Lettre de Marianne au soldat américain O’Brien, 1945 #2

Le feuilleton continue avec la seconde lettre. Pour ceux qui auraient manqué le début, c’est ici.

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Sunday night 28th

Dearest Teddy,

Lately, every time I’m bored and lonesome and hare nothing more interesting to do, I do house-cleaning. It’s really quite an emotional outlet. I’ve been home with Sharry all day and although I had a free ticket to the pop concert tonight, I was unable to use it because there was no one to stay with her. So I cleaned. Of course I’m in no danger of becoming one of those fabulous, fastidious persons who polish and polish until there is nothing left, but for me, it’s definitely a reformation. Perhaps I am aquiring a spinsters complex, from living without you. I hope that you don’t take that so seriously that you will stay away longer to cure my sins ; I’ll reform to any degree you want me to when you come home. I promise to humor you, to spoil you and love you to distraction.

 I wish that I knew more about you. You can’t imagine the feeling I hare, not knowing in what ocean or country you are. Not knowing what you eat, what you wear, what you do. I don’t even know how you think or feel. All this could change so many things about you. In one way, I think it is harder for me because I go on and do things. I’ve always done in more or less the same environment, but there is always that emptiness, that terrible lack of you, that each simple, every day act is intensified by you are doing new things that have never had any connection with me, so that missing me isn’t as strongly realized. This is all theory, perhaps I’m wrong. I’m delving into self-pity tonight, anyways. Please forgive me. T always start out with the intention of cheering you and end by telling you my woes. Ir’s because I love you, dear, all my woes, I mean. When I get some mail, I’ll feel much better.

Sharry is in our bed, trying to go to sleep, Londenainn (?) Airs is on the radio and she just popped her head up to say « Isn’t that beautiful ! ». She’s such a funny little tyke. So sensitive, profound and comical. She was ill again.

She nearly had pneumonia. The doctor was giving her sulfa drugs and she had a reaction from them, because she had so much of it when she had polio. She’s fine now, so don’t worry about her. She is intent on collecting dimes to send to The Infantile Paralysis Fund that is now going strong. I’m much more tolerant towards the in dignified methods of collecting and all, I’m so grateful that we didn’t need it. I’m not going to send her to school until warmer weather. The cold has been really spectacular. It has been below zero for over a week. Schools are closed because of lack of fuel, and some factories as well.

This is a dreary letter, dear, I’ll write a better one tomorrow. The Graham dancers are at the Eastman (my series) and I should be more inspired.

Goodnight, dearest.
I love you,

Marianne.

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