story ends with Laura's ineffable realization about life's meaning
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Hello. Are you tired? You will be. This is Ron Reads Boring Books. This is the Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield, by Catherine Mansfield. And after all, the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect day for a garden party if they had ordered it Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud, warm, the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of gold light, as it is sometimes in early summer. The gardener had been up since dawn mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the dark, flat rosettes, where the daisy plants had been, seemed to shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling. They understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden parties, the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in a single night. The green bushes bowed down as though they had been visited by archangels. Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the marquee.
Speaker 2:Where do you want the marquee put? Mother, my dear child it's no use asking me. I'm determined to leave everything to you. Children this year, forget I'm your mother. Treat me as an honored guest.
Speaker 1:But Meg could not simply go and supervise the men. But Meg could not simply go and supervise the men. She had washed her hair before breakfast and she sat drinking her coffee in a green turban, with a dark, wet curl stamped on each cheek.
Speaker 2:Jose, the butterfly always came down on a silk petticoat and a kimono jacket. You'll have to go, laura.
Speaker 1:You're the autistic one Away. Laura flew still holding her piece of bread and butter. It was so delicious to have an excuse for eating out of doors and besides, she loved having to arrange things. She always felt she could do it so much better than anybody else. Four men in their shirt sleeves stood grouped together on the garden path. They carried staves covered with rolls of canvas and they had big tool bags slung on their backs. They looked impressive. Laura wished now that she had not got the bread and butter, but there was nowhere to put it and she couldn't possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them. And even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them. Good morning, she said, copying her mother's voice, but that sounded so fearfully affected that she was ashamed and stammered like a little girl oh, er, have you come? Is it about the Marquis?
Speaker 1:That's right miss said, the tallest of the men, a lanky, freckled fellow, and he shifted his tool bag, knocked back his straw hat and smiled down at her.
Speaker 2:That's about it.
Speaker 1:His smile was so easy, so friendly, that Laura recovered what nice eyes he had, small but such a dark blue. And now she looked at the others they were smiling too.
Speaker 2:Cheer up, we won't bite.
Speaker 1:Their smiles seemed to say how very nice workmen here and what a beautiful morning. She mustn't mention the morning. She mustn't mention the morning. She must be businesslike, the Marquis.
Speaker 2:Well, what about the lily lawn Would?
Speaker 1:that do, and she pointed to the lily lawn with the hand that didn't hold the bread and butter. They turned, they stared in the direction, a little fat chap thrust out his under lip and the tall fellow frowned.
Speaker 2:I don't fancy it, said he Not conspicuous enough, you see, with a thing like a marquee.
Speaker 1:And he turned to Laura in his easy way. You want to put it somewhere where it'll give you a bang slap in the eye if you follow me. Laura's upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether it was quite respectful of a workman to talk of her bangs slap in the eye. But she did quite follow him. A corner in the tennis court she suggested, but the band's going to be in the corner.
Speaker 2:Going to have a band, are you?
Speaker 1:said another of the workmen. He was pale. He had a haggard look as his dark eyes scanned the tennis court. What was he thinking? Only a small band said Laura gently, Perhaps she wouldn't mind so much if the band was quite small. But the tall fellow interrupted.
Speaker 2:Look here, miss. That's the place Against over those trees over there. That'll do fine.
Speaker 1:Against the caracas. Then the caraca trees would be hidden. And they were so lovely with their broad, gleaming leaves and their clusters of yellow fruit. They were like trees you imagined growing on a desert island, proud of solitary, lifting their leaves and fruits to the sun in a kind of silent splendor. Must they be hidden by a marquee? They must. Already.
