JR (92 page)

—Amy what in, wait…! he was up, after her where lights came on down the hall —damn it Amy… ? The bathroom door came closed against him, left him to turn to the bedroom for the light between the beds, shed the jacket in a heap to the floor.

—Look it does, doesn't it! She was there in the doorway yellow robe pulled open where she held up the strand of hair across her lip, —look like a mustache?

His eyes dropped, he cleared his throat, —Yes and stop it or I'll, I'll come tousle the beard…

—Jack … she pulled the robe closed but paused again, turned to the glass —it does doesn't it!

—Yes and stop it!

—It must be strange, she said turning, coming between the beds holding the robe loosely, sitting across from him, lying back as he fought off those trousers —for a man, kissing a man, wouldn't it be embarrassing?

—I'm sure it would.

—But not as much as a woman with a woman … and she caught her breast away from him crowding beside her, brushing the warmth of her throat, lips lingering at her ear and then his tongue abruptly

tracing its details, hand gone from breast to breast under the robe until they went crushed under her as he came to one elbow to sweep its yellow from all the whiteness of her back. From his her own hand

came, measuring down firmness of bone brushed past its prey to stroke

at distances, to climb back still more slowly, fingertips gone in hollows, fingers paused weighing shapes that slipped from their inquiry before they rose confirming where already they could not envelop but simply cling there fleshing end to end, until their reach was gone with him coming up to a knee, to his knees over her back, hands running to the spill of hair over her face in the pillow and down to declivities and down, cleaving where his breath came suddenly close enough to find its warmth reflected, tongue to pierce puckered heat lingering on to depths coming wide to its promise, rising wide to the streak of its touch, gorging its stabs of entrance aswim to its passage rising still further to threats of its loss suddenly real, left high agape to the mere onslaught of his gaze knees locked to knees thrust deep in that full symmetry surged back against him, surges his hands on either side bit deep as though in their possession all her eloquent blood spoke in her cheeks till he came down full weight upon her, face gone over her shoulder seeking hers in the pillow's muffling sounds of wonder until they both went still, until a slow turn to her side she gave him up and ran raised lips on the wet surface of his mouth.

He reached a knee, and scratched. —Think you've got fleas here.

—Don't be silly. You don't really do you?

—They like empty places, nice thick carpet, he said turned from her the moment it took to catch the curl of a single hair from his lips.

—Jack you, no please, she held his hand away, —you didn't see one? I can't imagine how, what could we do?

—Round them up and train them, start a little circus.

—No they don't really have those. Do they?

—Have what, flea circuses? Never heard of a flea circus?

—Of course I've heard of them that's what I mean, it's just a story isn't it. Do you have to scratch so?

He looked down his arm's length where his scratching stopped, pink glistening dark to purple squeezed up between his fingers —make you feel like Lawrence's old warrior Auda…

—I think it's dear… her head come over on his chest, breast crushed against him as though yearning toward the defeated enemy to trace its withered ridges with a nail, course the quiescent color of a vein all for a moment taken by lips and tongue gone undefined with wetness and as abruptly up pressed back against his shoulder before he could move, until she whispered —can you reach the light?

—Thought I might have a cigarette, he said reaching to turn it off.

—You don't need one, she reached across to hold his shoulder, — Jack? Have you ever seen one? really?

—A cigarette?

—A flea circus, they don't really dress them up in little clothes and train them to pull carts and things? Why would, who would do that?

—Just somebody who … he cleared his throat in the dark, —maybe just somebody afraid of failing at something worth doing…

—But if they really do it they must think it's worth doing, she turned

on her face away from him, —the only bad failure's at something you knew wasn't worth doing in the first place. Isn't it?

And whatever he whispered was gone, turned to her on his side to move his hand down where it rose to rest that night as it might have on a lectern, along the creviced margin between those white slopes opened to the lesson where congregation thronged a dream.

—Jack?

Up on one elbow he brushed sunlight from his face, brought hers in shadow. —How long have you been awake?

—Do you want coffee? Jack no please, let me get up and…

—Most elegant throat I've ever seen…

—Yes and yours are you taking that penicillin? It sounds…

—Not talking about mucosa damn it, Amy… ?

