What to make of it? The dream, if just the scream and dead child thought, certainly woke her up. But what of the rest? Multiple meanings of tern? Fiddling with her bow only in there for a laugh? All the baby talk with Marietta could explain the dead child being in, but what does that dropping-to-his-knees scene mean: child she wants but might never conceive, being stillborn? Her wanting to kiss him, then resisting, related to what happened with Peter before? Was the mud she was in primeval? The strangulation pose supposed to be what she thinks sex would be like with him? The sandpiper flying past the piper of passing time? Nothing she can now think of makes her think the dream was very self-revealing or profound. Engaging, moving, cinematic, even tragic, and her favorite kind stylistically, one that for the most part moves forward and tells a story. But when the meaning doesn’t come at once or after some thought, she lets the interpretation of it drop till it pops out on its own. Now that’s interesting.
She gets up, her mouth dry from all the drinking tonight. Bathrobe on, shuts the bedroom door to keep Sammy in. Bathroom still steamy from what must have been a long shower. Doesn’t have to pee but will on her way back so she won’t have to get up again tonight. Heads for the kitchen for a glass of water. Living room’s dark except for the street lights but ample light to see. He seems to be sleeping, hardly breathing. She holds her breath, doesn’t even hear him then. He can’t have anything on underneath since his pants are folded on the floor beside the bed and he said he lost his undershorts. On top of the pants his neatly folded shirt and beside them on top of a newspaper folded in half his shoes side by side with what appear to be socks inside. Why’d he move the shoes in? Probably from some infixed sense of order or he didn’t want her to feel his things were strewn all over. He’s on his stomach, covers down to a little above his waist. Room’s fairly cold, so won’t do for his chill. She goes to the side of the bed he’s not facing. He has big shoulders, fairly big back muscles which seem unusually tight for a man sleeping, even flexed. Big tuft of hair on his back just below the neck, also hair that comes up almost to the tops of his arms. He smells from her hair conditioner, so he must have shampooed. Same smell she smelled when she passed the bathroom. All right by her if it made him feel better, but maybe he should have asked if he could use them. She pulls the covers up to his neck, he doesn’t move. She goes into the kitchen, runs the tap water to get it cold. What’s she doing? — she has enough bottled spring water to take a bath. She gets it out, in the refrigerator light pours out a glass. Shuts the refrigerator door, drinks. Too cold to drink all at once, truck roars past. At this hour and that sound could only be a Times or News delivery truck, hopes it didn’t wake him up. Thinks between sips he’s a very bright guy, a terribly nice guy, well just a bright nice lively guy, that much is clear, with a tendency to get into scenes. Also a lot better looking than she remembered him, grubby as he was when he got here, with a sense of neatness and cleanness about himself, and that while he was here, big contrast to Peter, he didn’t make any kind of pass. In the morning he’ll ask — she’ll sit down for toast and coffee with him — if he could see her again, and what will she say? Say yes, see what he’s like once he gets over his nervousness about her and evening fatigue and lingering tipsiness, meet for tea, maybe the second time for a long walk and lunch, and if he gets as pushy as he was on the phone, stop him, and if he continues to be pushy after that, drop him, since that’s not the type of man she ever especially liked and certainly not what she wants to start up with again, so just, and this has to be the main thing, go slowly with him from date to date and if it works it works, what more is there to say other than she thinks this is what she’ll still think if she remembers it when she wakes up again later today, and sets the glass upside down in the dishrack, tiptoes to the bathroom without looking at him, pees nothing much so doesn’t flush it, more not to waste water than not to wake him, gets down in a crouch and slowly opens the bedroom door, grabs Sammy just as he’s about to scoot out through her legs and kicks the door shut and carries him with her to bed.
Shulumu, gutsofar. What is, with, I affir, I affir, behind me befar, so near, so nar, cower me dup tweetly, twilleries, get back there and didn’t let are, wise up me for once, buf something like one like, gist wanded to see what she would do, nice, she was so noose and then some niece, covers over me, I was too tired to and thought I’d freeze, in time I might’ve covered myself up all right, a find kine lady, eager to see her out of mourning in daylight, now go to slip, sluff, go to, sloop, time to, eferthink fault wheret May, going fizz, fuzz, bing bomb, bye bye blackbird, how do you fly today? climb on its back, time another time goodbye, slaff, baa, shhh, ssss, sleepily, bobby go nug, not knee, pot cheese, flug dwempt tomb, tinny time, tommy too, tea for tots, sofa mat, softer than mine, wean my gloom, bridge slapped dashed on, sheet and pillowcase so smellowy clean, he and Helene in a car with two men friends, don’t know whose and, catching them in the rearview, who they are, but everyone having a ding-a-dang time, yokes, laughs, “Catch this one,” one of the men says, Dan in the driveler’s seat steering, North is his best, South on his left, West afront, East ahind, Helene beside him speaking, silent visible words out of her mouth letter by letter “Lovely landscape. Nice drive. Big bridge. Why’s it rise so high? Tale-telling clouds. I see a hamstring in that one, a man strung in the next one. Beautiful ocean or bay. Where are we, Dan, and where we going?” “We’re crossing the George Washington Bridge — the one that’s lit up like a brassiere on its back. You don’t recognize the Jersey side?” “Don’t reproach me,” she says. “Just ask ‘Do you recognize it?’ rather than ‘Why don’t you?’” “I said it like that?” he lies. “If I did, I deeply apologize,” when one of the men grabs him around the neck from behind and yells “The bridge, dimwit — watch it!” and they’re all screaming as the car crashes through the side-railing and coasts over the water a few seconds before it starts to dive. “Are we in a pursuit plane?” Dan asks Helene. The men punch open their doors and make expert jackknife dives out of the car and with their arms out glide downward side by side talking about the great view. Helene’s in the back seat screaming, a one- to two-month-old baby’s in her lap sleeping, car’s still diving straight down. Dan shouts “Oh no, oh darn, oh my dolls, we’re ruined, dashed, we, so soon, nothing nothing I or any man can do,” and throws his arms back to grab them in a last hug but can’t reach them. Then when he reaches them his arms won’t come down. Then they won’t go around. Car roof’s gone, blue sky and white clouds and a preschool teacher and her class flying above and below. He stands on the seat, top half of his body’s outside, and yells “Help us, stop it,” raises his arms, “All right, I suppercake, I beg!” is on his bed, where’s he? Helene’s, sleeping over, now he sees, it’s still dark, orangy sky, strange window frame shadows on the ceiling, Mondrians they remind him of, sofabed, softer bed, better pillow, just a dream, mean, man on the mule mews moody night, jorst a morst a lost a florst by morning heights dive, doors, forced, birdmen’s frenzed strength, bridge, scary biz, bees, buzz buzz, by, ben, aboo, “Mr. Krin?” “Yes?” he says. “Dr. Krin — Professor, nitch?” head of his department says. “No, jest a lecturer, Professor Fish.” “Lieutenant Krin then, we’d like you to take a fourth class ex pes this term — physics, and on the cusp I’m a fade, since we don’t have the font to pay extra, extra.” “Me? Fee free? Physics gas and lab? That’s good for a gaff, cost it’s the last thing I could dabble in. As a unicycle student I used to freeze whenever I went into my physics and chemistry classes and I never got higher than a D.” “Chemistry has nothing to do with it, Lieutenant, and do it for me. It’ll help you in this apartment, Sergeant, take it from me. I gibt you ein box, privately. In it is Miss Effie’s things to know how to teach your physics class.” He gives Dan an artist’s paint box. “Return it clean,” and leaves. Dan takes an old leatherbound book from the box, thumbs through it and sees everything he’s supposed to teach.