Speaker 1:The men had shouldered their staves and were making for the place. Only the tall fellow was left. He bent down, pinched a sprig of lavender, put his thumb and forefinger to his nose and snuffed up the smell. When Laura saw that gesture, she forgot all about the Caracas and her wonder at him caring for things like that, caring for the smell of lavender. How many men that she knew would not have done such a thing? How extraordinarily nice workmen were, she thought. Why couldn't she have workmen for her friends rather than the silly boys she danced with and who came to Sunday night supper? She would get on much better with men like these. It's all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something on the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up or left to hang of these absurd class distinctions. Left to hang of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her part, she didn't feel them, not a bit, not an atom. And now there came the chalk, chalk of wooden hammers.
Speaker 2:Someone whistled someone sang out. Are you all right there, matey, Matey.
Speaker 1:The friendliness of it, just to prove how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home she felt and how she despised stupid conventions. Laura took a big bite of her bread and butter as she stared at the little drawing.
Speaker 2:She felt just like a work girl. Laura, when are you? Telephone.
Speaker 1:Laura. A voice cried from the house.
Speaker 2:Coming.
Speaker 1:Away. She skimmed over the lawn up the paths, up the steps, across the veranda and into the porch.
Speaker 2:In the hall her father and Laurie were brushing their hats ready to go to the office. I say Laura, said Laurie, very fast, you might just give a squeeze at my coat before this afternoon. See if it wants pressing All right she said Suddenly she couldn't stop herself.
Speaker 1:She ran at Laurie and gave him a small quick squeeze.
Speaker 2:Oh, I do love parties, don't you?
Speaker 1:Gassed Laura Rather, said Laurie's warm boyish voice, and he squeezed his sister too and gave her a gentle push.
Speaker 2:Dash off to the telephone gold girl the telephone. Yes, yes, oh yes, Kitty, good morning, gold girl the telephone.
Speaker 1:Yes, yes, oh yes, kitty. Good morning, dear, come to lunch. No, dear, delighted. Of course It'll only be a very scratch meal, just the sandwich crust and broken meringue shells and what's left over.
Speaker 2:Yes, it is a perfect morning. You're white. Oh, I certainly should One moment.
Speaker 1:Hold the line Mother's calling You're white. Oh, I certainly should One moment Hold the line Mother's calling Laura sat back. What Mother Can't hear Mrs Sheridan's voice floated down the stairs?
Speaker 2:Tell her to wear that sweet hat she had on last Sunday. Mother wants you to wear that sweet hat you had on last Sunday.
Speaker 1:Good One o'clock, bye-bye. Laura put back the receiver, flung her arms over her head, took a deep breath, stretched and let them fall. She sighed and the moment after the size, she sat up quickly. She was still listening. All the doors in the house seemed to be open. The house was alive with soft, quick steps and running voices. The green baize door that led to the kitchen regions swung open and shut with a muffled thud and now there came a long chuckling, absurd sound. It was the heavy piano being moved on its stiff casters, but the air, if you stop to notice, was the air always like this Little faint. Winds were playing chase in the tops of the windows and out the doors. There were two tiny spots of sun, one on the ink pot, one on a silver photograph frame. Plague too, darling little spots, especially the one on the ink pot lid. It was quite warm, a warm little silver star. She could have kissed it. The front doorbell pealed and there sounded the rustle of Sadie's print skirt. On the stairs, a man's voice murmured. Sadie answered careless.
Speaker 1:I'm sure I don't know, wait, I'll ask Mrs Sheridan what is it sadie? Laura came into the hall. It's the florist, miss laura. It was indeed there. Just inside the door stood a wide, shallow tray full of pots and pink lilies. No other kind, nothing but lilies, canna lilies, big pink flowers, wide, radiant, almost frighteningly alive, on bright crimson stems.
Speaker 1:Oh Sadie said Laura, and the sound was like a little moan. She crouched down as if to warm herself at that blaze of lilies. She felt they were in her fingers, on her lips, growing in her breast. It's some mistake, she said faintly. Nobody ever ordered so many. Sadie Go and find Mother. But at that moment Mrs Sheridan joined them. It's quite right, she said calmly.
Speaker 2:Yes, I ordered them, Aren't they lovely?
