Флетчер Флора - The Brass Bed

“I just felt that I preferred to walk. You know how it is? Every once in a while you get the feeling that it would be good to take a long walk. It’s very hot, however. I didn’t realize that it was quite so hot. Did you say this is your only can of beer?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like some of it?”

“No, thank you.”

“I feel quite bad about drinking your only can.”

“It’s all right. I had a can with my lunch.”

“Have you had lunch, then? What did you have?”

“A sandwich. I fixed it here.”

“That’s no kind of lunch. It’s apparent to me that you are not eating properly. You are much too thin.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I worry about it. It is natural for a woman to worry about someone she loves.”

“Please don’t start that again.”

“About my loving you? Why not?”

“Because it’s no good. It doesn’t get us anywhere.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, about its not getting us anywhere, and I’m exceedingly unhappy about it.”

“Are you really? So am I, I confess, but that doesn’t seem to get us anywhere, either.”

“It’s very difficult, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. It is certainly difficult.”

“Are you wondering why I’ve come?”

“Naturally.”

“I’ve come because I couldn’t stay away. I tried and I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Your black eye is a little better today,” I said. “It is still beautiful, but not quite so striking as yesterday.”

“It’s the makeup. You can do wonders with such things with the proper makeup. Does it mean anything to you that I simply couldn’t stay away?”

“How is Kirby?” I said. “Did he hit Fran in the eye after I left?”

“He didn’t say he was going to hit her in the eye. He said he was going to spank her butt. I think Fran stayed around just in the hope that he actually would. Fran enjoys the most peculiar things. Are you happy that I’m here?”

“I thought he was sure enough going to clobber old Sid,” I said, “and I can’t say that I’d have blamed him if he had.”

“Sid is noble. Did you notice how angry he was because Kirby blacked my eye? He is much nobler than you.”

“I concede that. I am hardly noble at all.”

“Would you like to kiss me? I am most willing to have you kiss me.”

“Sometimes, between the times I’m hating him, I feel a great deal of sympathy for Kirby,” I said.

She took another swallow of the beer and stared sadly at the can. She didn’t say anything and kept looking at the can, and after a minute I saw that she was quietly crying, the tears moving slowly and without sound down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“All right. I can see that you are determined to avoid the subject.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“I’ll be finished soon. I seldom cry for very long at a time.”

I stood watching her wishing that I could kiss her safely without consequences or ramifications, which was something that would not have been possible to me, and it was my opinion, held strongly and with pain, that she was earth’s most tempting woman in a way that was peculiarly her own, and that she was the one I would want so long as I lived, and never, never another. She finished with the crying and drank some more of the beer and saw at that moment the tackle box on the floor by the closet.

“What’s that?” she said.

“It’s a tackle box.”

“Fishing tackle?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going fishing?”

“Yes. I’m going with Harvey Griffin. He’s coming by for me about five-thirty. We’re going to the river.”

“Will you be gone long?”

“Until Sunday.”

“Where on the river are you going?”

“Why do you want to know?” I asked her warily.

“I just like to know where you are and what you are doing. Whenever it’s possible, anyhow. When I know these things I am able to see you clearly in my mind, and it is a pleasure to me.”

“We’re going to a place about a mile north of the bridge,” I said. “You drive out the highway to the bridge and turn north on a narrow dirt road at the far end. It’s hardly more than a couple of tire tracks in the grass, and it leads to this old cabin where we always go. We don’t sleep in the cabin, however. It’s very run down, and the floor is broken through in two or three places. We sleep outside.”

She hesitated. “I wish I could go with you.”

“It would be impossible.”

“It would be fun to go and stay with you. I would enjoy it greatly.”

“It would be fun, but it’s impossible,” I said gently but firmly.

“I know. Kirby would wonder where I’d gone off to, of course.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“You are very moral, darling. Do you know that you are sometimes almost depressingly moral?”

“Sure. I’m depressingly moral, and you are depressingly contradictory.”

“Are they independent, do you think? Can one be moral and not contradictory, and the other way around?”

“It seems that one can.”

Her face brightened. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? That’s a very interesting idea. I don’t know why it never occurred to me before.”

She took off her wide straw hat and leaned over and placed the hat and the beer can on the floor and then lay back across the bed.

“Will you come and sit beside me?” she said.

“I don’t think I’d better.”

“Are you afraid of what might happen?”

“No. I’m afraid of what would almost certainly happen.”

“If you will come sit beside me, I will tell you an idea that I have. It’s an idea of how we might get somewhere.”

I went over and sat down on the edge of the bed, and she reached down along her side and took hold of my hand.

“It’s quite awkward looking at you from this position. Perhaps it would be better if you were to lie down too.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you were to sit up.”

“I have had a long walk here, and it is an equally long walk home again, and it is necessary that I rest for it.”

“I’ll be glad to drive you home.”

“No. I walked here alone, and I insist on going back the same way. It is satisfying to be independent, I find. If you will lie down beside me, I promise to behave. We will lie here and hold hands and feel a communion of spirits.”

“All right,” I said, “since you agree to keep it spiritual.”

I lay back beside her, and we held hands between us, and there was really something spiritual in it, some kind of communion or something, but there was something else there too, and it was this something else that I had to be careful about. Once I had not been careful about it, and the result had been fulfilling but unfortunate. We lay there for a long time without speaking, and it was warm in the room in spite of a slight breeze that came in through the open window, and I could hear outside the occasional chattering of the high-spirited squirrels against the soft, sleepy total of summer sounds. Eventually I turned my head and looked at her to see if she was asleep, but she was lying with her eyes wide open staring up at the ceiling, and I could see on her cheeks below her eyes the faint stain of her tears.

“What was the idea?” I said. “The one that might get us somewhere.”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “That one. Kirby is going away next month. The third week. He is going away on some kind of business, and I had the idea that you and I might go away too.”

“So simply? Just go away?”

“I thought we might go to a lake or a nice river or somewhere like that and stay in a quiet hotel or a cabin or something, and we could swim and dance and loaf around together, and best of all would be seeing each other the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning. Do you think that would be exciting?”