The Joys of Love by Madeleine L'engle

Author:Madeleine L'engle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)
Published: 2011-08-08T16:00:00+00:00

Act III SUNDAY

ON SUNDAYS practically no one had breakfast at the Cottage. Elizabeth and Ben sat out in the kitchen with Mrs. Browden, eating chicken livers on toast. John Peter came in while they were eating, and one side of his face was swollen from his toothache. Mrs. Browden clucked over him anxiously.

“I’m full of aspirin,” John Peter said, “and it might just as well be bread crumbs for all the help it’s given my tooth.”

“You better get right off to the dentist, pet lamb,” Mrs. Browden told him.

“On Sunday?” John Peter asked gloomily.

“Oh, my soul, so it is. But you just sit down, dear John Peter, and warm your tooth with some coffee, and I’ll go call my daughter-in-law. She’s got a brother who’s a dentist.” And she bustled off.

John Peter groaned. “I’ve got a psychosis about dentists,” he said. “I must have been scared by a dentist at an early age.”

“That’s very possible,” Ben said. “I know I was.”

John Peter took a sip of hot coffee and groaned again. “This thing’s killing me. I suppose I shall have to go to Mrs. Browden’s daughter-in-law’s brother.”

“Le dent de mon oncle est dans le parapluie de ma soeur,” Ben said.

“What?”

“The tooth of my uncle is in the umbrella of my sister. French. I took it in the fourth grade.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Sounds like it.”

“All I have to do is go by a sign that says DENTIST and I break into a cold sweat,” John Peter said.

“Get him to give you gas,” Ben suggested, making himself a sandwich of bread and jelly.

“He’ll probably be one of those brutes who won’t even use Novocaine. Jane not down yet?”

“No, she said she didn’t want any breakfast,” Elizabeth told John Peter.

“What’s up?”

“Have you forgotten she and Ben are doing their scene from The Seagull for Miss Andersen this morning?”

“Oh, Lord,” John Peter said. “What with my tooth it flew right out of my head. Poor girl, I know she’s frantic.”

Mrs. Browden bustled back into the kitchen. “You’re to go right over,” she told John Peter with enthusiasm.

John Peter groaned. “Thanks, Mrs. Browden. Where does the scene of slaughter take place?”

“You know where Cherry Street is?”

“No.”

“Well, you walk down the boardwalk till you get to it. It’s just beyond Lukie’s. Then you turn on Cherry Street—”

“Which way?” John Peter asked, taking a gingerly sip of coffee.

“The only way there is to turn without your walking into the ocean. Walk down Cherry Street till you come to Oak Street and you’ll see a sign saying DENTIST. He’s expecting you.”

“Please tell Jane I’ve gone to be slaughtered and wish her good luck on her scene. And good luck to you, Ben. Thanks again, Mrs. Browden.”

Mrs. Browden shook her head after him as he left. “Things like toothaches and colds always seem to make actors sicker than anyone else. In all the summers I’ve been cooking here I never seen one what didn’t go to pieces with a splinter in his finger. But they got to be so you

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