Stacey Levine - Dra-

“There are hurdles to intimacy,” Marla said rotely.

“Yes, that’s right, there are hurdles,” Slim returned, releasing Dra—’s hair, slowly smiling. “Hurdles there are, there can be, but we overcome hurdles, don’t we, Marla!” She laughed and threw her arm around Marla, who smiled back redolently, blinking. “Oh,” sighed Slim, turning closely toward Dra—. “Won’t you say yes? I know my way around intimacy; I’ve helped so many people achieve it, too, even in the saddest of cases! Why, for example, even women who shun intimacy as a rule may finally desire it when they learn they are going to die.” She drew the chair up again and sat.

“Die?” asked Dra— anxiously. “Which women are going to die?”

“Why, all the sick ones, of course,” Slim answered plainly. “It’s their own fault, or so the news says.”

“They’re dying? From what?” she asked.

“From exposure, my dear, exposure! You know — to the poisons of their worksites, to the people close to them — aren’t our deepest feelings known to be poisonous as well?

“Women especially are vulnerable to such exposures.” Slim’s voice trailed off for a moment as she stared, lost in thought; then she resumed in tones of goodwill: “Oh, you’ll see how it is — most of us can scarcely maintain spinal health, let alone overall health! We fall to exposure, then sink with the disease.” She smiled with unconcern and reached deep into her coat pocket.

Whispering, nearly ill with anxiety, Dra— asked, “Which disease are you talking about?”

“Oh, come, come, must I spell it out for you?” was the curt answer.

Marla piped, “I know the ins and outs of intimacy; I know about desire and constancy, and what it takes for—”

“Yes, she knows,” Slim remarked, squinting, lighting a small cigarette. “Marla has a talent for comprehending these things — but of course, so do I, that’s why I recognize the talent in her. Marla has intuitive powers I could never have guessed at, either — but part of intimacy is surprise, isn’t it? Touché!” She laughed roughly. “We pulled quite a few surprises from Marla, didn’t we?”

“I’m suspect, too,” Marla said gaily. “I’ve learned how suspect I am.”

“Yes, she is suspect, though half the time, she’s suspected of being good — you never know which way it will turn!” Slim laughed, rubbing Marla’s shoulder. “She has hundreds of conflicts too — she carries them in her body, left over from you-know-what!”

“Hah!” Marla laughed stiffly.

“But don’t you think,” Slim went on, suddenly absorbed, “that if the object of love is sensitive, and responds to our anger, then we leap into hope? I think we do! What else is there but this hope? Oh,” she sighed, tapping her fingers together, looking tenderly into the distance, “We all want the opportunity to make things right, we want that most of all, don’t we?”

With emotion, Marla inhaled and closed her eyes.

Presently, she opened them and said to Dra—, “What about the man?”

“Oh, yes, yes, the man!” Slim stabbed the cigarette out and snuggled into the chair. “I’m interested — who is this man?”

About to say that the women were mistaken, and that there was no man, Dra— stopped herself, for this would have denied them their powers of acuity; instead she explained softly and with very little breath that at all costs she must leave right now to find her new worksite, because she was vastly, scandalously late, and for this she would surely suffer when her new Administrator got wind of it.

“But it’s interesting that you want to leave at this particular moment, just when we are talking about men, and hence, intimacy and gratification. Isn’t that interesting, Marla? Gratification recalls conflict, you know.”

“We are all drawn to conflict,” sang Marla, “every last one of us.”

“Oh yes,” Slim agreed. “We love conflict, for conflict suggests intimacy. You love conflict; so did Job. I only wish you would face these problems of yours, and let me help! Won’t you? Shouldn’t you do that before you grow into young middle age and slowly begin to die?”

It seemed a great deal of time had passed.

Slim continued, “I think the truth is that whenever you begin to grow close to someone, you simply crumble like a little teacake, don’t you, dear? Marla!” she called sharply, for Marla was wandering toward the far periphery of the roof.

“I empathize, I really do,” Slim said softly as Marla raced joyfully back to them, “I know that dreadful sensation of falling apart never really abates, does it? Though over a period of, say, fifteen minutes or so, it may ebb slightly — time enough for a physical experience, at least.”

As Marla returned, Dra— stood quietly, pondering her new job and her lateness, so uncomfortable over the things Slim had said; and after some time, as Slim continued to talk and Marla to seek attention, Dra— felt the slow beginnings of a cramp in her abdomen and begged to be excused.

Embarrassed to call attention to herself in this way, she nevertheless left the two women, making quickly for the toilet, a cabinet-sized shack several paces off. Reaching the bathroom’s slatted, makeshift wooden door, she peered inside and immediately felt warm and glad, for next to the toilet was a small chair, presumably where a second party might sit in order to give assistance or hold a hand.

After some time, she returned from the bathroom to Slim and Marla, full of a secret, overbearing pleasure about one thing, though regarding another matter, feeling gravely disappointed.

Slim was waiting for her, arms crossed, fingering her long neckscarf. “During this short separation, you’ve been in my thoughts and I know I’ve been in yours. But overall, I’m beginning to lose interest in you. You are so inexpressive! I need more stimulus than you offer, since I am lavish in my passions and expressions, so vivid, and you are, well …” she trailed off for a moment, then added somberly, “The truth is that I am quite disappointed with the world and all its people, including you.”

Slim picked up her coat, a heavy brown fur, saying, “You are quiet, you see, and I make a habit of avoiding quiet people, for the obvious reasons.” She reached out a quivering hand. “Yet,” she said slowly, thinking, “part of me wants to save you from senseless waters. I crave so many things! Like the special feeling that can only come from one person saving another — so—” She paused. “In a sense, you could say that I’ve searched the world for you!” Slim laughed, eyes full of tears. “And I would like to make you happy. Oh, don’t be nervous, I’m not going to do anything but hold your hand.”

Trembling, Dra— let out a sputtering, excited rush of air, scarcely able to imagine what would happen if she were to stay here with Slim, and do just as Slim liked. Yet she was abominably late for the new job, the worry over this rocking inside her foully until, staring at the two women, who were beginning to seem somewhat unreal, she controlled her feelings and stated that at all costs she must leave immediately for her new worksite, or else things would surely take a turn for the worse.

But after making this statement, she merely continued to stand before them, for the very idea of pulling herself away from the two women with their rich clothing and strangely vibrant looks filled her with savage despair.

As the silence went on, Slim sighed and stooped to pull a small telephone from beneath one of the chairs; and as immediately as she raised the phone to her ear, she began speaking warmly to someone.

Marla, arms folded, took this opportunity to step closer and whisper:

“Do you know what it is to say the words, yet not be heard? It rankles, it does! What to do when the other person just doesn’t listen? Nothing, you do nothing. We can’t change other people and that’s that. We hate to speak up anyway because we don’t want the pain of a real confrontation, do we? Isn’t it easier to sit still and nurse one’s thoughts, trying to gain strength to sit for even longer? There’s no room for two sides of an argument, either. One side always emerges the winner, doesn’t it?”