Speaker 1:She pressed Laura's arm.
Speaker 2:I was passing the shop yesterday and I saw them in the window and I suddenly thought for once in my life I shall have enough can of lilies. The garden party would be a good excuse.
Speaker 1:But I thought you said you didn't mean to interfere, said Laura Sadie had gone. The florist man was still outside at his van. She put her arm around her mother's neck and gently, very gently, she bit her mother's ear, my darling child.
Speaker 2:Wouldn't you like a logical mother, wouldn't you? Would you? Don't do that. Here's the man. He carried more lily steel, another whole tray Bank them up just inside the door, on both sides of the porch, please said Mrs Sheridan. Don't, you agree, Laura?
Speaker 1:Oh, I do mother oh, I do Mother In the drawing room Meg Jose and a good little Hans had at last succeeded in moving the piano.
Speaker 2:Now, if we put this Chesterfield against the wall and move everything out of the room except the chairs, don't you think Quite the wall and move everything out of the room except the chairs, don't you think Quiet, Hans? Move these tables into the smoking room and bring the sweeper to take these mocks off the carpet.
Speaker 1:And one moment, Hans Jose loved giving orders to the servants and they loved obeying her. The servants, and they loved obeying her.
Speaker 2:She made them feel like they were taking part in some drama. Tell me Mother, Miss Laura, come here at once. Tell Mother and Miss Laura to come here at once. Very good, Miss Jose.
Speaker 1:She turned to Meg. I want to hear what the piano sounds like, just in case I'm asked to sing this afternoon. Let's try over. This life is weary Pom-ta-ta-ta-ti-ta. The piano burst out so passionately that Jose's face changed. She clasped her hands. She looked mournfully and enigmatically at her mother and Laura as they came in.
Speaker 1:This life is weary. A tear, a sigh, a love that changes and then goodbye. But at that word goodbye. And although the piano sounded more desperate than ever, her face broke into a brilliant, dreadfully unsympathetic smile aren't I good in voice, mummy? She beamed. This life is weary. Hope comes to die. A dream awakening. But now Sadie interrupted them. What is?
Speaker 2:it, Sadie, If you please. Ma'am, Look, cook says you got the flags for the sandwiches.
Speaker 1:The flags for the sandwiches, Sadie echoed Mrs Sheridan dreamily, and the children knew by her face that she hadn't got them.
Speaker 2:Let me see.
Speaker 1:And she said to Sadie firmly tell Cook I'll have.
Speaker 2:I'll let her have them in 10 minutes.
Speaker 1:Sadie went Now Laura. Now Laura said her mother quickly.
Speaker 2:Come with me into the smoking room. I've got the names somewhere in the back of an envelope. You have to write them out for me. Meg, go upstairs this minute and take that wet thing off your head. Jose, run and finish dressing this instant. Do you hear me, children? Or shall I have to tell your father when he comes home tonight?
Speaker 1:and and jose, pacify, cook, if you do go into the kitchen where you, I'm terrified of her this morning the envelope was found at last behind the dining room clock, though how it had got there, mrs Sheridan could not imagine.
Speaker 2:One of you children must have stolen it out of my bag, because I remember vividly cream cheese and lemon curd. Have you done that? Yes, big end.
Speaker 1:Mrs Sheridan held the envelope away from her.
Speaker 2:It looks like mice. It can't be mice, can it?
Speaker 1:Olive pet said Laura looking over her shoulder.
Speaker 2:Yes, of course olive. What a horrible combination. It sounds egg and olive.
Speaker 1:They were finished at last and Laura took them off to the kitchen. She found Jose there pacifying the cook, who did not look at all terrifying. I have never seen such exquisite sandwiches, said Jose's rapturous voice. How many kinds did you say there were? Cook Fifteen.
Speaker 2:Fifteen, Miss Jose.
