For my birthday,Jack gave me a five-year diary with a latch and a little key,light
as a dime.I was sitting beside him scratching at the lock,which didn't seem to
work,when he thought he saw his wife's Cadilliac in the distance,coming toward us.
He pushed me down onto the dirty floor of the pickup and kept one hand on my head
while I inhaled the musk of his cigarettes in the dashboard ashtray and sang along
with Rosanne Cash on the tape deck.We'd been drinking tequila and the bottle was
between his legs,resting up against his crotch.where the seam of his Levi's was
bleached linen-white,though the Levi's were nearly new.I didn't know why his Levi's
always bleached like that,along the seams and at the knees.In a curve of cloth
his zipper glinted,gold.
"It's her,"he said."She keeps the lights on in the daytime.I can't think of a single
woman that irritates me more than that."When he saw that I was going to stay still
he took his hand from my head and ran it through his own dark hair.
"Why does her?"I said.
"She thinks it's saver.Why does she need to be safer?She's driving exactly fifty-five
miles an hour.
She believes in those signs:'Speed Monitored by Aircraft'.It doesn't matter that
you can look up and see that the sky is empty."
"She'll see you lips move,Jack.She'll know you're talking to someone."
"She'll think I'm singing along with radio."
He didn't lift his hand,just raised the fingers in salute while the pressure of
his palm steadied the wheel,and I heard the Cadilliac honk twice,musically;he
was driving easily eighty miles an hour.I studied his boots.The elk heads stitched
into the leather were bearded with fraved thread,the toes were scuffed,and there
was a compact wedge of muddy manure between the heel and the sole the same boots
he'd been wearing for the two years I'd known him.On the tape deck Rosanne Cash
sang."Nobody's into me,nobody's a mystery."
"Do you think she's getting famouse because of who her daddy is or for herself?"
Jack said.
"There are about a hundred pop tops on the floor,did you know that?Some little
kid could cut a bare foot on one of these,Jack."
"No little kids get into this truck except for you."
"How come you let it get so dirty?"
"How come,"he mocked."You even sound like a kid.You can get back into the seat now,
if you want.She's not going to look over her shoulder and see you."
"How do you know?"
"I just know,"he said."Like I know I'm going to get meat loaf for supper.It's in
the air.Like I know what you'll be writing in that diary."
"What will I be writing?"I knelt on my side of the seat and craned around to look
at the butterfly of dust printed on my jeans.Outside the window Wyoming was dazzling
in the heat.The wheat was fawn and yellow and parted smoothly by the thin dirt
road.I could smell the water in the irrigation ditches hidden in the wheat.
"Tonight you'll write,'I love Jack.This is my birthday present from him.I can't
imagine anybody loving anybody more than I love Jack."
"I can't."
"In a year you'll write.'I wonder what I ever really saw in Jack.I wonder why I
spent so many days just riding around in his pickup.It's true he taught me something
about sex.It's true there wasn't ever much else to do in Cheyenne.'"
"I won't write that."
"In two years you'll write,"I wonder what that old guy's name was,the one with
the curly hair and the filthy dirty pickup truck and time on his hands."
"I won't write that."
"No?"
"Tonight,I'll write,I love Jack.This is my birthday present from him.I can't imagine
anybody loving anybody more than I love Jack."
"No,you can't,"he added."You can't imagine it."
"In a year,I'll write,'Jack should be home any minute now.The table's set-my
grandmother's linen and her old silver and the yellow candles left over from the
wedding-butI don't know if I can wait until after the trout à la Navarra to make
love to him."
"It must have been a fast divorce."
"In two years,I'll write,'Jack should be home any minute now.Little Jack is
hungry for his support.He said his first word today besides"Mama"and"Papa."He
said"Kaka."
Jack laughed."He was probably trying to finger-paint with kaka on the bathroom
wall when you heard him say it."
"In three years I'll write.'My nipples are a little sore from nursing Eliza
Rosamund.'"
"Rosamund.Every little girl should have a middle name she hates."
"Her breath smells like vanilla and her eyes are just Jack's color of blue.'"
"That's nice,"Jack said.
"So,which one do you like?"
"I like yours,"he said."But I believe in mine."
"It doesn't matter.I believe in mine."
"Not in your heart of hearts,you don't."
"You're wrong."
