have been about noon-it was starting to get really hot out. We had no time to lose, getting back.
I spotted my bottle right off. He’d left it there in plain sight, in front of the bags. It was not exactly service with a smile-in fact it was hardly service at all. I made off with my bags and bottle.
“You sulking?” I asked him, on the way out.
He didn’t even look at me.
“Too bad,” I said. “You’re the only black spot in my whole day.”
I shoved everything in the back of the truck and steered toward the motel. At the edge of town, a hot wind started blasting. The whole area suddenly looked like a desert-wilted plants and long shadows. I liked it. I liked the color of the dirt, and I’ve always had a thing for large, lonely spaces. We rolled up the windows. I had my foot to the floor, but the car would do only forty-five, what with the head wind. After a while, Betty turned to look out the back. Her hair must have made her hot-she kept lifting it up all the time.
“You know what?” she said. “With this little truck and all that food, two people could go just about anywhere?
Twenty years earlier, the idea would have set me on fire. Now, it was all I could do to keep from yawning.
“Right, a whirlwind tour,” I said.
“Yeah! We could blow this pop stand…!”
I lit a cigarette and crossed my hands on the wheel.
“It’s funny,” I said. “But I don’t think the scenery around here is so ugly…”
She threw her head back, laughing.
“Shit, you call this scenery?”
You could hear the dust flying against the chassis, swirling wildly in the wind. Outside things were burning. I started laughing too.
That evening the wind died down all of a sudden and the air got very heavy. We took the bottle out on the porch and waited for the night to cool off a little, but nothing changed, not even after the stars came out-not one little breeze. Still, I have to say it was all just fine with me. My only real complaint had been the immobility, but I was getting used to it. The past five years had given me time to figure out ways of dealing with the heat. It was different now with a girl around-there were other things to do than lie still and wait for it to blow over.
After a few drinks we decided to stuff ourselves into the chaise longue. We were sweating heavy in the dark, but everything seemed perfect. It’s always like that in the beginning-you can handle anything. We stayed there for a long time without moving, trying to breathe on a thimbleful of air.
She started squirming. I gave her a drink to calm her down. She let out a sigh that could have blown down a tree.
“I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get up,” she said.
“Forget about it. Don’t be silly, nothing could be important enough-”
“I think I have to pee,” she said.
I slid my hand down into her panties and stroked her behind. It was a wonderful behind, a trickle of sweat running down from the small of her back, and skin soft as the Gerber baby’s. I didn’t want to think about anything. I pulled her to me.
“Jesus,” she said. “Don’t press on my bladder.”
In spite of everything, she crossed one of her legs over mine and started twisting my T-shirt in a funny kind of way.
“I would like to say that I am happy to be here with you, and that if possible I would like us to stay together.”
She said this in the most normal voice imaginable, as if she were commenting on the color of her shoes, or the paint chipping off the ceiling. I took it lightly.
“Well, yeah, I think it might be possible to work something out like that. Let’s see: I’m not married, no kids. My life isn’t too complicated-l have a house and a job that’s not too tiring. I’d say that in the end I’m a pretty good deal.”
She flattened herself against me a little more and in no time we were drenched from head to foot. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant, even in the heat. She bit my ear and growled.
“I have faith,” she said. “We’re still young, you and me. We’ll make out okay.”
I didn’t understand what she meant. We kissed for a long time. Try to understand everything that goes on in a girl’s head and you’ll never see the end of it. I didn’t want any explanation. All I wanted was to keep kissing her in the dark-stroking her behind as long as her bladder held out.
2
For several days we floated through a sort of Technicolor dream. We were never more than an inch away from each other. Life seemed amazingly simple. I had a few jobs-a kitchen sink, a haywire toilet tank, a stove with multisized burners-but nothing very serious. Betty gave me a hand, picking up the dead branches and litter and emptying the garbage cans in the alleys. We spent our afternoons lounging around under the porch, playing with the buttons on the radio or talking about unimportant things that is, when we weren’t fucking or preparing a few of the complicated dishes we’d picked out of the cookbook the night before. I’d pushed the chaise longue into the shade, she’d spread her mat out in the sunshine. Whenever anybody came by I’d toss her a towel, taking it back once the asshole had gone, then return to my chaise longue to look at her. I noted how all I had to do was lay my eyes on her for a little over ten seconds to completely clear my mind. It was a trick that came in handy.
One morning she jumped on the scale and let out a scream.
“Oh shit, I don’t believe it!”
“Betty, what is it?”
“Jesus Christ, I’ve gained another two pounds. I just knew it…!”
“Don’t worry about it. Believe me, it doesn’t show.”
She didn’t answer, and I forgot the whole incident. Then at lunch I found myself with a tomato cut in half on my plate-just a tomato, nothing else. I didn’t say anything, though-just dug right in as if there was nothing at all unusual. I left the table feeling fit, not weighted down by a bunch of calories, and we took a roll in the sheets-one of our best sessions. Outside the sun was vibrating, crashing down on the crickets.
I got up later and went straight to the icebox. Once in a while life hands you moments of absolute perfection, wraps you up in stardust. I was under the impression that my ears were whistling, as if I’d attained a higher level of consciousness. I gave the eggs a big smile. I grabbed three and scrambled them in a bowl.
“What are you doing?” Betty asked.
I started looking for the flour.
“I never told you, but the only time in my life that I really made money was selling crepes. I set up this little stand by the seaside and the folks stood in line in the glaring sun with their money in their hands. Yeah, every last one of them. I made the most fabulous crepes within twenty-five miles and they knew it. I’m going to show you I’m not joking…”
“Oh really, I shouldn’t…”
“You kidding me? You’re not going to make me eat alone. You wouldn’t do a thing like that…”
“Really, I’m not in the mood. Please. I won’t eat any.”
I saw right away that there was no sense arguing. It would be like beating my head against a brick wall. I watched the eggs slide out of the bowl and make their way one by one toward the drain, while my stomach growled. But I got a hold of myself and washed the bowl out without making a fuss. She smoked a cigarette and looked at the ceiling.
I spent what was left of the afternoon on the porch fixing the motor from the washing machine. At the end of the day, seeing that all was calm-she was just reading a book-I went in and put the water on. I tossed in a handful of rock salt, tore open a package of spaghetti, and went back out on the porch I crouched down in front of