Speaker 1:Well cook. I congratulate you, Cook. Swept up crusts with the long sandwich knife and smiled broadly. Gobblers have come announced to Sadie issuing out of the pantry, she had seen the man pass the window. That meant the cream puffs had come. Godbers were famous for their cream puffs.
Speaker 2:Nobody ever thought of making them at home. Bring them in and I'll put them on the table.
Speaker 1:My girl ordered the cook, sadie brought them in and went back to the door. Of course, laura and Jose were far too grown up to really care about such things. All the same, they couldn't help agreeing that the puffs looked very attractive. Very Cook began arranging them, shaking off the extra icing sugar. Don't they carry one back to all one's parties, said Laura. I suppose they do, said Practical Jose, I suppose they do, said Practical Jose, who never liked to be carried back. They look beautifully, light and feathery. I must say have one each my dears. Have one each my dears, said the cook in her comfortable voice.
Speaker 2:Your mama won't know.
Speaker 1:Oh impossible, fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast. The very idea made one shudder. The very idea made one shudder All the same. Two minutes later, jose and Laura were licking their fingers with that absorbed inward look, that only comes from whipped cream. Let's go to the garden out by the back way, suggested Laura. I want to see how the men are getting on with the marquee. They're such awfully nice men. But the back door was blocked by Cook, sadie, goldberg's man, and Hans. Something had happened. Tuck, tuck, tuck, clucked Cook like an agitated hen. Sadie had her hand clapped to her cheek as though she had a toothache. Hans' voice was screwed up in the effort to understand. Only Godber's man seemed to be enjoying himself. It was his story.
Speaker 2:What's the matter? What happened? There's been a horrible accident, said Cook, a man killed A man killed. Where, how, when?
Speaker 1:But Godber's man wasn't going to have his story snatched from under his very nose. Know those little cottages just below here, miss. Know them. Of course she knew them. Of course, know them. Of course she knew them. Well, there's a young chap living there named Scott, a cotter. His horse shied at the traction engine corner of Hawk Street this morning and he was thrown out on the back of his head, killed Dead. Laura stailed at Gobber's man Dead. When they picked him up, said Gobber's man with relish. They were taking the body home as I come up here. And he said to the cook he's left a wife and five little ones, jose, come here. Laura caught hold of her sister's sleeve and dragged her through the kitchen to the other side of the green baize door. There she paused and leaned against it.
Speaker 1:Jose she said, horrified. However, are we going to?
Speaker 2:stop everything.
Speaker 1:Stop everything, Laura cried Jose in astonishment.
Speaker 2:What do you mean?
Speaker 1:Stop the garden party, of course. Why did Jose pretend? But Jose was still more amazed.
Speaker 2:Stop the garden party, my dear Laura, don't be so absurd.
Speaker 1:Of course we can't do anything of the kind. Nobody expects us to Don't be so extravagant, but we can't possibly have a garden party with a man dead just outside the front gate. That really was extravagant, for the little cottages were in a lane to themselves at the very bottom of a steep rise that led up to the house. A broad road ran between. True, they were far too near, they were the greatest possible eyesore and they had no right to be in that neighborhood at all. They were little, mean dwellings painted a chocolate brown. In the garden patches there was nothing but cabbage stalks, sick hens and tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was poverty-stricken little rags, shreds of smoke. So, unlike the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridan's chimneys, washer women lived in the lane and sweeps and a cobbler and a man whose house front was studded all over with minute bird, minute bird cages. Children swarmed. When the sheridans were little, they were forbidden to set foot there because of the revolting language and of what they might catch.
Speaker 1:But since they were grown up, laura and Laurie, on their prowl, sometimes walked through. It was disgusting and sordid. They came out with a shudder. But still, one must go everywhere, one must see everything. So through they went and just think of what the band would sound like. To that poor woman, said Laura, oh Laura. Jose began to be seriously annoyed. If you're going to stop a band playing every time someone has an accident, you lead a very strenuous life. I'm every bit as sorry about it as you. I feel sympathetic. Her eyes hardened. She looked at her sister just as she used to when they were little and fighting together. You won't bring a drunken workman back to life by being sentimental, she said softly, drunk. Who said he was drunk? Laura turned furiously on Jose. She said as they had used to say on those occasions I'm going straight up to tell Mother Do, dear cooed Jose, mother, can I come sit in? Can I come into your room? Laura turned the big glass doorknob.
