The Howling Man Read Online Free Page A

old elm and watched Miss Gentilbelle. The night was very black, but he was not afraid, although he was young enough to be afraid. And he was old enough to hate, but he didn't hate. He merely watched.
    Miss Gentilbelle sat straight and stiff in the faded chair by the window. The phonograph had been turned down and she sat, listening. In her hands were a teacup, faintly flowered, and a saucer that did not match. She held them with great care and delicacy and the tea had long ago turned cold.
    Robert decided to watch Miss Gentilbelle's hands.
    They were thin and delicate, like the cup and saucer. But he saw that they were also wrinkled and not smooth like his own. One of the fingers was encircled by a tarnished yellow band and the skin was very, very white.
    Now the phonograph began to repeat toward the end of the record and Miss Gentilbelle let it go for a while before she moved.
    When she rose, Robert became frightened and cried loudly. He had forgotten how to climb down from the tree. Miss Gentilbelle heard him crying and after she had replaced the record in its album she went to the window and raised it halfway to the top.
    "Roberta," she said. "I'm surprised. Quite surprised." She paused. "Trees are for monkeys and birds, not little girls. Do you remember when I told you that?"
    The soft bayou wind took Miss Gentilbelle's words and carried them off. But Robert knew what had been said.
    "Yes, Mother. Trees are for monkeys and birds."
    "Very well. Come down from there. I wish to speak with you."
    "Yes, Mother." Robert remembered. Cautiously at first, and then with greater daring, he grasped small limbs with his hands and descended to the ground. Before the last jump a jagged piece of bark caught on his gown and ripped a long hole in the gauzy cloth.
    The jump hurt his feet but he ran up the splintery steps fast because he had recognized the look in Miss Gentilbelle's eyes. When he got to the living room, he tried nervously to hold the torn patch of cloth together.
    He knocked.
    "Come in, Roberta." The pale woman beckoned, gestured. "Sit over there, please, in the big chair." Her eyes were expressionless, without color, like clots of mucus. She folded her hands. "I see that you have ruined your best gown," she whispered. "A pity, it once belonged to your grandmother. You should have been in bed asleep, but instead you were climbing trees and that is why you ruined your gown. It's made of silk--did you know that, Roberta? Pure silk. Soft and fragile, like the wings of a dove; not of the coarse burlap they're using nowadays. Such a pity . . . It can never be replaced." She was quiet for a time; then she leaned forward. "Tell me, Roberta-- what did you promise when I gave you the gown?"
    Robert hesitated. There were no words to come. He stared at the frayed Oriental rug and listened to his heart.
    "Roberta, don't you think you ought to answer me? What did you promise?"
    "That--" Robert's voice was mechanical. "That I would take good care of it."
    "And have you taken good care of it?"
    "No, Mother, I ... haven't."
    "Indeed you have not. You have been a wicked girl."
    Robert bit flesh away from the inside of his mouth. "Can't it be mended?" he asked.
    Miss Gentilbelle put a finely woven hankerchief to her mouth and gasped. "Mended! Shall I take it to a tailor and have him sew a patch?" Her eyes came to life, flashing. "When a butterfly has lost its wing, what happens?"
    "It can't fly."
    "True. It cannot fly. It is dead, it is no longer a butterfly. Roberta--there are few things that can ever be mended. None of the really worthwhile things can be." She sat thoughtfully silent for several minutes, sipping her cold tea.
    Robert waited. His bladder began to ache.
    "You have been an exceedingly wicked girl, Roberta, and you must be punished. Do you know how I shall punish you?"
    Robert looked up and saw his mother's face. "Shall you beat me?"
    "Beat you? Really, do I seem so crude? When have I ever beaten you? No. What are a few little