"I'm not wrong,"he said."And her breath would smell like your milk,and it's kind
of a bittersweet smell.If you want to know the truth."
as a dime.I was sitting beside him scratching at the lock,which didn't seem to
work,when he thought he saw his wife's Cadilliac in the distance,coming toward us.
He pushed me down onto the dirty floor of the pickup and kept one hand on my head
while I inhaled the musk of his cigarettes in the dashboard ashtray and sang along
with Rosanne Cash on the tape deck.We'd been drinking tequila and the bottle was
between his legs,resting up against his crotch.where the seam of his Levi's was
bleached linen-white,though the Levi's were nearly new.I didn't know why his Levi's
always bleached like that,along the seams and at the knees.In a curve of cloth
his zipper glinted,gold.
"It's her,"he said."She keeps the lights on in the daytime.I can't think of a single
woman that irritates me more than that."When he saw that I was going to stay still
he took his hand from my head and ran it through his own dark hair.
"Why does her?"I said.
"She thinks it's saver.Why does she need to be safer?She's driving exactly fifty-five
miles an hour.
She believes in those signs:'Speed Monitored by Aircraft'.It doesn't matter that
you can look up and see that the sky is empty."
"She'll see you lips move,Jack.She'll know you're talking to someone."
"She'll think I'm singing along with radio."
He didn't lift his hand,just raised the fingers in salute while the pressure of
his palm steadied the wheel,and I heard the Cadilliac honk twice,musically;he
was driving easily eighty miles an hour.I studied his boots.The elk heads stitched
into the leather were bearded with fraved thread,the toes were scuffed,and there
was a compact wedge of muddy manure between the heel and the sole the same boots
he'd been wearing for the two years I'd known him.On the tape deck Rosanne Cash
sang."Nobody's into me,nobody's a mystery."
"Do you think she's getting famouse because of who her daddy is or for herself?"
Jack said.
"There are about a hundred pop tops on the floor,did you know that?Some little
kid could cut a bare foot on one of these,Jack."
"No little kids get into this truck except for you."
"How come you let it get so dirty?"
"How come,"he mocked."You even sound like a kid.You can get back into the seat now,
if you want.She's not going to look over her shoulder and see you."
"How do you know?"
"I just know,"he said."Like I know I'm going to get meat loaf for supper.It's in
the air.Like I know what you'll be writing in that diary."
"What will I be writing?"I knelt on my side of the seat and craned around to look
at the butterfly of dust printed on my jeans.Outside the window Wyoming was dazzling
in the heat.The wheat was fawn and yellow and parted smoothly by the thin dirt
road.I could smell the water in the irrigation ditches hidden in the wheat.
"Tonight you'll write,'I love Jack.This is my birthday present from him.I can't
imagine anybody loving anybody more than I love Jack."
"I can't."
"In a year you'll write.'I wonder what I ever really saw in Jack.I wonder why I
spent so many days just riding around in his pickup.It's true he taught me something
about sex.It's true there wasn't ever much else to do in Cheyenne.'"
"I won't write that."
"In two years you'll write,"I wonder what that old guy's name was,the one with
the curly hair and the filthy dirty pickup truck and time on his hands."
"I won't write that."
"No?"
"Tonight,I'll write,I love Jack.This is my birthday present from him.I can't imagine
anybody loving anybody more than I love Jack."
"No,you can't,"he added."You can't imagine it."
"In a year,I'll write,'Jack should be home any minute now.The table's set-my
grandmother's linen and her old silver and the yellow candles left over from the
wedding-butI don't know if I can wait until after the trout à la Navarra to make
love to him."
"It must have been a fast divorce."
"In two years,I'll write,'Jack should be home any minute now.Little Jack is
hungry for his support.He said his first word today besides"Mama"and"Papa."He
said"Kaka."
Jack laughed."He was probably trying to finger-paint with kaka on the bathroom
wall when you heard him say it."
"In three years I'll write.'My nipples are a little sore from nursing Eliza
Rosamund.'"
"Rosamund.Every little girl should have a middle name she hates."
"Her breath smells like vanilla and her eyes are just Jack's color of blue.'"
"That's nice,"Jack said.
"So,which one do you like?"
"I like yours,"he said."But I believe in mine."
"It doesn't matter.I believe in mine."
"Not in your heart of hearts,you don't."
"You're wrong."
"I'm not wrong,"he said."And her breath would smell like your milk,and it's kind
of a bittersweet smell.If you want to know the truth."
全站熱搜
留言列表