Speaker 2:Of course, child. Why, what's the matter? What's given you such a color?
Speaker 1:And Mrs Sheridan turned from around her dressing table. She was trying on a new hat. Mother, a man's been killed, began Laura, not in the garden, interrupted her mother.
Speaker 2:Oh, no, oh, what a fright you gave me.
Speaker 1:Mrs Sheridan sighed with relief and took off the big hat and held it on her knees. But listen, mother, said Laura, breathless, half choked, she told the dreadful story. Of course we can't have our garden party, can we? She pleaded the band and everybody arriving they'll hear us. They're nearly neighbors. To Laura's astonishment, her mother behaved just like Jose. It was harder to bear because she seemed amused. She refused to take Laura seriously.
Speaker 2:But, my dear child, use your common sense. It's only by accident we've heard of it. If someone had died there normally and I can't understand how they keep alive in those pokey little holes we should still be having our party, shouldn't we?
Speaker 1:Laura had to say yes to that, but she felt it was all wrong. She sat down on her mother's sofa and pinched the cushion for real, mother, isn't it terribly heartless of us.
Speaker 2:Piling.
Speaker 1:Mrs Sheridan got up and came over to her carrying the hat. Before Laura could stop her, she popped in. My child said her mother.
Speaker 2:The hat is yours. It's made for you. It's much too young for me. I have never seen you look such a picture. Look at yourself.
Speaker 1:She held up her hand mirror, but mother Laura began again.
Speaker 2:She just couldn't Look at yourself. She held up her hand mirror.
Speaker 1:But mother Laura began again. She just couldn't look at herself. She turned aside. This time Miss Sheridan lost patience, just as Jose had done. You're being very absurd, laura. She said coldly.
Speaker 2:People like that don't expect sacrifices from us and it's not very sympathetic to spoil everybody's enjoyment as you're doing now.
Speaker 1:I don't understand, said Laura, and she walked quickly out of the room into her own bedroom. There, quite by chance, the first thing she saw was this charming girl in the mirror in her black hat trimmed with gold daisies and a long black velvet ribbon. Never had she imagined she could look like that. Is mother right? She thought, and now she hoped her mother was right. Am I being extravagant? Perhaps it was extravagant Just for a moment. She had another glimpse of that poor woman and those little children and the body being carried into the house. But it all seemed blurred, unreal, like a picture in the newspaper. I'll remember it again. After the party's over, she decided, and somehow that seemed quite the best plan. Lunch was over half past one. By half past two they were all ready for the fray. The green-coated band had arrived and was establishing in a corner of the tennis court.
Speaker 2:My dear trilled Kitty Maitland aren't they two like frogs for words?
Speaker 1:You ought to have arranged them around the pond with the corridor in the middle. On a leaf, laurie arrived and held them on his way to dress. At the sight of him, laura remembered the accident again. She wanted to tell him If Laurie agreed with the others, then it was bound to be all right, and she followed him into the hall laurie hello he was halfway up the stairs, but when he turned around and saw laura, he suddenly puffed out his cheeks and goggled his eyes at her my word laura, you look stunning, said laurie.
Speaker 1:What an absolutely topping hat. Laur, said faintly, is it? And smiled up at Laurie and didn't tell him after all. Soon after that, people began coming in streams. The band struck up. The hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee. Wherever you looked there were couples strolling, bending to the flowers, greeting, moving on over the lawn. They were like bright birds that had alighted in the Sheridan's garden for this one afternoon On their way to where. Ah, what happiness it is to be with people who are all happy to press hands, press cheeks, smile into eyes.
