Affichage des articles du août 4, 2018

Mrs. Bridge / Mr. Bridge, Evan S. Connell

Bien avant le déferlement Desperate Housewives, Evan S. Connell s’était intéressé à l’une d’entre elles.

Mariée jeune à un avocat plein d’avenir, Mrs. Bridge n’a de cesse de satisfaire son époux, de se montrer une bonne femme d’intérieur et de veiller à l’éducation de ses trois enfants. Elle met un point d’honneur à leur inculquer bonnes manières et règles de savoir vivre en société qui lui ont été transmises par sa propre mère. Mais avec cet unique objectif en tête, elle néglige de se montrer affectueuse, ne tient pas compte de leurs personnalités et n'entend pas leurs aspirations.
Comment pourrait-il en être autrement puisque Mrs. Bridge, en vivant dans l’ombre de son mari, étouffe ses propres désirs pour correspondre à ce qu’il attend d’elle et à l’image qu’il se fait de l’épouse parfaite. Mr. Bridge, si peu démonstratif de ses sentiments envers elle et ses enfants, est son unique point de repère, celui derrière lequel elle se retranche au moindre imprévu, auquel elle se réfèr…

“Now, now, just calm down. Your father will do whatever is best”

Together apartOften he thought: My life did not begin until I knew her.
She would like to hear this, he was sure, but he did not know how to tell her. In the extremity of passion he cried out in a frantic voice: “I love you!” yet even these words were unsatisfactory. He wished for something else to say. He needed to let her know how deeply he felt her presence while they were lying together during the night, as well as each morning when they awoke and in the evening when he came home. However, he could think of nothing appropriate.
So the years passed, they had three children and accustomed themselves to a life together, and eventually Mr. Bridge decided that his wife should expect nothing more of him. After all, he was an attorney rather than a poet; he could never pretend to be what he was not.

Ruth snapped her fortune cookie apart and straightened the crumpled paper. “ ‘Your new affairs will turn out well,’ ” she read, and laughed.
Both of them turned to Mrs. Bridge, who looked at them…

"This was true, she knew, for it was what she had been taught by her father and mother"

Countdown of lifeEach of her own birthdays she celebrated without joy, with a certain resignation and doubt; it came and went as it was supposed to, and a few months later she would find herself depressed and unaccountably perplexed by how old she was. Thirty, thirty-five, forty, all had come to visit her like admonitory relatives, and all had slipped away without a trace, without a sound, and now, once again, she was waiting.

She was seated before her dressing table in her robe and slippers and had begun spreading cold cream on her face. The touch of the cream, the unexpectedness of it—for she had been thinking deeply about how to occupy tomorrow—the swift cool touch demoralized her so completely that she almost screamed.
She continued spreading the cream over her features, steadily observing herself in the mirror, and wondered who she was, and how she happened to be at the dressing table, and who the man was who sat on the edge of the bed taking off his shoes. She considered her finge…