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Fiction Coming of Age Happy


An Ideal Family

By JOY DEEP SAHA

 


The crowd hurried on their way home, trams rumbling, cars rumbling, large taxis swayed and swayed with the

kind of ruthless and provocative indifference that can only be known in

dreams...

 

 This is us A day on any

other day in the country. Office. Not much happened. Harold did not come back

from lunch until four o'clock. Where is he? What did he do? He would not tell

his father about it. Walking through the hallway, when Harold walked in

quietly, as usual, he said goodbye to the caller, dressed beautifully, coldly,

kindly, smiling with the strange half-smile that fascinated women.

 

 Ah, Harold is too

handsome, too handsome; this has always been a problem. No one has the right to

have such eyes, such eyelashes, and such lips; this is great. As for his

mother, sisters, and servants, it is no exaggeration to say that they made him

a young god; they worshiped Harold and forgave everything about him; since she

was thirteen years old, she stole Her mother's wallet, took the money, and hid

it in the chef's bedroom. She needs to be forgiven. Mr. Neve beat his cane on

the sidewalk. However, Harold not only ruined his family, he thought, but also

ruined everyone else; he just had to look and smile, and they fell in front of

him.

 

Unsurprisingly, he hopes the

office will inherit this tradition. Uh-huh! But I cannot. You cannot gamble in

any business, even if it is a thriving, mature, high-paying company. One must

devote himself to it. Otherwise, he will collapse before our eyes.

 

<2>

 

 Then Charlotte and the

girls are always there to give Harold everything, privacy, and fun. Enjoy! Old

Mr. Neve stopped under an old palm tree. Get out of the government building!

have fun! The afternoon breeze disturbed the black leaves and made a lovely

laugh. "And Harold laughed...

 

"Dad, why are you so

unreasonable?" "You do not even have to go to the office. We feel

very uncomfortable when people insist on how tired we look—this huge house and

garden. Of course, please feel free to rate this change. Alternatively, you

develop a hobby.

 

Baby Lola interrupted

arrogantly: "Men should have hobbies. You cannot live without it.

 

 Okay! He can smile

coldly and do not hold back when he struggles up the hill to Harcourt Avenue.

If he continues to love, where will Lola, her sisters, and Charlotte go?

Hobbies cannot afford townhouses and beach houses, their horses, golf balls, and

a 60-Guinean gramophone in the music room so they can dance. Smart and

beautiful girl, Charlotte is an extraordinary woman; naturally, she can swim.

In fact, no other house in the town is as famous as hers; no other family has

so much fun. Often an older man Neve pushed a cigar box on the table in the

smoking-room and heard compliments from his wife, daughter, and even himself.

 "You are the

perfect family, sir, the perfect family. Just like people read or see on stage.

"

 

<3>

 

"Well, boy," Old

Neave replied. "Try one of them; I think you will like it. If you like to

be in the garden, you are likely to find girls on the lawn."

 It is said that this is

the reason why girls never get married. You can marry anyone. However, they had

so much fun at home. They are so happy together, girl and Charlotte. Uh-huh!

Okay. Maybe so.

 

 At this time, he was

already walking on the luxurious Harcourt Avenue; he reached the corner house,

his house. The door was pushed back; a new bicycle brand appeared on the

street. Then she saw a huge house, painted white, with open windows, flowing

tulle curtains, and a blue hyacinth jug on the side door. On both sides of the

carriage corridor, his famous hydrangea bloomed in the village; pink and blue

flowers gleamed among the spreading leaves. For some reason, the old Mr. Neve

felt that the house, flowers, and even the new signs on the road were saying:

"This is a young life. There are girls." The living room was always

covered with blankets, and it was pitch black—umbrellas, gloves, folded in oak.

The piano sound from the music room was fast, loud, and impatient. The sound

came from the door to the separate living room.

 

 "Is there any ice

cream?" from Charlotte? Then there was a squeak, the squeak of her rocking

chair.

 

 "Ice cream!"

Ethel shouted. "Dear mother, you have never seen such an ice cream before.

There are only two types.There is also a small strawberry ice cream shop, wet

and wet. "

 

"The food is terrible,

Marion said. "Even so, it is too early to eat ice cream," Charlotte

said flatly.

 

 "But why, if one

of them..."-Ethel began.

 

<4>

 

 "Oh, very good,

dear," Charlotte snorted.

 

Suddenly the door of the

music room opened, and Lola ran out. When he saw Mr. Neve, he was startled and

almost screamed.

 

 Funny, Dad! Why are you

scaring me! Did you just go home? Why didn't Charles come to help you take off

your coat? "

 

 The game reddened his

cheeks, his eyes were shining, and his hair hung on his forehead. She breathed

as if she was escaping from the darkness, afraid that Mr. Neve would stare at

his youngest daughter as if he had never seen her before, so It is Lola, right?

However, he seemed to have forgotten his father; she was not there waiting for

him. Now, she bit the end of the crumpled handkerchief with her teeth and

pulled angrily. The phone is ringing. Oh! Lola ran past him, screaming like a

whimper. There was a bang in the telephone room, and at the same time,

Charlotte called out, "Is that you, father?" "You're tired

again," Charlotte said reproachfully, and she stopped the rocking chair

and handed him her warm plum cheeks. Ethel, the blonde, kissed his beard, and

Marion's lips were pressed against his. On the ear.