Speaker 2:Darling, Laura, how well do you look? What a becoming hat child.
Speaker 1:Laura, you look quite Spanish. I've never seen you looking so striking. And Laura, glowing, answered softly have you had tea? Won't you have an ice? Glowing answered softly have you had tea? Won't you have an ice? The passion fruit ices really are rather special. She ran to her father and begged him. Daddy darling, can't the band have something to drink? And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded. Its petals closed.
Speaker 2:Never a more delightful garden party. The greatest success Quite the most.
Speaker 1:Laura helped her mother with the goodbyes. They stood side by side in the porch till it was all over.
Speaker 2:All over, all over, thank heaven said.
Speaker 1:Miss Sheridan.
Speaker 2:Round up the others. Laura, let's go and have some fresh coffee. I'm exhausted. Yes, it's been very successful, but all these parties, these parties, why will you children insist on giving parties?
Speaker 1:and they, all of them, sat down in the deserted marquee have a sandwich, daddy.
Speaker 2:I wrote the flag.
Speaker 1:Thanks. Mr Sheridan took a bite and the sandwich was gone. He took another. I suppose you didn't hear of a beastly accident that happened today, he said. My dear said Mr Sheridan holding up her hand. We did.
Speaker 2:It nearly ruined the party. Laura insisted we put it off. Oh mother.
Speaker 1:Laura didn't want to be teased about it. It was horrible all the same said, mr Sheridan, the chap was married too.
Speaker 2:Lived just below the lane and leaves a wife and half a dozen kitties. So they say.
Speaker 1:An awkward little silence fell. Mrs Sheridan fidgeted with her cup. Really it was very tactless of father. Suddenly she looked up. There on the table were all those sandwiches, cakes, puffs, all uneaten, all going to be wasted.
Speaker 2:She had one of her brilliant ideas, I know she said let's make up a basket and send that poor creature some of this perfectly good food. At any rate, it would be the greatest treat for the children, don't you agree? And she's sure to have neighbors calling in and so on. What point to have it already prepared, Laura.
Speaker 1:She jumped up.
Speaker 2:Give me the big basket out of the upstairs cupboard.
Speaker 1:But mother, do you really think it's a good idea, Said Laura Again how curious she seemed to be different from them all to take scraps from their party? Would the poor woman really like that?
Speaker 2:of course. What's the matter with you today? An hour or two ago, you were insisting on us being sympathetic and now ran for the basket.
Speaker 1:It was filled. It was heaped by her mother.
Speaker 2:Take it yourself, darling. She said Run down just as you are. No wait, take the Arum lilies too. People of that class are so impressed by Arum lilies. The stems would ruin her lice, frock said Practical, who's eight?
Speaker 1:So they would just in time.
Speaker 2:Only the basket, then, and Laura.
Speaker 1:Her mother followed her out. The marquee Don't do any account.
Speaker 1:What mother? No Better not put such ideas in the child's head. Nothing Run along. It was just growing dusky. As Laura shut the garden gates, a big dog ran by like a shadow. The road gleamed white and down below the hollow the little cottages were in deep shade. How quiet it seemed after the afternoon. Here she was going down the hill to somewhere where a man lay dead. She couldn't realize it. Why couldn't she? She stopped a minute and it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons, laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her. She had no room for anything else. How strange. She looked up at the pale sky and all she thought was yes, it was the most successful party.
Speaker 1:Now the broad road was crossed, the lane began smoky and and dark. Women in shawls and men's tweed caps, hurried by men, hung over the palings. The children played in the doorways. A low hum came from the mean little cottages and some of them. There was a flicker of light and a shadow crab-like moved across the window. Laura bent her head and hurried on. She wished now she had put on a coat how her frock shone, and the big hat with the velvet streamer. If only it was another hat. Were the people looking at her. They must be.