—In the living room? where we'll have more sun… ? and there, when she came with the tray —who are you calling? And Jack do you know the seat of those shorts is quite gone?

—Hello? Mister Eigen please, in public relations. Like me to put on my dressing gown?

—What that filthy raincoat? She set cups off on the table, —do you want to keep these clippings?

—Thought you'd thrown them all, hello? Mister Eigen yes, in … What do you mean no longer there wait, wait let me speak to somebody in

… What the whole department… ? No, no I'll try to get him at home…

—What happened? She handed him a cup, —is this the friend who had the…

—Friend who apparently just lost his last refuge from reality, sounds like it's too late for him to be the things he never wanted to be either, he's…

—Is this the friend who had the accident with the, who hurt his eye?

—Schramm? He reached for a plate. —No. What are these.

—They called them bow ties they're really rather awful, I thought they were pastries with some sort of filling, Jack what happened to him you were awfully concerned.

—He just, nothing…

—Is he all right?

—All right yes he's fine …! Pastry crumbs came down on her robe where he leaned back. —Schramm's dead Amy, he just couldn't make it he's dead.

—Oh… ! her coffee splashed, she pulled the wet robe away and reached its hem to dry her leg up from the knee, —Jack I'm sorry, I didn't mean…

—Nothing for you to, nothing to say he just finally couldn't make it.

—But did he, was it another accident?

—Only God damned thing any of us has done lately that wasn't an accident… he came back resting on her leg there drawn up behind him,

—All getting to the point there's no time left for accidents…

—Jack please don't start…

—Well God damn it Amy doing things badly because they're not worth doing, or trying to believe something's worth doing long enough to get it done… She'd bent forward over him to put down her cup and he came back against her, robe fallen open where he traced a pastry crumb along a crease of white —it's just, sometimes it's just too God damned long to be able to keep believing something's real… he traced back along the crease above, —Schramm standing in that tenement window he'd watch a truckload of smashed car fenders go by and think the poor bastard driving it was doing something real, and the man I just called here, Eigen…

—But Jack that was Schramm … she brushed a hand at his temple, gonetlower, —Mister Schramm, it wasn't you…

—This man I just called Eigen, he wrote a novel once some people thought was very important… and he paused for his tongue to pursue a crumb along the crease drawn under the settling of her breasts, — finally found everything around him getting so God damned real he couldn't see straight long enough to write a sentence…

—But Jack they're not you…

—Whole Türschluss generation, kind of paralysis of will sets in and you're…

—But they're not you Jack they're not you! She'd pulled back from him against the sofa's arm. —I don't like to hear you talk this way it's, it's ridiculous… and she was reaching over him abruptly to stack cups — I, honestly I don't want to hear it anymore, will you help me get these things together so we can go out?

—Out?

—Yes to get you a suit and, and simply to get some air, do you want to keep these clippings and…

—Thought you'd thrown them out… and his lips blurred on her breast's fall against them as she reached over him.

—No, I… her hand came back slowly, empty, —I thought you might want them…

—What for, too God damned late to …

—Jack don't you see? And her hand, both her hands were up as she sank back against the sofa's arm holding him where his lips drew up the dark circle, tongue traced its pebbled rim, —Jack if you keep talking that way that I'll finally believe it… ? her leg falling slowly against the sofa's back with the weight of his hand —And I liked the, about the bat, about the mouse and the angel… his hand's weight gone in fingertips brushing down, brushing the soft spread as though by chance —And the rest, about physics and antimatter I didn't understand it but…

—That was stupid … his free hand down, disentangling for his knee to come up close beside her where her hand ran toward him, nails raking toward him, and he reached up to spread the robe away —All backwards, proving symmetry to call this beautiful God Amy, what immortal hand or eye … lips silenced at her knee, run down where all

that moved now of his hand were hidden tips of fingers as hers rose and closed tight.

—But it doesn't matter if I understand, it's when I hear you talk about something you care about… her hand drew closer, thumb brushed the drop squeezed up and drew it to a thread —that's what I understand … where his lips moved she suddenly fell wide, hand drawing closer stripping vein and color as his knee rose over her and jarred the telephone, still holding closed as though against a sudden plunge, or sudden loss, when the telephone rang, her arms came free, came up, her shoulders' struggle against his knee come down and legs drawn tight in a twist away as the telephone box went to the floor and she got the receiver wrong end round. —Hello? knees drawn up tight, she righted it. —Hello… ?

