"Faster George, harder. Now you know why I ride horses."
The village church bell rings, quarter mile down the road. We're in here like this with flowers on the bedroom curtains and on the chair. Shake your brown thatch all out over your shoulders, be the last time I'll grab. I will not go faster.
"My friends are waiting, George."
In summer on this road they sell the stacked up pumpkins, purple aubergine and zeplin watermelons. And fresh farm eggs. Not for nude cooking I said. And Shirl this is a joke no longer.
"Shirl what do you mean your friends."
"They're waiting down stairs."
"They're what, Shirl."
"Waiting."
"Get out of this bed."
"Hey we're not finished."
"I will not give myself to being used while your friends wait for you. Get out."
"I'm not dressed."
"Get out."
"You're not pushing me naked into a hotel hall, George, you're not doing that. That's one thing you're not doing."
"I am doing. Out. Into the hall."
"No."
"Go to your friends. Waiting for you. Bunch of ambitious little commuters. O Shirl's just upstairs having a throw with some guy. Don't make me a laughing stock."
"You are already. Everybody knows how you make your money. And they laugh, boy do they laugh. They laugh because they know."
"You take it from me and spend it."
"I wish I didn't because it's horrible money."
"I reject that."
"And they know what happens with that nigger in that apartment. Don't try to fool me."
"Simply get out of this room before I lose my temper."
"Always knew you were from the wrong side of the tracks."
"A litde vulgar fantasy of yours."
"It isn't. You sneaked into society."
"I see. I'm in society now."
"They saw you sneaking, don't worry. My friends know. Your phoney little cultivated habits."
"I reject that."
"Mosaics all over your stupid house. How they let you in The Game Club I don't know. And trying to make some baronial hall sowing trees up our drive. My friends were wise to that, don't you worry. Can't find my things. I want the light on."
"You came in in the dark you go out with all lights off."
"You rat. I'm glad I can't see your face. It's the only way I could bear you fucking me."
"I think perhaps you've said enough."
"Tell me to get out. And I'm going."
"Splendid. Bring your little playmates downstairs with you."
"You bet I will. You'll hear from my legal counsel."
"Can't wait."
"My friends are better than you are and I'd like to know where all that other money goes. And I'll find out. You can't kid my lawyer, he's smart."
"Since I pay for him I'm glad to hear that."
"I ought to have half of what you possess."
"Ha ha."
"Go ahead and laugh. Where's my purse. You'll be laughing. Boy you'll be laughing. FU make you laugh. You'll laugh all right. Boy you'll be laughing."
"Ha ha."
"Laugh all you want. Go ahead. But I'll squeeze you dry."
Across the room somewhere in the dark there was the momentary silence. Four hoots of that snowy owl. And summer comes back and the tangled worms squirming in the white silk nets they weave in wild cherry trees.
"George, George, what terrible things am I saying."
"You were saying, boy, you'll be laughing, And I'll squeeze you dry."
"George, I'm scared and shivering. What's making me shiver. Turn on the lights. I'm scared the things I'm saying."
"Can't you find your purse."
"No George and I'm scared. Don't throw me out. I didn't mean that about legal counsel."
"Forget it."
"George, I can't. What about the kids. God legal counsel. Don't make me go to court George."
"I'm not making you go to court."
"They'll scream down at me. I know they'll scream down at me. A judge with white hair. He'll eat up my soul George."
"Don't be silly."
"Never make me go before a judge, George. As you lie there now promise me that. I'm scared. Let me sit. I'd be accused. The judge would accuse me and it would be horrible."
Can see the shadow of her hair. See the shoulders she covers with her shirt. And I know she's breaking right in two. Tears pouring down her cheeks. Wait and the sniff and sob will come. Shirl all women cry. The lousy life. But outlive men. I mean you no harm. Let no judge get you. Even on judgement day. When all the country yokels are clustering in the trees and I step down the steps of my tomb. To cheers. Remember under the snow lies summer. Done that for a lot of years. Can sit then sucking a straw of grass and it hardly matters nearly that one is in society. Or that I went out in the world ruthlessly. Maybe sneaking across the tracks. Shirl you're crying. I could cry too. I went so far in the snow today. Walked back along the tracks in the road where it was hard. Thinking so much about the silence you hold like a child's hand and it was all up over the hills. I came last night when it was snowing. A rich man. The papers said it would be crisp and cold. At the Junction it began to snow. I was hurt when the train left. I hate anything to leave. Stay. Stay longer. I only told you to get out because it was a fiasco. Paper hats and jumping bodies in the lobby. Tell me nice things and I'll believe them forever. Shirl don't cry. What harm really for a fast one and for you to run down and meet your friends and go out speeding over the snowy roads and even sit on a stranger's knee. Why should I mind. Except that I suppose I have no friends. Save one old one standing staring at me at some excavation site when I ran. So Shirl little girl. Dry up your eyes. I've got your purse here under my pillow. And now I'll give it back. Made of mesh like your slipper. And you can go away then. Out to friends. I think you're right, the only time traffic will ever stop for me.
Is when
I'm dead.
6
CHRISTMAS eve. And this Monday morning George Smith dressed in black passed out the lobby of Merry Manse. Hugo some yards up the street in conversation with another doorman. But the chauffeur was there with door open of this long low wide black gleaming car. A tinted green glass between Smith and driver. Who said his name was Herbert.
And last Saturday I sent Shirl dogwood blossoms. Wax this time of year. And sat near the phone in my room in The Goose Goes Inn before I left on Sunday. It never rang. And I could not cheer her up. She left the room bent and sad. And perhaps never played with her friends. In the village I had a pineapple soda midst a lot of larking kids. Then trudged in the little cemetery knee deep in snow, reading names and poems.
Sunday I rested my bag on a cart and sat beside it in the railway station. Feeling sad for all little children. The cold evening. Lights blinking on. In the tavern just beyond the war memorial a jukebox played. Heard the train engine roaring, its light shining down the white tracks, almost empty, streaked and stained. Got off at the Junction and had a cup of hot chocolate. Kept me warm looking out at the winter evening the rest of the way to the terminus.
Merry Mansions Sunday night, with loud parties in the distance. Matilda said she was going to have a good time at some heaven. And George Smith sat alone staring across the room. And out the window for a bit, at a roistering gathering of folk across the street. A city full of fathers with gathered arms of presents to give and get, this complicated time of year.
And now Monday morning, day before the great birth, in this car crossing town in the jammed traffic. George Smith sitting one leg folded upon another, ankles in black silk, cane and briefcase. Slipping off his dark capeskin gloves. A lap full of mail. The season's summonses. Without glad red berried holly leaves. Deep long lasting and sincere. Heartfelt wishes this time of year.