Ларри Макмертри - The Last Picture Show

"I didn't get a good look at the boy," Ruth said, a little surprised. "It was Sonny Crawford I think."

The coach grunted. He stood up, emptied his pockets onto the dresser, and pitched his pants through the bathroom door in the general direction of the dirty-clothes hamper. It was a warm night and the room seemed a little close to him. He threw up a window and stood in front of it a minute, idly scratching his testicles and enjoying the nice south breeze.

After a minute he stretched out on the bed, but for some reason he couldn't get Jacy Farrow off his mind. It was little twats like her that ruined young athletes, so far as he was concerned. If it hadn't been for her, Duane would have come out for track and they might have won a track championship. As he lay on his back, still scratching himself, he thought how nice it would be to hump a little rich girl like her until she got so sick of it she would never want to see another boy, much less bother one. That would be a smart piece of coaching, but hard to bring off.

While his thoughts were running in that direction he happened to glance over and notice Ruth—or at least he noticed half of her. She was undressing behind the closet door, but the strong breeze had blown the door open a bit wider than usual and Ruth was half exposed, the line of the door bisecting her body. The coach saw one leg, one breast, one shoulder and the side of her head as she turned and reached into the closet to take her gown off the hook. Ordinarily the sight of Ruth's body gave him a feeling of mild distaste: his own mother had stood five-eleven and had worked just as hard as men worked nearly every day of her life. Nothing seemed more pathetic to him than a skinny woman, Ruth especially, but when he glanced at the closet he was not thinking of Ruth at all but of Jacy Farrow. He was thinking that if he ever got Jacy into the right corner he would pay back all the little pusses who had kept his boys stirred up over the years. The. thought of administering such a lesson had him a little excited—his underwear developed a sizable hump. Ruth stepped out from behind the door, lowering the gown over her body, and the coach looked at her again. Something told him he would never get Jacy into the right corner, but Ruth was right there and she was just like a girl anyway. She had kept him .stirred up at one time—if she hadn't he would have stayed a bachelor and had the money to take some real hunting trips. He could have gone to Alaska, even. She deserved a prod as much as Jacy; no woman who had done a proper day's work moved as lightly as she moved.

Ruth's mind was still elsewhere—she was unaware of the state her husband was in. It was not a state she had expected him to be in again. She sat down on the bed with her back to him and rubbed her calves a minute before stretching out. While she was sitting there the springs squeaked and Herman got out of bed; she supposed he had forgotten to go to the bathroom.'

"Turn off the light in there, please, when you're done," she said. Light from the bathroom made a bright patch on the floor of the darkened bedroom.

Then she turned to lie down and noticed with a start that Herman was not headed for the bathroom at all. He was at the dresser, his underwear bulging out ludicrously. The sight stunned her, as it always had: all their married life Herman had announced his arousal by going to the dresser and rummaging in the sock drawer until he found the prophylactics. While she watched he found a package and strode into the bathroom to make himself ready.

She knew that she was supposed to use the time while he was in the bathroom to prepare herself for wifely service, but she suddenly felt as if her whole body had become stiff as a plank. She had been thinking how nice it would be to spend a whole night in Sonny's room, but when confronted with Herman's intention all thought seemed to leave her. She merely lay on the bed, not thinking at all.

When Herman came out he switched off the bathroom light, so that the bedroom was dark. He lay down heavily and without hesitation rolled himself onto Ruth, only to roll back a moment later, chagrined.

"What the hell?" he said. "You done asleep?"

In her paralysis Ruth had forgotten to do what she was supposed to do on such occasions: lift her nightgown and spread her legs. Those two actions were all that Herman required of her in the way of sexual cooperation. She raised her hips off the bed and pulled up the gown, and when he was satisfied that the obstruction had been removed the coach rolled back onto her and after a couple of badly aimed thrusts, made connection. Once he struck the place he went at it athletically.

Ruth clenched her fists at her sides. Her chest and abdomen felt crushed, but it crossed her mind that she had crushed herself. What was crushing her was the weight of all the food she had fed Herman through the years, all the steaks, all the black-eyed peas, all the canned peaches. It was particularly the canned peaches: she had never until that moment realized how much she hated them. It seemed to her that pyramids of cans of slimy peaches piled on her abdomen. After a moment the weight became intolerable and she moved a little, to try and ease it. She moved from side to side and stretched her legs, to try and escape it. Herman sweated easily and his sweat was already dripping down her ribs, but what bothered her was the weight of the cans. As she kept moving, trying to lighten the weight, she became aware of a distant pleasure. She began to writhe a little, in order to adjust the weight of the pyramid and intensify the pleasure—she flexed her legs and raised the lower part of her body a little, trying to get the weight right on the throbbing nerve.

Her movements annoyed the coach a great deal. When he started he had not even been thinking of her, but of Jacy, and thinking of Jacy had been very enjoyable. At first Ruth had acted perfectly decent, but just when it was getting nicest she began to writhe and wiggle and even started going up and down against him. The coach was too surprised and outraged to speak, and anyway he had got to the point where he needed to hold onto Jacy in his mind. He tried to beat Ruth down with his body, so she would be still again, but his efforts had the opposite effect: the harder he tried the more she moved.. He couldn't slow her down at all, and he couldn't stop himself.

For a minute, with pounding heartbeats, they were running a hundred-yard dash with each other on equal terms. Neither knew how close the tape was, neither was sure of victory, but the coach crossed first. He recaptured Jacy for a second and desperately burst across, gasping with exhaustion and pleasure. Ruth was just at the turn. The weight was terribly sharp for a moment and then the coach's heavy surge burst the pyramid and left her gasping, free of all weight.

For his part the coach wanted badly to be gone on his side of the bed. Quickly he withdrew, but to his amazement and shame Ruth would not let him. She grasped him, put him back, would not have him leave, and he was too tired and surprised to fight. Except for the working of. their lungs the two were still. In time, when their breath became quieter, the room was totally silent. The coach did not try again to withdraw, for fear he couldn't. When he did in the natural fashion he quickly rolled onto his side of the bed.

Ruth was away, in a misty, drowsy country, but even there she felt a little worried and a little sad. She had not meant it and could not understand how she had done it, given Herman something she thought was only for Sonny. It was as if her body had betrayed a trust and responded to the very man who had neglected it most. Perhaps she was not safe, not even from Herman. Hearing his exhausted breathing in her ear she had had a moment of sympathy for him as a person. She had felt for him a little bit. Perhaps she was no longer safe from anyone?