Rope by Katherine Anne Porter

Rope

Katherine Anne Porter

On the third day after they moved to the country he came walking back from the village

carrying

a

basket

of

groceries

and

a

twenty-four-yard

coil

of

rope.

She

came

out

to

meet

him,

wiping her hand on her green smock. Her hair was tumbled, her nose was scarlet with sunburn;

he told her that already she looked like a born country woman. His gray flannel skirt stuck to him,

his heavy shoes were dusty. She assured him he looked like a rural character in a play.

Had he brought the coffee? She had been waiting all day long for coffee. They had forgot it

when they ordered at the store the first day.

Gosh, no, he hadn

’

t. Lord, now he

’

d have to go back. Yes, he would if it killed him. He

thought, he had everything else. She reminded him it was only because he didn

’

t drink coffee

himself. If he did he would remember it quick enough. Suppose they ran out of cigarettes? Then

she

saw

the

rope.

What

was

that

for?

Well,

he

thought

it

might

do

to

hang

clothes

on,

or

something. Naturally she asked him if he thought they were going to run a laundry? They already

had a fifty-foot line hanging right before his eyes. Why, hadn

’

t he noticed it, really? It was a blot

on the landscape to her.

He thought there were a lot of things a rope might come in handy for. She wanted to know

what,

for

instance.

He

though

a

few

seconds,

but

nothing

occurred.

They

could

wait

and

see,

couldn

’

t they? You need all sorts of strange odds and ends around a place in the country. She

said, yes, that was so; but she thought just at that time when every penny counted, it seemed

funny to buy more rope. That was all. She hadn

’

t meant anything else. She hadn

’

t just seen, not

at first, why he felt it was necessary.

All there was to it. She thought that was reason enough, and couldn

’

t understand why he

hadn

’

t said so, at first. Undoubtedly it would be useful, twenty- four yards of rope, there were

hundreds

of

things,

she

couldn't

think

of

any

at

the

moment,

but

it

would

come

in

handy.

Of

course. As he had said, things always did in the country.

But she was a little disappointed about the coffee, and oh, look, look, look at the eggs! Oh,

my, they're all running! What had he put on top of them? Hadn't he known eggs mustn

’

t be

squeezed? Squeezed, who had squeezed them, he wanted to know. What a silly thing to say. He

had simply brought them along in the basket with the other things. If they got broke it was the

grocer

’

s fault. He should know better than to put heavy things on top of eggs.

She believed it was the rope. That was the heaviest thing in the pack, she saw him plainly

when he came in from the road, the rope was a big package on top of everything. He desired the

whole world to witness that this was not a fact. He had carried the rope in one hand and the

basket in the other, and what was the use of her having eyes if that was the best they could do

for her?

Well,

anyhow,

she

could

see

one

thing

plain:

no

eggs

for

breakfast.

They

’

d

have

to

scramble them now, for supper. It was too damned bad. She had planned to have steak for supper.

No ice, meat wouldn't keep. He wanted to know why she couldn't finish breaking the eggs in a

bowl and set them in a cool place.

Cool place! If he could find one for her, she

’

d be glad to set them there. Well, then, it

seemed to him they might very well cook the meat at the same time they cooked the eggs and

then

warm

up

the

meat

for

tomorrow.

The

idea

simply

choked

her.

Warmed-over meat,

when

they might as well have had it fresh. Second best and scraps and makeshifts, even to the meat!

He rubbed her shoulders a little. It doesn't really matter so much, does it, darling? Sometimes

when they were playful, he would rub her shoulders and she would arch and purr. This time she

hissed and almost clawed. He was getting ready to say that they could surely manage somehow

when she turned on him and said, if he told her they could manage somehow she would certainly

slap his face.

He swallowed the words red hot, his face burned. He picked up the rope and started to put

it

on

the

top

shelf.

She

would

not

have

it

on

the

top

shelf,

the

jars

and

tins

belonged

there;

positively she would not have the top shelf cluttered up with a lot of rope. She had borne all the

clutter she meant to bear in the flat in town, there was space here at least and she meant to keep

things in order.

Well, in that case, he wanted to know what the hammer and nails were doing up there?

And why had she put them there when she knew very well he needed that hammer and those

nails upstairs to fix the window sashes? She simply slowed down everything and made double

work on the place with her insane habit of changing things around and hiding them.

She was sure she begged his pardon, and if she had had any reason to believe he was going

to fix the sashes this summer she would have left the hammer and nails right where he put them;

in the middle of the bedroom floor where they could step on them in the dark. And now if he

didn't clear the whole mess out of there she would throw them down the hell.

Oh, all right, all right

—

could he put them in the closet? Naturally not, there were brooms

and mops and dustpans in the closet, and why wouldn't he find a place for his rope outside her

kitchen? Had he stopped to consider there seven God-forsaken rooms in the house, and only one

kitchen?

He

wanted

to

know

what

of

it?

And

did

she

realize

she

was

making

a

complete

fool

of

herself? And what did she take him for, a three-year-old idiot? The whole trouble with her was

she needed something weaker than she was to heckle and tyrannize over. He wished to God now

they had a couple of children she could take it out on. Maybe he

’

d get some rest.

Her

face

changed

at

this,

she

reminded

him

he

had

forgot

the

coffee

and

had

bought

a

worthless piece of rope. And when she though of all the things they actually needed to make the

place even decently fit to live in, well she could cry, that was all. She looked so forlorn, so lost and

despairing he couldn't believe it was only a piece of rope that was causing all the racket. What

was the matter, for God

’

s sake?

Oh, would he please hush and go away, and stay away, if he could, for five minutes? By all

means, yes, he could. He

’

d stay away indefinitely if she wished. Lord, yes, there was nothing he

’

d like better than to clear out and never come back. She could

’

t

for the life of her see what was

holding

him,

then.

It

was

a

swell

time.

Here

she

was,

stuck,

miles

from

a

railroad,

with

a

half-empty house on her hands, and not a penny in her pocket, and everything on earth to to; it

seemed the God-sent moment for him to get out from under. She was surprised he hadn't stayed

in town as it was until she had come out and done the work and got things straightened out. It

was his usual trick.

It appeared to him that this was going a little far. Just a touch of out of bounds if she didn't

mind him saying so. Why the hell had he stayed in town the summer before? To do a half-dozen

extra jobs to get the money he had sent her. That was it. She knew perfectly well they could

’

t