Walking Across Egypt Read Online Free
Author: Clyde Edgerton
and leg muscles felt weak—she knew they would be sore in the morning.
She sat at her piano in the living room. On top of the piano was a picture of Paul, her husband, who had died five years earlier; a picture of Robert; one of Elaine, now thirty-eight, unmarried, a twelfth-grade English teacher—gifted and talented; and a picture of the entire family together. The piano was a black studio Wurlitzer—one she and Paul had bought for Robert and Elaine. Robert had taken lessons for two years and quit. Elaine had taken for four. But she, Mattie, played just about every night, sitting on the bench stuffed with old hymn-books, thumbing through the Broadman Hymnal until she found one of the fifteen or twenty hymns she played well. She could read hymns in the easier keys, playing partly by ear.
She played "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," "Blessed Assurance," and "Send the Light." No damage to her arms from the chair accident, she decided. Then she played "To a Wild Rose," not a hymn. She had listened as Elaine learned it years ago and liked it so much she learned it herself, and now played it almost every night.
As she walked to her bedroom, more stiffly than normal, she thought about the little dog. "I'm too old to keep a dog," she said.
II
Tuesday morning Mattie lay in bed on her back, awake. She turned onto her side, pushed up, swung her legs to the floor, stood, straightened, and raised her arms as high as she could, not very high.
Well, nothing was broken. No sharp pains. But she was sore. She was sure sore. The backs of her legs especially. She walked over to her dresser mirror, pulled her pajama bottoms down to her knees and turned around so she could see the backs of her legs. They were bruised badly. How about that. Wasn't that the most ridiculous thing in the world?
Now, who in the world can I tell? she thought. Well, nobody. That was such a ridiculous thing to do. But it was funny, too. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, looked at Paul's picture on the wall. He would have wanted to keep it a secret. Paul would have been very embarrassed about the whole affair.
She saw herself starting down backwards toward the open chair. She saw her butt going down into the open hole. She smiled, then laughed out loud, stopped the laugh with her hand over her mouth, laughed again. She saw herself crunched down in the rocking chair, her feet straight up. She laughed again, her knotted hands spread behind her on the bed, her head back. She kept laughing, fell back on the bed laughing, held her stomach, laughing. She would have to tell Pearl, her sister. It was so funny. But nobody else. Oh, she was sure sore.
The phone on her bedside table rang.
She turned onto her side, sobered, pushed herself up, and answered.
It was Lamar, the dogcatcher. "Mrs. Rigsbee, you seen my billfold?"
"No. But I haven't been in the kitchen or out in the backyard. I just got up. You're up mighty early."
"Yeah, they called me about this pack of dogs north of town. My billfold fell out of my pocket sometime and the only time I can figure is maybe when I was on the floor there at your house."
"Wait a minute. I'll go look." Mattie, her legs and back sore, walked along the narrow carpeted hall and into the den. She was barefooted, wearing the pink pajamas that Elaine gave her and made her promise to wear because Mattie had been sleeping in just her underwear. Pearl also insisted she wear the pajamas. What if you died in your sleep in just your underwear? Pearl had said.
There it was. A black billfold lying on the floor right there beside the big armchair, next to the rocker. She picked it up and took it over to the kitchen phone.
"It's right here. Was right here on the floor. I'll keep it for you."
"Thanks. I'll be by afterwhile."
"I'm a little sore this morning."
"I guess you are."
"But thank goodness nothing's broke. Listen, you come on at about 11:30 and I'll have you a little bite to eat."
"Well ... I got to, ah ... I
She sat at her piano in the living room. On top of the piano was a picture of Paul, her husband, who had died five years earlier; a picture of Robert; one of Elaine, now thirty-eight, unmarried, a twelfth-grade English teacher—gifted and talented; and a picture of the entire family together. The piano was a black studio Wurlitzer—one she and Paul had bought for Robert and Elaine. Robert had taken lessons for two years and quit. Elaine had taken for four. But she, Mattie, played just about every night, sitting on the bench stuffed with old hymn-books, thumbing through the Broadman Hymnal until she found one of the fifteen or twenty hymns she played well. She could read hymns in the easier keys, playing partly by ear.
She played "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," "Blessed Assurance," and "Send the Light." No damage to her arms from the chair accident, she decided. Then she played "To a Wild Rose," not a hymn. She had listened as Elaine learned it years ago and liked it so much she learned it herself, and now played it almost every night.
As she walked to her bedroom, more stiffly than normal, she thought about the little dog. "I'm too old to keep a dog," she said.
II
Tuesday morning Mattie lay in bed on her back, awake. She turned onto her side, pushed up, swung her legs to the floor, stood, straightened, and raised her arms as high as she could, not very high.
Well, nothing was broken. No sharp pains. But she was sore. She was sure sore. The backs of her legs especially. She walked over to her dresser mirror, pulled her pajama bottoms down to her knees and turned around so she could see the backs of her legs. They were bruised badly. How about that. Wasn't that the most ridiculous thing in the world?
Now, who in the world can I tell? she thought. Well, nobody. That was such a ridiculous thing to do. But it was funny, too. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, looked at Paul's picture on the wall. He would have wanted to keep it a secret. Paul would have been very embarrassed about the whole affair.
She saw herself starting down backwards toward the open chair. She saw her butt going down into the open hole. She smiled, then laughed out loud, stopped the laugh with her hand over her mouth, laughed again. She saw herself crunched down in the rocking chair, her feet straight up. She laughed again, her knotted hands spread behind her on the bed, her head back. She kept laughing, fell back on the bed laughing, held her stomach, laughing. She would have to tell Pearl, her sister. It was so funny. But nobody else. Oh, she was sure sore.
The phone on her bedside table rang.
She turned onto her side, sobered, pushed herself up, and answered.
It was Lamar, the dogcatcher. "Mrs. Rigsbee, you seen my billfold?"
"No. But I haven't been in the kitchen or out in the backyard. I just got up. You're up mighty early."
"Yeah, they called me about this pack of dogs north of town. My billfold fell out of my pocket sometime and the only time I can figure is maybe when I was on the floor there at your house."
"Wait a minute. I'll go look." Mattie, her legs and back sore, walked along the narrow carpeted hall and into the den. She was barefooted, wearing the pink pajamas that Elaine gave her and made her promise to wear because Mattie had been sleeping in just her underwear. Pearl also insisted she wear the pajamas. What if you died in your sleep in just your underwear? Pearl had said.
There it was. A black billfold lying on the floor right there beside the big armchair, next to the rocker. She picked it up and took it over to the kitchen phone.
"It's right here. Was right here on the floor. I'll keep it for you."
"Thanks. I'll be by afterwhile."
"I'm a little sore this morning."
"I guess you are."
"But thank goodness nothing's broke. Listen, you come on at about 11:30 and I'll have you a little bite to eat."
"Well ... I got to, ah ... I
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