“What are you going to do now?” I asked Ruth.
“I'm sorry I goosed the cook, or whatever it is I've done,” Ruth said. “Do you still want to take me to the country with you, Bill?”
“I guess so. I'm stoical, like the Indians.”
“Then let's do it right now. Let's fix it so we can go tomorrow. Do you know how you go to the country? All I know is that you take a bus.”
“I think Charlie Hodges went to the country once,” I said. “He ought to be home right now, too. I'll call him.”
We went into a cigar store, and Charlie was home and said to come up. He said he knew all about the country and even knew of a farm house we could get. I hung up and waited to see if my money would come back, but it didn't, and I went out and told Ruth what Charlie had said. There was a taxi stand at the corner, and because we had money now we started for that instead of the street car stop.
“We're going to the country! The CUNT-ery!” Ruth sang.
She started to skip, and I ran after her.
Chapter II
Well-Charlie and Ruth had known each other for a long time and they got along all right now. They hadn't gotten along so well at first because Charlie wanted to take her apart and put her back together the way he thought she ought to be. When he forgot that idea they got along pretty well.
We sat around in his place and he told us about the old farm house he had lived in one summer. It sounded all right, and he said that he could wire to the people who owned it and if it was to be had we could probably go up in a couple of days. Ruth didn't want to wait that long.
“It won't be a good idea in a couple of days,” she said.
Charlie said that he supposed he could telephone, and fix it up, so we had him do that. Then, while he was on the phone the doorbell rang and I answered it. I didn't know the fellow who walked in, but Charlie waved at him and he sat down and poured himself a drink. Ruth was in the bathroom just then, and she didn't come out until Charlie had finished talking to the people who owned the farm.
“It's all right,” Charlie said when he clicked the receiver down. “You can go up tomorrow if you want to.”
“Introduce me to the girl,” said the fellow who had just come in. “I want to talk to her.”
Charlie said the words and mixed another shakerful of drinks. “If we're going up there tomorrow we'd better get back to the house and get things ready,” I said.
But Ruth didn't want to go then. The new fellow was talking to her about Henry Miller, and they both had a great deal to say about Henry Miller, and I saw that we weren't going to leave yet.
“Did you know that he was a tailor before he went to Paris?” the fellow said to me.
I said yes, I knew that he had been a tailor, but did anybody know if he had been a good tailor? The fellow didn't seem to think that was important, and he acted as though he thought I was being funny, so when Charlie went out to the kitchen for more ice cubes I went too.
“What the hell?” I asked Charlie.
“He's all right,” Charlie said. “You just have to get used to him.”
“Not me,” I said. “I've gotten over that business of getting used to people.”
We broke the ice up and went back to the other room, and Ruth was sitting on the couch in a way that gave everybody a fine view of what she had to show. I gave her the last drink in the shaker.
“Why don't you change into something more comfortable?” I asked her. She moved her legs and fixed her dress.
Charlie's friend didn't look so good, and he didn't say much after that. I felt a little sorry for him. After all, you can't blame a man for trying. Or so they tell me.
“Listen to this,” said Charlie. “I just found it: 'Look at this pretty girl, for instance… her little head, her beautiful throat, her charmingly rounded form and all the rest. In what corner of her person could a grain of virtue find lodgement? There is no room, all is so firm, so full of sap, plump and well filled. Virtue, like the raven, lives among the ruins. It is to be found in the lines and wrinkles of the body.'“ He closed the book and put it back on the shelf.
“Who is that?” Charlie's friend asked.
“Anatole France,” I told him. “He lived in France too, but I don't believe that he was ever a tailor.”
“What odd friends you have, Charlie,” the fellow said. “Can I have another drink now?”
“You're all right,” Charlie said. “He's just trying to get your goat. Ruth, let's see if you have any wrinkles where a grain of virtue might find lodgement.”
“You know all about my wrinkles,” Ruth said. “Bill, I think we ought to go. Grandma's eyes are getting big.”
We finished our drinks and said thanks to Charlie about the farm and good-bye to his friend and then we left. It was still early and there was only a little packing to do, so we walked down to a movie.
“He wasn't a bad guy, Charlie's friend,” I said. “He just needs to be put back and cooked a little longer.”
“I could have forgotten that if you had left me alone with him for a little while longer. Why didn't you fellows go out for cigarettes or something? He would have been good.”
“If you feel like that you can still go back. You can let Charlie point out the lines and wrinkles for him.”
“I don't want to go back now. I just felt like that for a minute. That's why I was sitting that way when you came back from the kitchen. Could he see it all right?”
“Yes, god damn it, he could see it!! Why didn't you lie down on the floor and wave your legs at him?”
“I probably would have if you and Charlie hadn't been there. I wasn't going to make it a free-for-all. I hadn't had enough to drink to do that.”
“Christ, you're getting moral,” I said.
“I had him going, Bill. He knew I was showing him my cunt on purpose, but he was afraid to do anything about it. You should have seen him squirming around before you and Charlie came back!”
“You're going to do something like that just one time too often,” I said. “One of these days a man is going to give you what you deserve for tricks like that.”
“It wasn't a trick. I was ready to spread my legs, but I couldn't do it when you were around.”
A girl was standing on the corner and the wind blew her dress very high. She clutched it close to herself and turned her back to the wind. Ruth grabbed my arm.
“Why doesn't the wind ever do that to my dress?” she said. “Wasn't she pretty, Bill?”
“I couldn't see that far,” I said.
“I'll bet you'd like to walk up and get your prick against her little bare ass,” she said.
“She was wearing pants. I could see far enough to tell that.”
“I wonder what she's like? Don't you ever wonder about people you see? Don't you ever wonder when you see a girl if she's hot and how many men she's jazzed and if she goes down on them all? Things like that bother me.”
“Why the hell don't you ask her?” I said. “If it bothers you so much, find out about it.”
“I suppose you think I won't do it.”
I tried to stop her, but she walked up to the girl. She touched her arm and the girl turned around quickly.
“I beg your pardon,” Ruth said, “but I'd like to know if you French.”
The girl looked closely at Ruth's face. She smiled without comprehension.
“Do you like to suck cocks?” Ruth said.
The girl made an ugly noise in her throat. She smiled and shook her head and reached into her purse for a pad of paper and a pencil. Ruth took the pencil and the pad and then she wrote a question about a street. The girl pointed in the direction we were walking and held up four fingers. Ruth smiled and said thank you with her lips and then we walked away.
“I'm sorry about that. I feel awful,” she said.
“You don't have to whisper,” I said. “She can't hear you. What are you sorry about?”
“She looked so nice with the wind blowing her dress. And then she's like that. It isn't right.”
“Not being able to talk doesn't make her any less nice. And it probably makes her a better fuck.”