Philipp Meyer - The Son

They lay there, sliding a little, then more, and after a time it was unbearable, she began to push against him much harder, she was not sure how to get what she wanted, she lifted her hips, and then again, and then suddenly he was inside her. It had not hurt at all. In fact it was the opposite. She pulled him closer and then it hurt, though it stopped again immediately. It was like a paper-thin wall between what pinched and what felt exactly as she’d hoped. Then he began to take over and she forgot herself for a moment, then remembered again and began to wonder if the only reason they made such a big deal about the pain was to keep you from doing it every minute of your life.

She could see the trees above her, then she was not sure, it did not seem like she was any particular place at all, she wondered if she was bleeding, there will be blood, they said, blood blood blood, as if this were the worst thing on earth, she wanted to laugh, she must not laugh, it would not be taken the right way. She was in and out of her body, in and out of sleep, here and then somewhere else, and then here again. On a blanket with a man on top of her, a rock or stick or something hard in her back. She pulled him tight against her. It went on a long time until he pulled out of her suddenly. She knew why but she was still sorry.

Then he said, “Sorry,” as well.

“For what?” She kissed his neck.

“It’ll be better next time.”

“I liked it.”

“It will be better.”

“Go back in,” she said.

“Give me a few minutes.” He rolled off and lay next to her with his leg over her.

She began to move her hips. It felt like she was breaking some rule and she was happy. “Can you use your hand?” She had a feeling she was being greedy, but he happily complied.

She could feel it building, it was much better than anything she’d tried herself, but before she finished he climbed on top again.

“Go slower and take longer strokes,” she told him.

He did and she felt a sort of heat washing over her, like someone had dipped her in a warm bucket (red paint , she thought, it feels red) , she could feel it spreading from her waist.

Later it began to feel very good again and he pulled out of her just as suddenly. She held him so he wouldn’t go away. He tried to lift his head to kiss her neck. She could see he didn’t have the energy. He was like a person drunk or asleep, he moved his mouth from her ear to her shoulder without actually kissing her. He had nice breath. She held him tighter.

“Did you?” He said, after a minute.

Had he really not been able to tell? She was hurt and then no, she was just being sensitive. It was likely normal.

He was talking again, “Do you think…”

“Shhhhhh,” she said. “Shhhhhh shhhhhhhh shhhhhhhh.” She still felt like she was underwater, or in a warm bath. She woke up a short while later, her heart was beating strangely, it was not hers, but his. Blood, she thought again, she found this hilarious, people were stupid, she could not believe it, silly, she thought. She began to stroke his back, she kissed his hair. He sighed but didn’t wake up. There was a breeze and she could hear the trickling of the water from the spring where it ran down the hill past the old church, where her brothers had found the grave, all gone, she thought, all dead , she watched the sun flickering. If I died …

A short while later Hank was inside her again but now her bladder was full. He continued to move but she wanted to get up. She was not exactly sure what to say to him and she began to wonder if she’d given away something valuable, the most valuable thing she had, without asking for a single thing in return, without even asking for a promise. She wanted to stop him and be reassured, but this was not a good idea, he might say anything now.

As if he’d been reading her thoughts, he seemed to wake up and all his weight came off her.

“Was I smothering you?”

“No,” she said.

He rolled off slightly, she sighed as he came out. They lay together, legs entangled, for a long time, until finally she had to get up or there would be a real accident, there was no getting around it.

“Where are you going?”

“I need a minute alone,” she said.

“For what?” Then he realized.

She slipped her dress on and her shoes and scooted off to the other side of the house.

When she came back to the blanket he was still naked, lying with the sun spotted all over him. It was nice in the shade. She ran her hands over his chest. It was bony, though he had muscle there, his shoulders were thin as well, though ropy, there was just nothing extra anywhere on his body. She traced the thin line of dark hairs from his belly button down below his waist, his… ( penis, she thought), there were a variety of words but she was not sure which was correct in this situation, it was lying against his leg, much darker than the rest of him. It was covered with a dried-up film, and there were spots of that on his belly as well. She touched him and he flinched.

“Does it hurt?”

“Surprised me, is all.”

It seemed small now. Very small. She nearly said something about this, then decided against it.

“What do you think Phineas would say?” she asked.

“That is a very scary thought.”

“I think he will be happy,” she said.

“You are probably the only person in Texas who thinks so. But…” He shrugged. “I imagine he knew this would happen. Or something like it.”

“Though maybe not so soon.”

“I cannot see how he would approve of me for you, but he is no dummy, either. I was surprised when he asked me to drive you home. That did not make sense to me. I took one look at you and thought…”

“What,” she said.

“I thought you would never speak to me, that’s all.”

“Why would he have sent us down here together?”

“I think the main reason was I am willing to work cheap.”

“He is not stupid,” she said.

“Oh, he is definitely not stupid. I have no doubt about that.”

“I mean he likes you. He does not like many people.”

“Huh.”

“And maybe because we’re both orphans.”

“I’d never thought of it that way.”

“Really?”

“No,” he said.

It was quiet.

“It’s up to you how you’re going to feel about that stuff,” he said. “People have it a lot worse.”

“You don’t really like me,” she said.

“You’re right. I can’t tell if I like you or not.”

She pushed him.

“You look nice in the sun.”

“I feel nice,” she said. She had taken her dress off again. The sun was nothing but spots on the other side of her eyelids. “I could lie here forever.”

THEY MADE LOVE again that night and then went off to their bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. She did not want Flores suspecting anything, though why this concerned her, she wasn’t sure, she lay there and felt slightly guilty, again wondering if she’d made a mistake.

But when morning came her first thought was of him, of why he was not in bed with her, and she hugged her pillow toward her and lay half on top of it, then kissed it, imagining it was his neck. Then she got a strange feeling. She wondered if she ought to stay home today. To lock herself in her room and not come out… it was an extravagance, something she might use up, she should not waste it all at once. Yes, it was certain, she should not see him. It would not do to get used to him.

Time was passing and she realized that he must be waiting for her downstairs; she got a nervous excited feeling and made herself up quickly and hurried to meet him.

They ate breakfast slowly, both struggling for things to talk about while staring intensely at Flores’s back and willing her to leave as soon as possible. Finally Jeannie had told her, in what she hoped was an innocent voice (though it was not, it could not be), that she and Hank would clean up.