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the dust subsided。 the partridge lay dead； shot through the head—a running shot； from behind； at a hundred and seventy yards。 i ejected the cartridge in an efficient sort of way； and my panion paced the distance twice。 i said nothing； of course； one does not boast。
he then began plaining that he was not used to the gun； that it was ten years since he had shot at a moving target； and so on。 he continued to excuse himself thus at supper。 my father was silent。 i imagined this was for the usual reason—that he was thinking of something else—but at last it came home to me that it was because his sense of decency was being outraged。
a good sportsman； i remembered； never puts the blame for his failures on the weather； or luck； or anything but himself。 i have never understood why； but then it’s a man’s world。 next day； my father said darkly that there was nothing like sport to bring out the weak spots in a man’s character； and； thus supported； i was able to break off the engagement； or attachment； in the most honorable way。 soon after this； i acquired an inflexible principle—namely； that it is wrong to shoot fauna of any kind—and with that i laid down my gun。 ？
。。！
THE STARE
the new yorker fiction by doris lessing july 7； 1997
“look at him；” says helen。 “i don’t say anything； and i go on looking。”
“what does he do then？” asks mary； gazing at helen as she so often does； as if helen had the secret of something or other。
“then he gives in；” says helen； and laughs。 the laugh； as always； takes mary captive； and this time it seems to reverberate right through her； and helen seems to be remembering something delicious； for she sits smiling。
helen is the greek wife of tom； who is english。 he saw her in a taverna in naxos； where she was waiting on him and on the other foreign tourists as if she were doing them a favor； and he fell in love and persuaded her to return to england with him。 not entirely foreign ground to her； because she has relatives in the large greek and cypriot munity in camden town； and she visited them one summer。 mary is the english wife of demetrios； and she was with a girlfriend on holiday in ándros when the handsome waiter in the café overlooking the sea fell in love with her。 he； too； has relatives in london。 now he is a waiter in a greek restaurant called the argonauts； and he intends to have his own restaurant soon。 he will call it dmitri’s； because dmitri is what mary calls him。 meanwhile they live in two rooms over the grocery owned by helen’s tom。
the two women spend mornings together； gossiping or shopping； but now helen has a baby and they often go to primrose hill and sit on a bench with the pram pushed into some shade。 there are other wives； greek and cypriot； and some mornings it is quite a little female munity； but helen and mary are recognized as special friends。 some evenings the two couples make a foursome in one of the pubs； cafés； or restaurants； and on these evenings mary often congratulates herself that she made all the right choices that brought her away from boring croydon； to be here among people who laugh easily； or start singing； and who might end an evening with impromptu dancing； even on the tables。 she might not have gone to greece that summer； might have said no to demetrios when her parents put pressure on。
on this day mary goes home excited and restless and sits in front of her looking glass and examines herself。 she often does this。 she is plump； pretty； with ruddy cheeks； black curls； and a lot of well…placed dimples； and dmitri calls her his little blackberry。 but she has gray eyes； and he says that if it weren’t for those cool english eyes he could believe she has greek blood。 his black eyes easily smolder； or burn； or reproach。 mary leans her forearms among the little bottles of scent； the lipsticks； the eye paint； and tries out expressions。 she puts a long unsmiling unblinking stare on her face and frightens herself with it。 she shuts her eyes； so as to see that stare on helen’s face； but fails； because helen only smiles。 mary admires helen。 that is putting it mildly。 because of something dmitri said； mary actually went to the library and found a book called “greek myths for children；” and there she read that a helen once； thousands of years ago； was a beauty； and men started a war because of her。 in greece parents called their little girls helen； as if the name were just betty or joan。 helen told mary that mary was the mother of god； but mary said she wasn’t really into religion。
and why should mary want to try out helen’s silent staring on demetrios？ that is the trouble。 mary is full of an unfortable dissatisfaction with life and with herself and this is like an accusation against her husband。 she does wonder why she feels like this but has decided that she is defending herself。 he is discontented because he wants to start a family； particularly now that he is seeing his friends tom and helen with their baby； but mary says； “no； dmitri； let’s wait a bit； what’s the hurry？” she really does mean to have a baby； and even soon； but she is afraid of being taken over。 that’s what happens； she thinks； watching the women she sees every day。 they have a baby and 。 。 。 well； i won’t be like that。 and helen isn’t； is she？ she is exactly the same； as if that baby had arrived from somewhere out of the air； and she had caught it like a present someone had thrown to her。 mary is on the pill and never forgets to take it。 dmitri says things like “one of these days i’ll throw all that junk into the rubbish。” his rough voice and hot eyes at such moments thrill mary and remind her of earlier days。
she said to helen； “is tom the same to you now？” helen instantly understood and said； with the laugh that was like an admission that she had some secret fascinating life mary was too much of a clod to understand； “of course； he’s english； isn’t he？ he’s just the same as when we started together。” and she examined mary in her frank way that mary at first thought was “tactless；” and said； “you don’t understand something。 greek men are romantic when they are courting。 they kiss you a lot and they make pliments。 but whe