It must be somewhere in that house. Under a bed, or in the corner of a closet? My days were a service, a mass: precise steps and motions, all in order, to the end of either worship or comfort, whichever. Or both. He never asked me to do it. We never set it out in words. But he must have assumed I was the sort of person who would do all these things, care for him as perfectly as I could, give him all the comfort I was able to. If he hadn’t understood that, I think he would not have married me. He wanted, I think, a demonstration of tears and a demonstration of devotion. Although he never said. A man does not want to waken in the morning to some shrill alarm. I’ve read it can alter brain waves too abruptly, and in any case it is an unpleasant beginning to the day. Nor does he want to see a haggard, dazed, and tired woman first thing in the morning. Maybe a lot of people can’t be bothered worrying about these things. They put themselves first. But not alert Edna, on her toes at all times, double vision seeing always two instead of one.
What do You think about Dancing In The Dark (1982)?
