Lawrence Block - Enough Rope

Something glinted in her dark almond eyes. “I think it sounds sweet,” she said.

He felt curiously close to tears. “I’ve never told anyone,” he said. “It’s all so silly, but—”

“It’s not silly. And you never named the bear?”

“No. It’s always been just The Bear.”

“It? Is it a boy bear or a girl bear?”

“I don’t know.”

“May I see it? No clothing, so there’s no help there. Just a yellow ribbon at the throat, and that’s a sexually neutral color, isn’t it? And of course it’s not anatomically correct, in the manner of those nasty dolls they’re selling for children who haven’t the ingenuity to play doctor.” She sighed. “It would appear your bear is androgynous.”

“We, on the other hand,” he said, “are not.”

“No,” she said. “We’re not, are we?”

The bear remainedin the bed with them. It was absurd to make love in the bear’s company, but it would have been more absurd to banish the thing to the closet. No matter; they soon became sufficiently aware of one another as to be quite unaware of the bear.

Then two heartbeats returning to normal, and the air cool on sweat-dampened skin. A few words, a few phrases. Drowsiness. He lay on his side, the bear in his arms. She twined herself around him.

Sleep, blissful sleep.

He woke, clutchingthe bear but unclutched in return. The bed was full of her scent. She, however, was gone. Sometime during the night she had risen and dressed and departed.

He called her just before noon. “I can’t possibly tell you,” he said, “how much I enjoyed being with you last night.”

“It was wonderful.”

“I woke up wanting you. But you were gone.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“I never heard you leave.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You were sleeping like a baby.”

“Hugging my bear.”

“You looked so sweet,” she said.

“Sindra, I’d like to see you. Are you free tonight?”

There was a pause, time enough for him to begin to regret having asked. “Let me call you after lunch,” she said.

A colleague hadjust published an insufferably smug piece on Godard in a quarterly with a circulation in the dozens. He was reading it and clucking his tongue at it when she called. “I’m going to have to work late,” she said.

“Oh.”

“But you could come over to my place around nine-thirty or ten, if that’s not too late. We could order a pizza. And pretend there’s a famine in Italy.”

“Actually, I believe they’ve been having a drought.”

She gave him the address. “I hope you’ll come,” she said, “but you may not want to.”

“Of course I want to.”

“The thing is,” she said, “you’re not the only one with a nocturnal eccentricity.”

He tried to think what he had done that might have been characterized as eccentric, and tried to guess what eccentricity she might be about to confess. Whips and chains? Rubber attire? Enemas?

“Oh,” he said, light dawning. “You mean the bear.”

“I also sleep with an animal, Paul. And sleep poorly without it.”

His heart cast down its battlements and surrendered. “I should have known,” he said. “Sindra, we were made for each other. What kind of animal?”

“A snake.”

“A snake,” he echoed, and laughed. “Well, that’s more exotic than a bear, isn’t it? Although I suppose they’re more frequently encountered than bears in Sri Lanka. Do you know something? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a stuffed snake.”

“Paul, I—”

“Squirrels, raccoons, beavers, all of those. Little cuddly furry creatures. And bears, of course. But—”

“Paul, it’s not a stuffed snake.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a living snake. I got it in California, I had the deuce of a time shipping it when I moved. It’s a python.”

“A python,” he said.

“A reticulated python.”

“Well, if you were going to have a python,” he said, “you would certainly want to have it reticulated.”

“That refers to its markings. It’s twelve feet long, Paul, although in time it will grow to be considerably larger. It eats mice, but it doesn’t eat very often or very much. It sleeps in my bed, it wraps itself around me. For warmth, I’m sure, although it seems to me that there’s love in its embrace. But I may very well be imagining that.”

“Uh,” he said.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told. Oh, my friends in L.A. knew I had a snake, but that was before I started sleeping with it. I never had that intention when I bought it. But then one night it crawled into the bed. And I felt truly safe for the first time in my life.”

An army of questions besieged his mind. He picked one. “Does it have a name?”

“Its name is Sunset. I bought it in a pet shop on Sunset Boulevard. They specialize in reptiles.”

“Sunset,” he said. “That’s not bad. I mean, there but for the grace of God goes Harbor Freeway. Is Sunset a boy snake or a girl snake? Or aren’t pythons anatomically correct?”

“The pet-shop owner assured me Sunset was female. I haven’t figured out how to tell. Paul, if the whole thing puts you off, well, I can understand that.”

“It doesn’t.”

“If it disgusts you, or if it just seems too weird by half.”

“Well, it seems weird,” he allowed. “You said nine-thirty, didn’t you? Nine-thirty or ten?”

“You still want to come?”

“Absolutely. And we’ll call out for a pizza. Will they toss in a side order of mice?”

She laughed. “I fed her just this morning. She won’t be hungry for days.”

“Thank God. And Sindra? Will it be all right if I stay over? I guess what I’m asking is should I bring the bear?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “By all means bring the bear.”

He picked herup at her dorm. She was out in front with her suitcases and her duffel bag and he pulled up right on time and helped her load everything. She got in front with him and he waited until she had fastened her seat belt before pulling away from the curb.

“I’ll be glad to get home,” she said. “I didn’t think I was going to live through finals.”

“Well, you made it.”

“Uh-huh. This is a nice car. What is it, a Plymouth?”

“That’s right.”

“Almost new, too.”

“Two years old. Three in a couple of months when the new cars come out.”

“That’s still pretty new. Does the radio work?”

He turned it on. “Find something you like,” he said.

“You’re driving. What kind of music do you like?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She found a country station and asked if that was all right. He said it was. “I’ll probably just fall asleep anyway,” she said. “I was up most of the night. Will that bother you?”

“If you fall asleep? Why should it?”

“I won’t be much company.”

“That’s okay,” he said.

When they got out onto the interstate she let her eyes close and slumped a little in her seat. The car rode comfortably and she thought how lucky she was to be in it. She’d put a notice up on the bulletin board outside the cafeteria, RIDE WANTED TO CHICAGO END OF TERM, and just when she was beginning to think no one would respond he had called. All she had to do was pay half the gas money and she had her ride.

She drifted then, and her mind wandered up one path and down another, and then she came to with a start when he turned off the radio in the middle of a song. She opened her eyes and saw that it was getting dark out. And they had left the interstate.

“I was sleeping,” she said.