A Ship Made of Paper

“I’m sore,”she says, removing his hand.

”You are?”he says, smiling.

”Aren’t you?”

It dawns on him.He reaches behind him, feels the small ofhis back.

“My back doesn’t hurt, which is a sort ofClass B miracle.As for Mr.

Johnson, he’s been waiting for this his whole life.”

She laughs, though she doesn’t find it all that funny—what amuses her is his intention to amuse her.

She places her hands on Daniel’s shoulder, as ifto give him a little shove.But the feel ofhis flesh fascinates her, derails her impulse to rough him up a little.She squeezes his arm and then kisses his shoulder, touches her tongue against his skin—he tastes like a wooden countertop upon which someone has not quite cleaned up a spill ofmolasses.

He wants to make declarations.He wants to tell her how long he has dreamed oflying next to her, and he wants to tell her how the reality of actually being with her has exceeded his most fervid imaginings—but he has already said these things.He has discovered little imperfections in her body—brackish breath as she grew tired, a kind ofabdominal fullness that suggests one day she will have a belly—but, ofcourse, in the state he is in, these things have only made her more desirable:they have made her real, they have made herhis.He wants to tell her she is beautiful, but how many times can you say that in twelve hours without it becoming suspect?Yet, he must declare something.Is he, for instance, meant to go home now and pretend none ofthis has happened?

She seems to have gotten there before him.She looks at him with great seriousness and says,“Say something to me.Tell me what I want to hear.”

His first instinct is to declare his love, but something tells him not to.

”I’ll tell you this,”he says.“I’m not going to crowd you.I know your life is complicated.”

“It is,”she says softly.

”More than mine.IfI lost everything, it wouldn’t be that much.I’m not married.I don’t have a kid.”

“You have Ruby.”

“She’s not really mine.”

“Yes she is, the way you love her.And ifanything happened, you might never see her again.That would be so terrible.”

“It’s not like you.You have a good life.You have your son, school, your life, everything.I don’t want to be a problem.”

“So what do you think ofme?What do you think ofa woman who’d fuck some guy in her husband’s bed?”

“I don’t know.Maybe she should be taken out and stoned to death in front ofa vast crowd.”

He smiles to let her know he’s kidding, but she doesn’t find it funny, and the timing irritates her.

“Well, nobody needs to know, do they,”she says.

”What are we supposed to do?”he asks.

”You think I’m going to change my whole life because you slept in this bed last night?”she says.Her voice is a little sharp, which she regrets.

But, really.

“Yes, I think I do,”he says.“I’m sorry.I’m going to figure out a better way to feel.And in the meanwhile, I promise to behave.”

She makes a silencing gesture.She thinks she hears something, a noise from down the hall.

“Nobody’s awake yet,”Daniel says.

She listens again.He’s right;the house is silent.She hears the distant whine ofa snowmobile, powering through the white enameled stillness ofthe world like a dentist’s drill.She kisses him.

“You’d better go back to the guest room,”Iris says.“Nelson could walk in here any second.”

“All right.”He leans out ofthe bed, as ifout ofa life raft, reaching down for what is left ofthe night’s wreckage— his shirt, his underwear, his pants.

She feels a sudden gust ofdesperation at the sight ofhim beginning to leave.What ifthis never can happen again? He looks at her over his shoulder as he gets out ofbed.His reddish, slightly wrinkled little be-hind.She dives across the bed, grabs his hips, he makes it easy for her to pull him back into bed.When they have stopped rolling around, he has ended up below her, his head between her legs, his mouth kissing her opening as ifthey were the lips on her face.At this point, it is barely ex-citing, it’s comforting, it feels warm and kind and devoted.

Footsteps.Have they been getting closer all the while? In a panic, Iris lifts herselfup and twists away from Daniel.Her pubic bone bangs against his teeth.He looks bewildered, but she doesn’t have to tell him to get up, he knows what’s happening.There is apat pat patoffootsteps getting closer.He rolls out ofbed, grabs the clothes he gathered minutes before, makes a vain attempt to cover himself.Iris pulls the covers up to her chin.

It’s Scarecrow.The old dog waddles in, head cocked, her long lilac tongue out, a good-natured glint in her blue eyes.

“Thank you, Jesus!”Daniel says.

They are so relieved, they share the hysterical laughter ofthe near miss.Iris does something she hasn’t done since she was a little girl:she covers her mouth while she laughs her gummy laugh.And Daniel pre-tends to have a heart attack, grabbing his chest, staggering, falling back into the bed.Iris strokes his long, soft hair.She leans over, kisses the taste ofherselfoffhis mouth.

Nelson’s footsteps are softer than the dog’s.He is right next to the bed before they notice him.

“I’m cold,”he says, staring intently at Daniel.

[8]

Hampton was still pinching black powder out of his back pocket, rubbing it be-tween his thumb and forefinger.His fingers were long, poetic;you could imagine him playing piano, stroking a sleeping cat, caressing a woman.He tossed the powder into the darkness, as if scattering ashes after a cremation.Then he raked a handful of dead leaves off of a wild cherry tree, one that was still standing, and used them to wipe his hands.“I used to make Iris laugh all the time.”

“I used to make Kate laugh, too,”said Daniel.He said it because he had to say

something.He couldn’t simply let Hampton go on about Iris and not say any-thing in reply.It would be too strange, and it would be suspicious, too.However, what he said was true, meant.“First couple of years, I had her in hysterics.”

He noticed that Hampton’s shaved head had suffered a scrape.There was a

little red worm of blood on the smooth scalp.

“Kate doesn’t think you’re funny anymore?”

“No, she doesn’t,”Daniel said.

”Iris thinks you’re funny.Maybe you’re funnier around her.”

“Maybe she’s just very kind.”

“Or very lonely.”

Daniel must move quickly now that Nelson has crawled under the covers to be next to Iris;he slips out ofher bedroom and into the hall, where he dresses frantically and with more clumsiness than he thought himself capable of, before going into Nelson’s room and waking Ruby.He shakes her awake.Time to go, sweetie.She nods, accepting the wisdom ofhis edict.She never argues with anything he says.She assumes he knows what is best for her and what is correct.Ifhe serves her peas and corn, she eats peas and corn.Ifhe tucks her in bed, she closes her eyes.Ifhe tells her there are no such things as ghosts, she believes him, she doesn’t even ask him to look in the closet.Daniel dresses her hur-riedly, and then carries her down the stairs and through the door to the stunned, frosted, broken world outside.

His car has been spared.No trees have fallen on it during the night, though there are twigs and branches stuck in the snow on the roofand windshield.Next door, not thirty feet away, a dogwood has snapped in two;its crown rests on the roofofthe house, right next to the chimney.