Joy Williams - State of Grace

In college, Kate studied French. She studied French and she had lovers, usually men that she picked up in the afternoon or evening. Kate never made an acquaintance before one o’clock. Men can’t think strange in the morning. Men in the morning think of ham and hotcakes and money. They want order and the familiar.

She was never disappointed with her lovers, even the dreadful ones, because they gave her life the feeling of great transparence and they made her feel restful and inconsequential.

Her first dreadful lover in town was the first one she took, shortly after she arrived. It was the day of the evening she met her friend Corinthian Brown. Her first lover was not very pleasant. He was a cab driver. He told her one thing right away.

“I used to be a deep-sea diver,” he said. “For seven years they could count on me to go down after anything. Anything. Jewels, boats, bombs, bodies. No matter what it was, the last twenty feet I’d be sinking through silt. That’s no kind of a job,” he said.

She hailed him as she came out of a used book shop. She had just been given as many books as she could take away if she took them away right away and so she had called for a cab. Kate had taken to walking through the town in the dead part of the afternoon. Nothing ever came of it. Her back would get wet from the terrible sun. She would wait until three o’clock before she’d have a cooling drink. It was the least she could do. It was the most she could do to wait until three. On the day that she took shelter in the book shop, it was not yet three. She went in there to get out of the rain. The sun was shining and the rain was pouring through the streets like smoke.

“I’m not in business any more,” a woman hollered to her. “I’m not keeping things going for that crummy bastard any more.” Kate looked glumly at the rain. “Take what you want. I’m Lady Bountiful. Clean the place out,” the woman screamed. “He never gave me a thing I didn’t end up paying on. Forty-nine years with him,” she yelled, “and not one happy moment.”

She wore a hairpiece that rose and fell on her head. She wore a dress that had a print of flowers and their scientific names and she smoked a Silva-Thin.

“I suppose you came in here to get out of the rain,” she snapped. “Well, it’s all past mattering. I’ll tell him if he ever has the nerve to ask. I gave them all away, I’ll tell him, all your crummy books, to a chippie who at least had the crummy sense to come in out of the rain. Well, come on,” she said. “COME ON, goddamnit!” Kate had never met a retiree before. She was not astounded. Nevertheless, she was careful not to move too quickly.

Kate helped her throw the books in boxes. There were dry bug shells on the shelves.

“Over there was where I saw the rat,” she said, pointing into a little alcove. A sign said hopefully, THE ROOM OF KNOWLEDGE. “He didn’t do a thing about it naturally. I got it myself. Peanut butter.”

“What?” Kate said, speaking her once and only.

“Peanut butter,” the woman said irritably. “IN THE TRAP!”

Kate hauled several cartons of books onto the street. The rain had stopped and the air was steamy. She waved to the old woman. The old woman was eating yogurt and she waved her spoon at Kate. Then Kate called the cab. They put everything in the back seat and she sat up front with the driver. His hair was combed back flat and wet and severely from his forehead in a ’20’s fashion and he reeked of Juicy Fruit.

“Yeah?” the driver said, raising his eyebrows.

“Omega Omega Omega,” Kate said. Her sunglasses were steamed up. “Do you have a Kleenex?” she said.

The driver looked at her sideways. There was something about her, he decided. To get women these days, a man had to have good instincts, accurate judgment. He fancied his mind as being swift as a steel trap. He fancied his body as being hard and cruel as a steel trap. He saw himself, it’s true, as one mean old knowledgeable boy. And this fare was showing off her underwear. When he was putting the books in the cab for her, he saw her bra. Not the wide, white kind that his wife wore, which was big enough to strangle a hog, but a tiny colored one, a tiny blue polka-dot piece of nothing.

“I’ll stop and get some,” he said. He pulled into a gas station and bought a box of Kleenex. He pulled out several for her and then put the box in a glove compartment. “You’re my last fare of the day, isn’t that coincidental,” he said. “I mean it’s been a long day but it’s still early. Too early to start in reading all them books.” Beneath the Juicy Fruit there was a smell of spicy tomatoes. “You don’t look like a bookworm to me.”

Kate wiped off her sunglasses. She put them back on.

“How about joining me for a drink?” he said.

“Why not,” Kate said. Her reply did not surprise her although it was not at all what she would have imagined herself saying.

“I know a nice little place. It’s a bar on the water and they give you free lasagne roll-ups with your drinks until six.” He took a series of hard rights and turned onto the highway. The books slid across the seat. In less than a mile he turned off and down a partially paved road that led to a point on the bay. The land was bulldozed flat. Models for condominiums were scattered around and little flags and pennants were strung between concrete electricity poles. Then the land became wild and overgrown again and then there was the bay.

The bar was a shingled house on pilings. Nailed on the walls were sharks’ tail fins.

“Two of those mothers is mine,” the cab driver said. There was no one in the place but them and the bartender. The bartender was sneezing. “Two Mai-Tais,” the driver ordered. Kate turned on her stool and looked out the window. BRYANT’S BEASTS, a sign said over a crooked building on the other side of the road. BRYANT’S BOATS BRYANT’S BUNGALOWS. “Here’s to you,” the driver said. She took a swallow of her drink. It was all rum with a plastic orchid and a canned pineapple chunk in it. Her throat constricted and her eyes began to water. The driver coughed. “Them sharks will go for your hoses every time,” he said. “That’s no kind of a job.” He coughed. “What’s going on?” he asked the bartender.

“Algae,” the bartender said morosely. “Two days now. It’s not red tide but it’s some lousy algae rotting out there.”

“Goddamn,” the driver said. He got up. “You wait here,” he told Kate. He went outside and walked over to the bungalows. Kate thought of Uncle Wiggly. He was always so snug and clean. She swallowed her drink until it was gone. She saw something change hands between the driver and another man. He came back to the bar, coughing. “Two more Mai-Tais,” he said.

The bartender turned away. “Why don’t we drink these over in that little cottage over there,” the driver said to Kate, smiling firmly. “We can’t hardly breathe here. They got fans in those cottages.” The bartender set down two fresh drinks. “Where are those free noodles today?” the driver asked him querulously, looking up and down the counter.

“Nobody’s been here all day. I didn’t make them today. It wouldn’t have been economic.”

“Goddamn,” the driver said.

“I don’t kiss,” Kate said.

“I couldn’t care less,” the driver muttered. She followed him to the first little cabin.

“Look at that,” he said before they went inside. “Ain’t that cute. Little window boxes and a weather vane.” Inside, the room was cool. Her throat and eyes stopped troubling her.

“Bryant’s the biggest flit I’ve ever seen,” the driver said.

When they came out later it was almost dark. The wind had changed and the air was clear. The bar was lighted and Kate could see people moving around inside.