making it impossible for me to avoid them. So there I was, panting in the corner, hoping to get saved by the bell, when she looked over at me and made a fist. It startled me. We’d never really hit each other. Since I was at least five yards away from her I didn’t panic. I felt like a native in the jungle, wondering what that thing is that the white hunter is aiming at him. This fist of hers-first she raised it up toward her mouth as if she were going to kiss it, then an instant later she put it through the kitchen window. For a split second I thought I heard the window scream.
The blood came spurting out of her arm, as if she’d just crushed a bunch of strawberries in her hand. I don’t like to say it, but I suddenly lost my nerve. A cold sweat squeezed my head like a tourniquet. I heard a whistling in my ears. Then she started laughing. She made such an odd face that for a moment I didn’t recognize her. She reminded me of an angel of darkness.
I ran to her like an angel of light, grabbing her arm with the same disgust I’d feel grabbing a rattlesnake. Her laughter hurt my ears, and she kept pounding me in the back, but somehow I managed to examine her wounds.
“Jesus Christ. You fucking idiot-you’re lucky, you know…” I said.
I took her into the bathroom and ran water over her arm. Now I was getting hot. I started to feel the punches she was giving me. I could no longer tell if she was laughing or crying. Whatever it was, she was really letting loose on my back. I had to hold her down with all my strength to wash her hand off. Just as I was getting the bandages out, she grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head back. I screamed. I’m not like some people--it hurts like hell when someone pulls my hair, especially when they go at it full throttle. I almost started crying. I sent my elbow backward. I hit something. She let go.
When I turned around, I saw her nose was bleeding.
“Shit, I don’t believe it…” I moaned.
Still, all in all it had calmed her down. I was just about able to put her bandages on in peace, except for the bottle of Mercurochrome she spilled all over in a last spasm. I didn’t have time to get my foot out of the way. The night before, I had put a coat of white polish on my shoes. Now one of them was bright red, which made the other one look stunningly white-it was quite a startling effect. Her hand was still bleeding, but her nose was better. She whimpered. I didn’t feel like comforting her. What I wanted to do was grab her and shake her, and make her apologize for what she’d done to her hand. I was prepared just to let her cry for days on end if it came down to it.
I wrapped the bandage one more time around her hand to finish up and gave her a Kleenex for her nose, without saying a word. Then I went into the kitchen to clean up the broken glass. Or more accurately, I lit a cigarette and stood there looking at the broken glass, twinkling on the tile like a school of flying fish. A cold draft came in through the window. I shivered. I was wondering about the best way to go about it-was it worth the effort to get out the vacuum cleaner or should I just use a broom and dustpan?-when I heard the downstairs door slam. I put everything on hold. One second later a man appeared on the street, foaming at the mouth, with one red shoe on his foot.
She had a good fifty-yard head start. I let out a long howl that propelled me like a jet, and I caught up fast. I could see her little ass dancing in her jeans, her hair flying sideways as she went.
We went across the neighborhood like two shooting stars. I gained ground inch by inch-she took it with ease. Under any other circumstances I’d have taken my hat off to her. We were puffing along like locomotives. The streets were practically deserted-clouds of weed-scented fog coming down here and there-but I wasn’t there to admire the scenery. I was engaged in hot pursuit with fire in my soul, wild race-to-the-finish music on the soundtrack. I called out to her a few times, then decided to save my breath. A few pedestrians turned to watch us. Two girls yelled out some bullshit, cheering Betty on. Their voices carried all the way around the corner. I pitied the next defenseless dude who crossed their path.
I got to within three or four yards of her, the sweet smell of victory whistling in my ears. Dig in, I said to myself, just hang in there, champ, it’s almost in the bag… There’s the finish line… I felt such exhilaration that I must have sent off vibes. She must have gotten them loud and clear too, because-and I don’t know how she did this-I suddenly found myself with a garbage can between my legs. I went flying over it and made a crash landing on the other side, in a blaze of glory.