—Good, God … he recovered the edge of the sofa.

—Yes, Mister Beaton… ? No, no nothing I, I just knocked over a vase, what… Yes but you told me… but when I was in your office yesterday you said, you said you thought… But I told you this would happen! I told you it would with your court orders and depending on an old fool like Judge Ude to… He's senile and alcoholic and you know how many lawyers have please …! She seized the hand prying past her knee, — what? No I'm upset yes of course I'm upset, if no one else is going to do anything I'll go over there myself if I must and… Not what you called about? Well then what… Right now? to come down to your office oh honestly …! The phone buried against one breast she rent his face from the other, —now will you please stop it! and she pulled up the tear in the robe. —Yes hello? yes of course I'm all right I… yes I told you I'm angry you can tell Uncle John that I … That I was made a trustee with what understanding… No I certainly don't want to talk to him now tell him I don't care what he arranged, if he didn't have to ask me about selling it all just to destroy this child's father he doesn't have to ask me to come down there and sign things so the Foundation can will you

stop it! I'm sorry what … ? No tell him that too I don't care what the Foundation does when this tender offer goes through either, if all he and Daddy think about is … No he hasn't, when I called him his office said he wouldn't be back in Washington until… Well he knows I'm not out there teaching anymore doesn't he? that I'm here just waiting at this number for someone to … Well it's my trust fund isn't it? Can't he simply now please… ! No I'm sorry but, if he'd just call me, yes… and she stood, the robe pulled round her tight. —Honestly Jack, honestly! How can you be so, couldn't you tell this was important? I simply sometimes I simply don't understand you!

—Well what do you … he was up with a step toward her and stopped, pulled his shirt together to little purpose —wait where are you…

—I'm going in to take a shower, you might use one yourself.

—Oh… the shirt parted with his step after her, —fine we'll…

—When I'm finished Jack. And I got you a razor, it's there in that bag

with the cough drops I wish you'd use it.

—Amy, I'm sorry Amy … he dropped his eyes from hers and then, tone dropped to an aside, —love means being able to say you're sorry… and he winked.

She looked there, snatched the robe over the dark circled crest peering from the tear in it —honestly! It's not funny Jack you're not funny! and past him she pulled the collar of it suddenly to her eyes.

There was no sound but running water. Back on the sofa he reached down and scratched, brought up the ankle to examine it as though for signs of life, tore open the paper bag from the table and the box in it for a cough drop gone with a heavy crunch of teeth as he reached for that handwriting arabesque and Flaw in Nature's Symmetry? crushed in his hand, opening and closing on the wad of them getting over for the phone, dialing, and the wad went flung to the top of a drapery. — Tom… ? Yes it is listen what the hell is going on, I just called your … To me? no what do you mean nothing's happened to me, I'm … Won the double yes called you that night haven't been able to since, I've been … No I know it God damn it I'm sorry Tom listen buy you a shirt, buy you

a new suitcase and fifty shirts I won the… What Schepperman? you've found him … ? no I told you I haven't had a chance to … no I know it but God damn it look Schramm now it's Schepperman I… For me what do you mean for me what made you think I'd … What and the school told you I wasn't there anymore… ? God damned right I have yes, found a cleaner greener maiden in a neater sweeter land look has my lawyer called me there? Only number I could… She agreed to it? the visiting rights too? Thank, Christ I … was worth how much? But… Well good God no, broken down old family company I never imagined it was worth… Worst God damned best news I ever had though God damn it it's worth it, every two weeks rain or shine writing that God damned money order to the Department of Probation so she can bail out that poor son of a bitch out selling textbooks even brings her his laundry, God damned shirts on the line every time I go out there to … What, now? No I'm uptown someplace feels like we're entertaining in Bloom- ingdale's furni… Not Ninety-sixth Street Christ no haven't been there since the… What do you mean office equipment no, I… Bast? no just trying to write music as far as I… No thought I might use the back