Harriet fairly itched to take notes on her.
“Wherecha get these lil things?” Her cheer rang out all over the neighbourhood. “This the lil Welsch baby? That her brother?”
Sport giggled.
“No, it’s my husband,” Harriet shouted.
Ole Golly turned a grim face. “Don’t be snarky, Harriet, and don’t think you’re such a wit either.”
The fat lady laughed, making her face fall in lumps again. She looks like dough, Harriet thought, about to be made into a big round Italian loaf. She wanted to tell Sport this, but Ole Golly was leading them in, all of them squeezing past that mountain of a stomach because the fat lady stood, rather stupidly, in the doorway.
Ole Golly marched to the teakettle and put a fire under it. Then she turned in a businesslike way and introduced them. “Children, this is my mother, Mrs Golly. Mother – you can close the door now, Mother. This is Harriet Welsch.”
“Harriet M. Welsch,” Harriet corrected.
“You know perfectly well you have no middle name, but if you insist, Harriet M. Welsch. And this is Sport. What’s your last name, Sport?”
“Rocque. Simon Rocque.” He pronounced it Rock.
“Simon, Simon, hee, hee, hee.” Harriet felt very ugly all of a sudden.
“You are not to make fun of anyone’s name.” Ole Golly loomed over Harriet and it was one of those times when Harriet knew she meant it.
“I take it back,” Harriet said quickly.
“That’s better.” Ole Golly turned away cheerfully. “Now let’s all sit down and have some tea.”
“Waal, ain’t she a cute lil thing.” Harriet could see that Mrs Golly was still hung up on the introductions. She stood like a mountain, her big ham hands dangling helplessly at her sides.
“Sit down, Mother,” Ole Golly said gently, and Mrs Golly sat.
Harriet and Sport looked at each other. The same thought was occurring to both of them. This fat lady wasn’t very bright.
Mrs Golly sat to the left of Harriet. She leaned over Harriet, in fact, and looked directly into her eyes. Harriet felt like something in a zoo.
“Now, Harriet, look around you,” Ole Golly said sternly as she poured the tea. “I brought you here because you’ve never seen the inside of a house like this. Have you ever seen a house that has one bed, one table, four chairs, and a bathtub in the kitchen?”
Harriet had to move her chair back to see around Mrs Golly, who leaned towards her, motionless, still looking. The room was a strange one. There was a sad little rug next to the stove. Harrison Withers has only a bed and a table, Harriet thought to herself. But since she didn’t want Ole Golly to know she had been peering through Harrison Withers’ skylight, she said nothing.
“I didn’t think you had,” said Ole Golly. “Look around. And drink your tea, children. You may have more milk and sugar if I haven’t put enough.”
“I don’t drink tea,” Sport said timidly.
Ole Golly shot an eye at him. “What do you mean you don’t drink tea?”
“I mean I never have.”
“You mean you’ve never tasted it?”
“No,” said Sport and looked a little terrified.
Harriet looked at Ole Golly. Ole Golly wore an arch expression which signified that she was about to quote.
“‘There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.’” Ole Golly said this steadily and sedately, then leaned back in her chair with a satisfied look at Sport. Sport looked completely blank.
“Henry James,” said Ole Golly, “1843-1916. From Portrait of a Lady.”
“What’s that?” Sport asked Harriet.
“A novel, silly,” said Harriet.
“Oh, like my father writes,” said Sport, and dismissed the whole thing.
“My dotter’s a smart one,” mumbled Mrs Golly, still looking straight at Harriet.
“Behold, Harriet,” Ole Golly said, “a woman who never had any interest in anyone else, nor in any book, nor in any school, nor in any way of life, but has lived her whole life in this room, eating and sleeping and waiting to die.”
Harriet stared at Mrs Golly in horror. Should Ole Golly be saying these things? Wouldn’t Mrs Golly get mad? But Mrs Golly just sat looking contentedly at Harriet. Perhaps, thought Harriet, she forgets to turn her head away from something unless she is told.
“Try it, Sport, it’s good.” Harriet spoke to Sport quickly in an effort to change the subject.
Sport took a sip. “It’s not bad,” he said weakly.
“Try everything, Sport, at least once.” Ole Golly said this as though her mind weren’t really on it. Harriet looked at her curiously. Ole Golly was acting very strangely indeed. She seemed … was she angry? No, not angry. She seemed sad. Harriet realised with a start that it was the first time she had ever seen Ole Golly look sad. She hadn’t even known Ole Golly could be sad.
Almost as though she were thinking the same thing, Ole Golly suddenly shook her head and sat up straight. “Well,” she said brightly, “I think we have had enough tea and enough sights for one day. I think we had better go home now.”
The most extraordinary thing happened next. Mrs Golly leaped to her fat feet and threw her teacup down on the floor. “You’re always leaving. You’re always leaving,” she screamed.
“Now, Mother,” Ole Golly said calmly.
Mrs Golly hopped around the middle of the floor like a giant doll. She made Harriet think of those balloons, blown up like people, that bounce on the end of a string. Sport giggled suddenly. Harriet felt like giggling but wasn’t sure she should.
Mrs Golly bobbed away. “Just come here to leave me again. Always leaving. Thought you’d come for good this time.”
“Now, Mother,” Ole Golly said again, but this time got to her feet, walked to her mother, and laid a firm hand on the bouncing shoulder. “Mother,” she said gently, “you know I’ll be here next week.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Mrs Golly. She stopped jumping immediately and gave a big smile to Harriet and Sport.
“Oh, boy,” said Sport under his breath.
Harriet sat fascinated. Then Ole Golly got them all bundled into their clothes and they were outside on the street again, having waved to a cheerful Mrs Golly. They walked along through the darkening day.
“Boy, oh, boy,” was all Sport could say.
Harriet couldn’t wait