I got back up as soon as I could. She’d gained at least thirty yards on me. My lungs burned when I breathed, I started running again. That’s what I was there for-I had to catch that girl no matter what. Had she known my determination, she would have hung it up, cried uncle. She would have known that a little garbage can wasn’t enough to stop me. She would have faced the music.
My knee hurt. It had happened when I fell. She was slowing down, though, and I wasn’t that far behind. Without knowing it, we’d covered quite a bit of ground. We found ourselves in a sort of industrial park, with a lot of warehouses and railroad tracks running down the middle. It was not, however, one of those abandoned areas full of savage beauty-one of those places covered with rust and overgrown weeds, bathed in the supernatural light of moonbeams. It was the opposite of that. All the buildings were new, and there was fresh asphalt all around. I don’t know who paid the electric bill around there, but it was as bright as day.
Betty rounded the corner of a blue-and-pink warehouse. It was a sort of tender pink. She wasn’t really running anymore. My knee was as swollen as a little pumpkin. I dragged my leg and gritted my teeth, my breath short and my brain hyperventilated. What gave me courage was to see her finally out of energy. She was only a little ways ahead of me, and the warehouse, which seemed endless, served as a crutch for her-she had to lean on the wall as she went. I was starting to get cold now. All my clothes were drenched with sweat, and I suddenly felt the winter night get me in a stranglehold from head to foot. I looked down at my measly sweater and shivered.
When I looked up, I saw that she’d stopped. I didn’t take advantage of the situation by jumping on her, I just started walking normally-you might even say slowly. I preferred to wait till she’d finished vomiting. There’s nothing worse than throwing up when you’re out of breath-it just about strangles you.
As for me, my blue jeans were blown up like a sausage around my knee. We were getting down to the dregs now, our own little museum of horrors, like two crippled loons thrown out of the last open bar. The light was so harsh that it felt like we were being filmed-a documentary on married life. I waited till after her last heave to speak.
“Hey, we’re going to freeze to death,” I said.
I could hardly see her-her face was covered by her hair. I wasn’t kidding, either-it was all I could do to keep my teeth from chattering. I felt like the guy who takes one last look at the sunset before sinking away forever into a snowdrift.
Before we turned completely blue I decided to grab her by the arm. She pushed me away. I had had it by then, however. The drama had begun early that morning and it was now the middle of the night and winter. I felt that I had already paid top dollar for the day. I was not going to spend one more penny. I grabbed her by the collar. Her arm had not even made it back to her side yet. I slammed her against the side of the warehouse, sniffling through my runny nose.
“Having style means knowing when you’re going too far,” I said.
The night had made me mean. Instead of listening to me, she started flailing, but I held her flat against the corrugated metal-I no longer felt my strength. I couldn’t have let go of her if I’d wanted to. Something in her must have understood this; she started screaming and pounding the wall. The warehouse rang like the bells at the gates of Hell.
It wasted me to see her like that-mouth twisted, staring me down as if I were a perfect stranger. I couldn’t take that very long-her rage, her yelling, how she had me trapped there, little girl wild with anger, claws out. I slapped her across the face to bring her back down to earth. I didn’t like doing it, but I slapped her with all my might, in a kind of mystic frenzy, as if trying to chase a demon out of her.
Just then a police car pulled up, like a flying saucer. I let go of Betty. She slipped on her heels. They opened their doors. The car sent off blue light-beams, like a child’s toy. One cop did a forward roll out onto the ground, ending up on his feet, aiming something at me. An older one got out normally, on the other side. He had a long billy club in his hand.
“All right, what’s going on here?” he asked. It was all I could do to swallow my saliva.
“She wasn’t feeling well,” I said. “I wasn’t beating her up-I was afraid she’d have a nervous breakdown. I know it’s a little hard to believe…”
The older one laid his billy club on my shoulder and smiled.