Speaker 1:It was a mistake to have come. She knew all along it was a mistake. Should she go back even now, no too late? This was the house. It must be A dark knot of people stood outside, beside the gate, an old, old woman with a crutch sat in a chair watching. She had her feet on a newspaper. The voices stopped as Laura Junier, the group parted. It was as though she was expected, as though they had known she was coming there. Laura was terribly nervous, tossing the velvet ribbon over her shoulder. She said to a woman standing by Is this Mr Scott's house? And the woman, smiling queerly, said it is my lass. Oh, to be away from this. She actually said Help me.
Speaker 1:God, as she walked up the tiny path and knocked To be away from those staring eyes or to be covered up in anything one of those women's shawls even I'll just leave the basket and go, she decided. I shan't even wait for it to be covered up in anything one of those women's shawls even I'll just leave the basket and go, she decided. I shan't even wait for it to be emptied. Then the door opened. A little woman in black showed in the gloom. Laura said Are you, mrs Scott? But to her horror the woman answered Walk in, please miss. And she shut, was shut in the passage.
Speaker 1:No said Laura, I don't want to come in, I only want to leave the basket. Mother sent the little woman in the gloomy passage, seemed not to have heard her. Step this way, please miss. She said in an oily voice, and Laura followed her. She found herself in a wretched little low kitchen lighted by a smoky lamp. There was a woman sitting before the fire. Mm said the little creature who let her in. Mm it's a young lady. She turned to Laura. She said meaningly I'm her sister.
Speaker 2:miss, You'll excuse her, won't you.
Speaker 1:But of course, said Laura, please don't disturb her, I only want to leave. But at that moment the woman at the fire turned around. Her face puffed up, red, with swollen eyes and swollen lips, looked terrible. She seemed as though she couldn't understand why Laura was there. What did it mean? Why was this stranger standing in the kitchen with a basket? What was it all about? And the poor face puckered up again. It's all right, my dear, said the other. I'll thank the young lady. And again she began.
Speaker 2:You'll excuse her miss, I'm sure.
Speaker 1:And her face swollen too, tried an oily smile. Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She was back in the passage. The door opened. She walked straight into the bedroom where the dead man was laying. You'd like to look at him, wouldn't you, said M's sister as she brushed past Laura, over the bed. Don't be afraid, my lass. And now her voice sounded fond and sly, and fondly she drew down the sheet.
Speaker 2:He looks a picture. There's nothing to show. Come along, my dear.
Speaker 1:Laura came, there lay a young man fast asleep, sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so remote, so peaceful. He was dreaming, never wake him up again. His head was sunk in the pillow. His eyes were closed. They were blind. Under the closed eyelids he was given up to his dream. What did garden parties and baskets and lace frocks matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing, this marvel had come to the lane. Happy, happy, all is well. Said that sleeping face, this is just as it should be. I am content, but all the same, you had to cry. And she couldn't go out of the room without saying something to him. Laura gave a loud childish sob Forgive my hat, she said, and this time she didn't wait for M's sister. She found her way out the door, down the path, past all those dark people. At the corner of the lane she met Laurie. He stepped out of the shadow.
Speaker 2:Is that you, laura?
Speaker 1:Yes, Mother was getting anxious. Was it all right? Yes, quite, oh, laurie. She took his arm and pressed up against him "'I say, you're not crying, are you' asked her brother. Laura shook her head. She was Laurie, put his arm around her shoulder. "'don't cry', he said in his warm, loving voice. "'was it awful' "'No' sobbed Laura. "'it was simply marvelous, but Laurie—' she stopped. She looked at her brother. Isn't life? She stammered Isn't life. But what life was? She couldn't explain. No matter, he quite understood.
Speaker 2:Isn't it, darling, said Laurie.
Speaker 1:This has been the Garden Party by Katherine Mansfield. This has been Ron Reads Boring Books. Please leave a five-star rating and a positive review. Please like and subscribe to this podcast and share it with your friends, thank you.