Chapter 2 | 25
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ent on hissing “Miss Greenwood, Miss Greenwood, MissGreenwood) as if I had a split personality or something. I opened the door and blinked out into the bright hall. I had theimpression it wasn’t night and it wasn’t day, but some lurid thirdinterval that had suddenly slipped between them and would neverend. Doreen was slumped against the door-jamb. When I came out, shetoppled into my arms. I couldn't see her face because her head washanging down on her chest and her stiff blonde hair fell from itsdark roots like a hula fringe. I recognized the short, squat, moustached woman in the blackuniform as the night maid who ironed day-dresses and party-frocksin a crowded cubicle on our floor. I couldn’t understand how shecame to know Doreen or why she should want to help Doreen wakeme up instead of leading her quietly back to her own room. Seeing Doreen supported in my arms and silent except for a fewwet hiccups, the woman strode away down the hall to her cubiclewith its ancient Singer sewing-machine and white ironing-board.I wanted to run after her and tell her I had nothing to do withDoreen, because she looked stern and hard-working and moral asan old-style European immigrant and reminded me of my Austriangrandmother. “Lemme lie down, lemme lie down? Doreen was muttering.“Lemme lie down, lemme lie down.” I felt if I carried Doreen across the threshold into my room andhelped her on to my bed I would never get rid of her again. Her body was warm and soft as a pile of pillows against my armwhere she leaned her weight, and her feet, in their high, spikedheels, dragged foolishly. She was much too heavy for me to budgedown the long hall. I decided the only thing to do was to dump her on the carpet andshut and lock my door and go back to bed. When Doreen woke upshe wouldn't remember what had happened and would think shemust have passed out in front of my door while I slept, and shewould get up of her own accord and go sensibly back to her room. 26 | The Bell Jar I started to lower Doreen gently on to the green hall carpet, butshe gave a low moan and pitched forward out of my arms. A jet ofbrown vomit flew from her mouth and spread in a large puddle atmy feet. Suddenly Doreen grew even heavier. Her head drooped forwardinto the puddle, the wisps of her blonde hair dabbling in it like treeroots in a bog, and I realized she was asleep. I drew back. I felt half-asleep myself. I made a decision about Doreen that night. I decided I wouldwatch her and listen to what she said, but deep down I would havenothing at all to do with her. Deep down, I would be loyal to Betsyand her innocent friends. It was Betsy I resembled at heart. Quietly, I stepped back into my room and shut the door. Onsecond thoughts, I didn’t lock it. | couldn't quite bring myself to dothat. When I woke up in the dull, sunless heat the next morning, Idressed and splashed my face with cold water and put on somelipstick and opened the door slowly. I think I still expected to seeDoreen’s body lying there in the pool of vomit like an ugly, concretetestimony to my own dirty nature. There was nobody in the hall. The carpet stretched from one endof the hall to the other, clean and eternally verdant except for afaint, irregular dark stain before my door as if somebody had byaccident spilled a glass of water there, but dabbed it dry again.
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