Being in the library made me feel irate, hate, repugnance. Being in the library made me be reminded of him. There is only one way to get rid of him, erase his entire existence. His existence continued to be in the house and the only way to get purge of him is to burn that presence. A few weeks after Edward, Mr. Sawyer’s, death I went into his beloved library. His library was another extension to his oh so magnificent country of England. Looking around, everything still had his presence. Walking into it, Mildred by my side, I walk to the bookshelves, staring, grazing my hands across the leather bounds, moving side to side. All of his beloved books about that country, “The Encyclopedia Britannica, British Flowers, Birds and Beasts various histories,
…show more content…
One by one, those books were going to burn and be forever erased from memory and presence. One by one, I was “breathing free and easy and [my] hands got the rhythm of tearing and pitching” (Rhys 2595). Each tear, I could feel all the aching and travail I had to endure, the fear of being left behind, of being forgotten. The memories still feel fresh as if he was still here to make them. The dinner party we went to and Mildred, a trusted servant, was bringing in refreshments and as she brought them in, I feel a hard tug on the back of my hair. “‘Not a wig, you see’” (Rhys 2593) were the only words that left his mouth. All I could was laugh and carry on with the “mysterious, obscure, sacred English joke” (Rhys 2593). The rest of that night, I remember reiterating the incident in my head over and over. The rest of night I felt ire. I felt embarrassed, embarrassed for the fact I could not say anything, embarrassed for the fact the little colored woman had to accept whatever her husband did to her, I was …show more content…
Tearing into another page and throwing it into the burnt pile, looking at the pile another memory flashes across my eyes. From the beginnings of our marriage, everything seemed content, we were blissful, we have a child together, my sweet boy Eddie, “but what with one thing and another, that was in the days gone” (Rhys 2593). When he was inebriated, quite often and very rude, “ ‘ Look at the nigger showing off’”, “ ‘ You damned long-eyed, gloomy, half-caste, you don’t smell right’” (Rhys 2593). I would never say anything, never answer him back. I would smile as if I knew there was a joke behind the harsh words, I thought I knew that despite him being drunk, it was okay. Glazing back into the torn pile, Mildred continuing to bring me his books as I continues to destroy any remains, “ ‘No’ ” (Rhys 2595) was all I heard from that tiny, little voice. Hearing that voice, that sweet voice of my little boy, Eddie. I didn’t want to him to go, to leave me stranded in this house. I simply did not want him to forget me and only just remember him. I remember, in the late scorching, Saturday afternoon, I could not sleep. I strolled around the house until I heard clamor coming from
One by one, those books were going to burn and be forever erased from memory and presence. One by one, I was “breathing free and easy and [my] hands got the rhythm of tearing and pitching” (Rhys 2595). Each tear, I could feel all the aching and travail I had to endure, the fear of being left behind, of being forgotten. The memories still feel fresh as if he was still here to make them. The dinner party we went to and Mildred, a trusted servant, was bringing in refreshments and as she brought them in, I feel a hard tug on the back of my hair. “‘Not a wig, you see’” (Rhys 2593) were the only words that left his mouth. All I could was laugh and carry on with the “mysterious, obscure, sacred English joke” (Rhys 2593). The rest of that night, I remember reiterating the incident in my head over and over. The rest of night I felt ire. I felt embarrassed, embarrassed for the fact I could not say anything, embarrassed for the fact the little colored woman had to accept whatever her husband did to her, I was …show more content…
Tearing into another page and throwing it into the burnt pile, looking at the pile another memory flashes across my eyes. From the beginnings of our marriage, everything seemed content, we were blissful, we have a child together, my sweet boy Eddie, “but what with one thing and another, that was in the days gone” (Rhys 2593). When he was inebriated, quite often and very rude, “ ‘ Look at the nigger showing off’”, “ ‘ You damned long-eyed, gloomy, half-caste, you don’t smell right’” (Rhys 2593). I would never say anything, never answer him back. I would smile as if I knew there was a joke behind the harsh words, I thought I knew that despite him being drunk, it was okay. Glazing back into the torn pile, Mildred continuing to bring me his books as I continues to destroy any remains, “ ‘No’ ” (Rhys 2595) was all I heard from that tiny, little voice. Hearing that voice, that sweet voice of my little boy, Eddie. I didn’t want to him to go, to leave me stranded in this house. I simply did not want him to forget me and only just remember him. I remember, in the late scorching, Saturday afternoon, I could not sleep. I strolled around the house until I heard clamor coming from