Alison Lurie - The Nowhere City

“They can’t get out, lovey. Don’t be frightened. There, there, Markie.” Susy gathered a child in each arm. “Lord!” she said to Katherine. “I was terrified, weren’t you? I forgot all about the fence. I honestly thought they were going to attack us. There, there.” She opened the door with which she had shut her children away from the buffalo, and shut Katherine out to be trampled to death. Maternal instinct, Katherine thought.

Behind the cyclone fence, the five buffalo shifted restlessly about, glaring at Katherine. She could see them very well now. They had black, bulging eyes like wet rubber, and satanic horns; their shoulders were hunched and their legs knotted, ending in hooves. In front they were covered with masses of dirty, matted dark brown hair, but their hind-quarters were bare, like those of monstrous poodles. They snorted, and wheeled about, and jostled each other angrily.

“I don’t like those buffaloes, Mommy!” Viola sobbed. “I want to go home right now.”

“All right, darling.” As if she had not tried it before, Susy started the car, shifted into reverse, and stepped on the gas. Awhoor, whoor! Viola, Mark, the engine, and the buffalo roared.

“I can’t get it out.” Susy’s voice trembled. “I just can’t do it!” She burst into sobs, and the children followed her example. “Oh, what’ll we do now?”

“Don’t cry. I’ll walk back to the house and get somebody,” Katherine said. “They must have a truck, or something. You stay there.”

“No, don’t! Please, stop!” Katherine stopped, a few steps from the car. “Don’t do that. They’ll be so angry at us. And then Fred’ll have to find out, and he’ll be furious!”

Her voice rose to a high wail. The buffalo, excited, stamped the ground and butted against the cyclone fence, making a clashing wiry sound. Viola and Mark continued to cry steadily.

“For heaven’s sake,” Katherine said. She looked at the three Skinners as they sat howling hopelessly in their pink station wagon.

“All right,” she called over the noise of them and the buffalo. “You can’t go back, so you’ll have to go forward. At least it’s downhill.”

“But I’ll knock the tree over.”

“You’ll have to knock it over. Unless you want me to go and look for a truck. Just drive straight ahead, and you’ll come out on to the road down there.”

“But—”

“Go on. I’ll hold those other trees out of the way.”

“Okay.”

Susy started the car again, and let out the brake. The station wagon crashed suddenly forward over the tree, on past Katherine, and back on to the road. Katherine ran after it, scrambling over crushed leaves and white, broken wood, the buffalo roaring behind her.

“We made it!” Susy cried happily as she came up. The children had stopped howling, and were talking excitedly.

“We smashed the tree!”

“We’re all right now! We’re all right now!”

“Get in,” Susy said, flinging open the door. “Before they catch us.” She giggled. “Golly, I thought we’d never get out of that.”

They drove downhill away from the house, the Skinners still congratulating themselves. When they arrived at the gate, an electric eye opened it automatically to expel them.

“Golly Christ, am I glad to get away from there,” Susy said as she sat waiting for a break in the traffic. “What an adventure!” She laughed. “Gee, Katherine, you know you were wonderful! You really saved us. You know, children, if it hadn’t been for Katherine we just probably wouldn’t have got out of there at all. Honestly, you were so cool and collected.”

She turned on to the highway, back towards home. “Oh, my goodness,” she added. “You’ve ripped your skirt.”

Katherine looked down. Her narrow cotton dress was torn roughly up the side to the thigh.

“Gee, I’m sorry,” Susy said. “That’s the trouble with wearing skirts: something like this always happens. I hope you can fix it.”

“I can’t fix it,” Katherine said. “It’s just ruined.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll get you another one. It’s all my fault. I’ll tell you what, I’ll get you some Capris. You ought to wear Capris on trips like this, anyway.”

“It’s not important,” Katherine said in an odd voice.

Susy looked at her. “Why, Katherine, what’s the matter?” she asked. “Why are you shaking all over like that now?”

PART TWO

Venice

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— Los Angeles Mirror News

7

PAUL LAY ON HIS BACK, looking up into a fantastic jungle. Strange trees spread their marbled, many-colored leaves; exotic flowers and vines twined round them, and creatures never seen on land or sea sat on the branches. There was a man with a bird’s head, some winged lizards, and a dog that had an electric toaster for a body. Irregular white patches showed among the foliage, where the plaster had fallen from Ceci’s bedroom ceiling.

Most of the painting was on the ceiling, though the trees rose from trunks sketched on the walls and gnarled roots descending into the molding. One, perhaps the inspiration of the whole composition, began as a peeling hot-water pipe. The illusion was increased by the absence of any furniture in the room except for the mattress on which they lay.

Ceci was asleep, sprawled beside Paul where she had fallen after a last long climax, her legs still spread wide, her hair damp over her face. Her arms were flung out, the hands relaxed now next to the marks they had made in cloth and flesh: the sheet crumpled into folds; white scars, fast fading, on his arm.

He was very happy. With Ceci everything was so simple, so easy. She asked no questions about his life or his feelings; she said nothing about her own. She had no psychic or somatic complaints that had to be got through first; she did not make any declarations or demand any promises, only pulled off her clothes and gave herself to him. Was it always like this for her? He wanted her to wake up and answer this question; he wanted to hear that for her, too, it had been a unique experience.

“Ceci.”

No answer. It was strange to watch her lying there so close, naked, sleeping. Her head was tilted back, her mouth a little open, loose. Most of the girls he had known preferred to do it in the dark, or at least in the dusk. And they always pulled their skirt down or the sheet up afterwards, however boldly they might have shown themselves earlier. As if they were ashamed, or didn’t trust him.

“Ceci.” He said it louder this time, impatient to establish communication. “Hey, Ceci.” He turned on to his side, shifting her warm body with his.

“Mmm.” She moved her legs towards him, her mouth against his shoulder. “Wha?”

“Hey. You were out cold, weren’t you?”

Ceci opened her eyes, light brown today, almost yellow; she did not speak. They stared at each other for about four seconds.

“You,” Paul said, pulling her towards him. They kissed long and deeply. “Is it always like this with you?”

Ceci had shut her eyes; now she opened them again: wide, golden. “No,” she said. “Sometimes.” She raised her head slowly, sleepily, supporting it on one hand, yawned, smiled. “But I knew it was going to be like this for us.”

“How could you know that?”

“Easy. Because I wanted you the first time I looked at you.”

“Did you. Well, so did I.” Paul laughed. “Love at first sight?” He felt embarrassed at having used the word “love,” so he laughed again, less easily. “Do you really believe in that?”