Leonard Gardner - Fat City

“Is Earl out of the bucket?”

“Huh?”

“Was Earl here?”

“Earl?”

“Did Earl come in here today?” Tully demanded, hanging up his jacket.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“He was just here long enough to get his stuff.”

“Is that any reason for not telling me?”

“I was just going to tell you. You only got in this minute. I didn’t have time to open my mouth.”

“So how is he?”

“All right, I guess. Didn’t have much to say. Picked up his clothes and left. So what’s wrong with that?”

With strange anxiety Tully went to the gas plate, tearing open his package of round steak. “You tell him about me? What he say?”

“Nothing.”

“He remember me?”

“ I don’t know if he remembered you. What do you care?”

“He remembers you well enough, that’s easy to see.”

“He had to get his clothes, didn’t he?”

“After he found out he couldn’t move back in.”

“He didn’t mention moving in.”

“What he come over for then?”

“I told you — his clothes. He knew I was with you.”

Tully struck a match and a high blue flame shot up from the burner. “How’d he know that?”

“I saw him before.”

“When was this?”

“What’re all these questions? He came by the day he got out.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I guess I forgot.”

“That’s a good one.” Tully placed the meat in the black encrusted frying pan, pushing in the edge of fat until the steak lay flat.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I heard what you said.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“You think I’m lying to you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

“All I’m trying to do,” said Tully, now opening a can of peas, “is make us our supper.”

“You’re so goddamn high and mighty.”

“If I didn’t cook it we wouldn’t eat it.”

“Nobody asked you to fix me anything.”

“I know. You’d just as soon drink yours.”

“If you don’t want to make me any, you don’t have to.”

“I’m making it.”

“You’d rather not.”

“I got it right here.”

“I don’t have to eat.”

“I’m making it for you!” shouted Tully.

“Then I won’t eat it if you feel that way about it.”

“I want you to eat it! I’m cooking it because I want you to eat it. I can’t eat all this food myself.” Dumping the peas into a discolored pot, he heard her voice again, quieter, sighing, resigned.

“I didn’t say anything and you get that pissed off.” He made no reply.

“Now he’s mad. He’s not speaking.”

He turned over the steak in a noisy sputter and stood staring down at the peas until they were violently boiling.

Through the first mouthful of rare meat he said, sitting opposite Oma at the table: “Eat your food before it gets cold.” In her hand was a tumbler of wine.

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“You need your protein.”

“I’m not going to eat with somebody who talks to me like you do.”

“You want to starve to death?”

“That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?”

Tully cut off another bloody chunk of steak before saying no.

“That would solve everything for you, wouldn’t it?”

“I just asked a simple question,” he said, chewing. “Go on, eat.”

“Maybe I don’t want to eat. Maybe I don’t like how it’s cooked.”

“All right, don’t eat it. Go hungry. I don’t care. That’s good food. I make you a good dinner and you don’t even appreciate it. So just forget it. I’ll put it away and eat it tomorrow.”

As he reached across to her plate, she clutched it, crying: “I want it. I’m going to eat it.”

“I don’t want you to eat it!” he shouted, pulling on the plate.

“Now you won’t even let me have my dinner. You won’t even let me eat.”

Surrendering, he slumped back into his chair. With tears running down her cheeks, Oma filled her mouth with peas. Tully’s appetite was lost under a wave of hostile despair. She’s out of her mind, he thought. Feeling suddenly gorged, he forced himself to go on eating, for the nourishment. “So?” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Well? Do you like it?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Well, for Christ’s sake, don’t ask something and then not even say what you mean.”

“Supper.”

“All right, why couldn’t you say it? It’s fine.”

“I thought maybe you’d know what I meant, seeing as how you’re not having any trouble eating it.”

“You don’t want me to eat it?”

“Of course I want you to. I just meant now you’re eating.”

“I’m eating. Sure, I’m eating.”

“So what was the big fuss about?”

Her fork slammed down on the table. “Will you stop needling me? The big fuss is that nobody could eat with you sitting across the table.”

“You never had it so good. There isn’t another guy in town would make you your supper so you could get something in your gut besides that goddamn juice.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. Will you show me the common decency of a serious answer?”

“Common decency. You wouldn’t know any if you saw it.”

“Will you give me a straight answer or won’t you?”

“Will you stop doing this to me?”

“Doing what? What the hell are you yelling about? All I asked for was a simple answer.”

“You rotten-ass bastard! You’re determined not to let me eat this food.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. I give up,” said Tully, pushing back his chair and rising. “All I been trying to do is get you to eat. If you don’t want my company just say so and I’ll get out of your way.” He went to the closet, and as he was taking down his jacket his eyes were drawn again to the dustless square on the floor.

“Where are you going?”

“Think I’ll take a walk around the block so you can eat in peace, since that’s what you want.”

“Can I go with you?”

“I’ll be right back.”

“You’re going out for a drink and leaving me here.”

“I’m fighting in a week. You think I’d go out drinking?”

“You won’t take me out but you sneak off the first chance you get.”

“That’s right, everything I do is wrong. Not a goddamn thing suits you, does it?”

“Billy, wait for me. Let me get ready. Just let me comb my hair. Are my shoes over there?”

He went out the door. Her cries pursuing him, he trotted lightly down the stairs. Outside, alone at last, striding rapidly along the wet pavement, Tully experienced a moment of communion with his wife. It was so strong he was sure that wherever she was she must be thinking of him just at that moment. It seemed impossible she would not still be single. Unable to visualize her, he could not imagine her life as anything but emptiness.

In an uptown bar where Oma was not likely to look for him, he felt her presence still depleting him. Now he thought he should have waited for her. Though he did not want her around, he felt guilty for not taking her with him, and he hated her for this inevitable confusion. He seemed unable to do what he wanted. What he did was either what she wanted or else was spoiled for him because it went against her wishes. Tormented, he longed to be rid of her. If Earl wants her he can have her, he thought resentfully. Only why would he? She was white; maybe that was enough. For the first time Tully realized he could leave with a clear conscience. There was someone to take his place. And knowing he had been avoiding that realization, he felt a palpitant anxiety.