“Who am I to condone?” she asked.
“Well, suppose you quit trying to justify yourself to yourself, and start telling me the facts.”
“My parents died when I was three. They perished together in a shipwreck. Aunt Amelia took me to bring up. I can’t even remember my parents. I can remember Aunt Amelia, all of her virtues, which are many, and all of her faults.”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Aunt Amelia was a very, very beautiful woman,” she went on. “She married Uncle Dave out of pity, and she was disillusioned. She didn’t believe in divorce. She learned after a few years that the man to whom she was married had an incurable ailment. She desperately, passionately, tried to keep herself young so that when Uncle Davie died she could — well, keep as much of her youth as possible. She wanted to begin all over again.”
“That’s understandable,” I said.
“Then Uncle Dave died and she met Uncle Fred. By that time I think Aunt Amelia had become shrewdly calculating. I only know that the first memories of my childhood are of Auntie standing in front of mirrors, studying herself carefully from every angle, turning me over to a nurse; then to a private school.
“You can see what happened, Mr. Lam. During those years when Auntie was waiting for the man she had married to die, trying to keep herself young, she had formed a habit of thinking of herself exclusively, dreaming about her youthful appearance. That was the primary thing in her life. If Aunt Amelia could only be jarred out of that, she’d be a very wonderful woman. She’s witty, intelligent and... and selfish.”
“She’s been injured?”
“Yes, this automobile accident. Only minor injuries, but she’s trying to keep them alive. Every so often she has a relapse and takes to her wheelchair.”