Aunt had no preferences. Aunt was a guest, grateful, without requirements, adaptable, no one to worry over of accommodate - cup in its cupboard, spoon in a drawer - yet she hoped she was sometimes useful, and not always unwanted. Her characteristic response to any suggestion was, It makes no never mind to me. In short, she went along. When she went along. She had no plans, had formed no expectations, none she announced anyway, so no one was supposed to feel bound by what she might have intended, nor did she ever have to seem to sacrifice or bend. However, her secrecy was as limiting as a steel fence, her passivity as daunting as a cliff. How could you move if you didn't know the location of the edge? It drove my dad mad. Aunt spoke less than the grave: never about money, though she paid board and room for Gran and herself, and liked to surprise you with little gifts; never about vacations, though she always had two weeks, and usually went along on our car trips; never about hopes, fears, health, happiness, friends from work, never of dreams about tomorrow or next year; never about special pleasures, hobbies, interests, or concerns. If their were any delights in her life, any anxieties, any loves, they were locked away out of reach like whatever was still in her trunk.
[The Tunnel, Gass, W. H.]
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