We didn’t say all those things in that way; but that is what we talked about. Reading it over brings back the reality of it for me. Would it for him? Or have I left out the particular, personal emblems by which he would recall and know it?
If Dollar doesn’t stop pestering Copperhead, then Copperhead will kill him. If Dollar stops pestering Copperhead, then Copperhead will let him alone. If Copperhead is going to kill Dollar, then Dollar will not have stopped pestering Copperhead. If Copperhead lets Dollar alone, then Dollar will have stopped pestering Copperhead. Which of the above is true? The one with the fewest words, of course. But that’s faulty logic. Why? Three times blessed is the Lord of Divine Words, the God of Thieves, the Master of the Underworld, dual sexed in character, double dealing in nature, yet one through all diffraction.
her elbow across his jaw.
John said, “Hey…!” and went back, hands up, palms out.
The sound she made was something I’d never heard out of anybody. She kicked at his leg, got him under the knee. He grabbed at her arm again but it wasn’t there, so he pulled back.
And stumbled over a root, right up against the trunk. Which made him really mad: he swung at her again.
She jumped. Straight up. His fist landed against her arm. She came down raking at his neck. His shirt tore.
He hit her, hard. But it didn’t matter; I thought she was going to bite his throat out. She bit something. He hissed, “Shit…!”
Denny grabbed my arm. “Hey, don’t you wanna stop her…?”
“No,” I said. I was scared to death.
John tried to punch her in the stomach.
Both of them twisted, missing.
Milly kept circling around them and Jommy started to say, “Hey, somebody…” and then saw the rest of us and just swallowed.
John pushed her away in the face. She grabbed his arm and yanked. Not pulled, yanked. His elbow hit the tree. He yelled, and hit her flat-handed in the jaw.
“FUCKER…!” she shouted so loud you knew it hurt her throat. “FUCKER…!”
Her right fist came down from her left ear and hammered his face. Like an echo his head cracked back against the trunk.
“Hey! Stop it…Stop…” Then I guess he really tried to break out. He shouted, grabbed her wrist…
She was meat red from the neck up, yanking her fist over, twisting his fingers; then grabbed one fist with the other and swung it against his neck.
“Jesus…” Jommy said, to me I realized. “She’s crazy…” But he stepped back from the look I gave him.
John tried to grab her in some sort of bear hug. He kicked out, and they both went down, him pretty much on top. Everyone stepped back together.
Flailing out, she came up with a handful of grass. Then there was grass in his hair and he yelled again.
His ear was bleeding. But I don’t know what she’d done.
“Hey, look!” Milly said, loud and upset. “Why doesn’t somebody…” Then it struck her that if somebody was, the somebody was going to have to be her.
She started forward.
I touched her on the shoulder and she looked sharply around.
“Fair fight,” I said.
He hit her three times, hard, one after the other: “Stupid. Bitch. Stupid…” but she somehow got him off. And reared back. She came down with both fists on his face, once glancing off his ear and hitting the ground and coming up for another hit, bloody. When she hit him again—he was just trying to cover his face, now—I saw hers was scraped up bad.
About the sixth time she hit him—one knee went into his stomach—I thought maybe I should try and stop her. I thought about Dollar. I thought about Nightmare and Dragon Lady. But I wasn’t as scared as I’d been at the beginning, when I’d thought her quivering, shaking rage would explode her.
Denny’s mouth was open. He let go my arm.
She stood up, almost falling. “You fucking shit!” she said. It sounded like her jaw clicked between syllables. She kicked him in the head. Twice.
“Hey, come on…” one of the others said, and started toward her. But didn’t touch her.
Thinking: Maybe a tennis sneaker isn’t that hard.
Sure.
She turned and came, blindly, toward me.
As Denny fell back, she stopped, looked behind her and shouted, “You fucking shit!” and came on. Her face was all puffed on one side.
Two of the guys kneeled beside John. Milly hovered behind them as though she still couldn’t make up her mind.
“Oh, wow!” Denny said. “You really creamed the bastard!”
“The fucking shit!” she whispered, wiping at her face and grimacing. “The fucking…” One eye was all teary. She started walking. We walked with her.
“It looks like he got in a couple too,” Denny said.
“She’s walking,” I said.
“Hey, you did better than Glass did with Dollar,” Denny said.
“I had—” She took a breath. “I guess I had more reason.” She rubbed her shoulder with her palm, fingers strained wide. And left blood on the workshirt sleeve. I don’t think she knew she was bleeding yet.
“Hey, Lanya?” Jack said. Frank stood behind his shoulder.
She stopped and looked.
She swallowed and I wondered if she remembered who he was.
I was probably projecting.
“Thanks,” Jack said.
She nodded, swallowed once more, and started walking again.
“What’s the matter?” Denny asked about twenty yards later. “Your eye hurt?”
She shook her head. “It’s just that…” She really sounded upset. “Well, nice girls from Sarah Lawrence don’t usually beat the fucking shit out of…” and gasped again.
I put my arm around her shoulder. She fitted like usual. Only she didn’t adjust her step to mine. So I adjusted mine to hers. “Did you want me to lend you a hand in there?”
“I would have pulled your balls off!” she said. “I would have…I don’t know what I would have…”
I squeezed her shoulder. “Just asking, babes.”
She touched her jaw again, gently, realizing it hurt. And left blood there. “The school was my thing. It wasn’t yours. You didn’t have anything to do with it. You didn’t even like Paul…Oh, the fucking shit—!” and stopped walking.
“I helped you with the class a couple of times,” Denny said. “Didn’t I?” and glanced back at the others.
“Sure,” Lanya said, and put her hand on his shoulder. Then she winced and reached down to rub her leg. Not limping, she still favored it.
“I just don’t understand why you lit into him,” I said.
“Oh, fuck you!” She pulled away from me. “You don’t understand a lot of things. About me.”
“All right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she said, harshly. But when I caught up with her, she put her arm around my shoulder. And adjusted her step.
“Hey,” Denny said. “You wanna be by yourself for a while?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Yes I do.”
She walked with us to the park entrance, so that I figured she was going back with us to the nest. But by the lions she said, “I’ll see you later,” and just walked off.
“Hey…” I called.
“She wants to be by herself,” Denny said.
I still felt funny.
She did come back to the nest, late that night after we’d been in bed (me half drunk) about an hour. Vaguely I heard her taking off her clothes, then climbing the ladder pole.
She crawled across me, rolled me by the shoulder onto my back, and, a-straddle my chest, glared down, swaying like she was going to rip something out of me with her teeth. I reached between her legs and pushed two fingers through her hair between the granular walls; they wet.
She leaned both hands on my chest, her arms pushing her breasts together and actually growled.