 

"Dad, are you back?

"Charlotte asked. "Yes, I want to go home," the old Mr. Neve

said, sitting in a big chair in the living room.

 

 "But why don't you

take a taxi? -Ethel said. "There were hundreds of taxis.

 "My dear

Ethel," Marion exclaimed, "If my father wants to tire himself, I

really don't think our affairs will interfere."

 

 "Children,

children?" "Persuaded Charlotte. However, Marion did not stop.

"No, mother, you pet your father, but he is not good. It would help if you

were stricter with him. He is naughty. "She laughed loudly and

brilliantly, stroking her hair in front of the mirror. How strange! When she

was young, her voice was so soft and trembling; he even stammered, and now

every word he says, even just "Jam please, Father," sounds like it is

on stage.

 

<5>

 

 "Did Harold leave

the office before you, dear? Charlotte asked again, shaking.

 "I am not

sure," said Old Neve. "I am not sure. I did not see him after four

o'clock.

 "He said," Charlotte

started. However, just then, Ethel writhed on this or that piece of paper, ran

to her mother, and sat down beside her chair.

 

 "Look," he

cried. "That is what I mean, mother. Yellow with silver accents. Don't you

agree? "Give it to me, dear," Charlotte said. He touched the

tortoiseshell glasses, tapped the side of the glasses with his plump fingers,

and pursed his lips. "Great!"; He looked at Ethel through his

glasses, "But he should not take a train."

 

 "No train!"

Ethel cried tragically. "But the main thing is the train."

 "Here, mom,

let." Marion jokingly snatched the newspaper from Charlotte. "I

agree, mother," he cried triumphantly. "The train is

overweight."

 

 Old Mr. Neve,

forgetting, knelt on the chair's broad knee, listening sleepily. If he was, he

was undoubtedly tired; he was losing control. Even Charlotte and the girls were

too much for him tonight. She was, but anything that came to mind when he was

numb was too rich for him. Moreover, somewhere in the depths, he saw a withered

older man climbing up the endless stairs. Who is?

 "I don't wear

clothes today," he muttered to himself.

 

 "Dad, what did you

say?"

 

 "Hey, what?"

The old Mr. Neve woke up and stared at her. "I don't wear clothes

today," he repeated.

 

<6>

 

 "But Father,

Lucille, Henry Davenport, and Mrs. Teddy Walker are on the way."

 

 "That looks

unusual." ​Honey, are

you uncomfortable?

"You don't have to work

hard. What does Charles do?" "But you really don't meet the

requirements," Charlotte hesitated.

 

​"Very good! Very good!"

Old Mr. Neve got up and went to the locker room to greet the old climber. The

young Charles was waiting for him, carefully wrapping hot water in a towel as

if everything depended on it. Can. The young Charles has been one of her

favorites ever since the blushing boy came into the house to light a fire. Old

Neve went down to the wicker living room by the window, stretched out his leg,

and made a calf himself. The joke of the evening: "Get dressed,

Charles!" Charles leaned forward, panting, frowning, and took out the tie

clip.

 

Oops! so so! It was a

pleasure to have the windows open, an enjoyable and mild day. They mow the grass

on the tennis court; he heard the soft squeaking noise of the lawnmower. Soon,

the girls will start their tennis match again. Moreover, he thought about it

and thought he heard Marion's voice: "Good job buddy...oh, I played a

buddy...oh, really, very good.

 

"Then Charlotte shouted

from the terrace: "Where is Harold?" Ethel: "He must not be

here, Mom." And Charlotte is lazy," he said.- The old gentleman Neve

sighed, got up and put his hand under his beard, and picked it up Little

Charles' comb, gently combing his white beard. Charles gave him a folded

handkerchief, a watch, a tie, and a glasses case.

 

 "It will do it,

boy. "The door closed, he leaned back, he was alone...

 

<7>

 

 The older man continued

to walk forward endlessly and led into a bright and cheerful dining room. What

kind of leg is he! They look like thin, withered spiders.

 

 "You are a perfect

family, sir, an ideal family." However, if it is true, why do not

Charlotte or the girls stop him? Why does he walk around alone? Where is

Harald? Ah, Harold has nothing to look forward to. Old Spider, and then Old Mr.

Neve, in horror, watched him walk through the dining room, to the porch, the

dark driveway, the carriage door, and the office. Goodbye, anyone!

 

 Mr. Neve started. It

was pitch black in his dressing room; there was a faint light from the windows.

How long has he slept? He listened, and distant sounds, distant noises came

from the spacious, airy, dark house. Perhaps, he thought vaguely; he slept for

a long time. All this has to do with him. It has to do with Charlotte, the

girl, and Harold. How much does he know about them? They are no strangers to

him. Life is over.

 

Charlotte is not his wife.

His wife! The dark porch, Hanzo's passionflower, bends sadly, gloomy, seemingly

understandable. A warm little bracelet is around his neck. A pale little face

approached her, and a voice whispered: "Goodbye, my

dear." "Goodbye my baby!" Who of them said? Why do you say

goodbye? A terrible mistake occurred. She is his wife, this pale girl, a dream

for the rest of her life.

 

 Then the door opened,

and the young Charles stood under the light with his arms crossed, shouting

like a young soldier: "Dinner is on the table, sir!"

 

<8>

 

 "I'm going, I

Going," the old Mr. Neve said.


July 25, 2021 07:30

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