I looked on the bench where Mary Lou had slept. She was not there. There was an odd smell in the room—warm and sweet. And the room itself was warm and stuffy, as though the temperature had been turned up. I stood still for a while, trying to accustom myself to the altered place in the dim light. I could not see any reptiles in the cases; but the light was poor. The python case looked strange, and there was something humped in the middle of it.
I found a switch on the wall, turned the lights on, and stood there blinking at the brightness.
And then a voice came from in front of me: “What the hell…?”
It was Mary Lou. The hump in the floor of the case had rearranged itself and I saw that it was Mary Lou. Her hair was matted and her eyes were squinted half shut. She looked the way she had on that night long before when my agitation had driven me out here and I had waked her and we had talked.
I opened my mouth to speak, but then said nothing. She was sitting now, in the case, with her legs hanging over the side. There was no glass in the case anymore—and certainly no python—and she had put a mattress in it to make a bed; that was what she was sitting on now, rubbing her eyes and trying to focus them on me.
Finally I spoke. “Mary Lou,” I said.
She stopped rubbing her eyes and stared. “That’s you, Paul,” she said softly. “Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said.
She eased herself down to the floor and started walking slowly toward me. She was wearing a long white nightshirt that was very wrinkled, and her face was puffy from sleep. Her feet were bare; they padded on the floor as she walked. And when she came close to me and stopped, looking up at me from under her matted hair, sleepily, yet with that same old intense look, I felt something catch in my throat and I did not try to speak.
She looked me up and down like that, closely. And then she said, “Jesus, Paul. You’ve changed.”
I said nothing, but nodded.
She shook her head wonderingly. “You look… you look ready for anything.”
Suddenly I found words. “That’s right,” I said. And then I stepped forward and put my arms around her and pulled her to me, very hard. And in a moment I felt her arms around my back, pulling me even tighter. My heart seemed to expand then, holding her firm body against mine, smelling her hair and the smell of soap on the back of her white neck, feeling her breasts against my breast, her stomach against mine, her hand, now, caressing the back of my neck.
I began to feel an arousal that I had never felt before. My whole body felt it. I let my hands slide down her back until they held her hips, pulling her against me. I began to kiss her throat.
Her voice was nervous, soft. “Paul,” she said, “I just woke up. I need to wash my face and comb my hair…”
“No, you don’t,” I said, bringing my hands together behind her, pulling her tighter to me.
She put the palm of her hand against my cheek. “Jesus Christ, Paul!” she said softly.
I took her hand in mine and led her to the large bed she had made from the python cage. We undressed, watching each other silently. I felt stronger, more certain than I had ever felt with her before.
I helped her into the bed and began to kiss her naked body—the insides of her arms, the place between her breasts, her belly, the insides of her thighs, until she cried out; my heart was pounding furiously but my hands were steady.
Then I pushed myself into her slowly, stopping for a moment and then going deeper. I was transported by it, ecstatic; I could not have spoken.
We continued to move with one another, looking at each other’s face. She became more beautiful as I watched her, and the pleasure of what we were doing together was astonishing, unbelievable. It was nothing like the sex I had known about and been taught. I had never even suspected that such lovemaking was possible. When my orgasm came it was overwhelming; I shouted aloud as it happened, holding Mary Lou to me.
And then we fell back from one another, both of us wet with perspiration, and stared at each other.
“Jesus,” Mary Lou said softly. “Jesus, Paul.”
I lay there on one elbow, looking at her, for a long quiet time. Everything seemed different. Better. And clearer.
Finally I said, “I love you, Mary Lou.”
She looked at me and nodded. Then she smiled.
We lay together silently for a long while. Then she put her gown back on and said softly, “I’m going up to the fountain to wash my face.” And she left.
I lay there for several minutes, feeling relaxed, very happy and calm. Then I got up and dressed and went out to be with her.
It was dark out. But then she must have turned on a switch, for lights came on at the fountain and a kind of carousel music began to play.
I walked up the path toward the light and water and music. She was bent over the fountain’s pool, washing her face vigorously with her hands. When I got within a few feet of her she still had not seen me. She stopped washing, sat down, and began drying her face with the hem of her gown, pulling the gown up past her knees to do so.
I watched her for a moment. Then I spoke. “Do you want to use my comb?”
She looked up at me, startled, and pulled her gown down. Then she smiled self-consciously. “Yes, Paul,” she said.
I gave her my comb and sat down beside her on the edge of the little fountain and watched her combing her hair in the light from the spotlights that shone on the water.
With the tangles out of her hair and with her face now scrubbed and bright, she looked shockingly beautiful. Her skin was luminous. I did not want to speak; I stared at her, just enjoying the sight of her, until she lowered her eyes and smiled.
Then she spoke hesitantly. “Did they let you out of prison?”
“I escaped.”
“Oh,” she said, and looked back up at me, as if seeing me now for the first time. “Was it bad? Prison, I mean?”
“I learned some things while I was there. It could have been worse.”
“But you escaped.”
The strength of my voice surprised me. “I wanted to come back to you.”
She looked down again for a moment, and then back up to me. “Yes,” she said. “Oh Jesus. I’m glad you came back.”
I nodded. Then I said, “I’m hungry. I’ll fix us something.” I turned and headed down the path.
“Don’t wake the baby…” she said.
I stopped and turned back to her. She looked a little lost, confused. “What baby?” I said.
Suddenly she shook her head and laughed. “My God, Paul. I forgot. There’s a baby now.”
I stared at her. “Then I’m a father?”
She got up quickly, with her face all youthful, and ran down the path to me and threw her arms around my neck and, like a young girl, kissed me on the cheek. “Yes, Paul,” she said. “You’re a father now.” Then she took me by the hand and led me into the House of Reptiles. And I realized what the white cloths inside were; they were diapers.
She took me to one of the smaller cases, where the iguanas had been, and there, lying on its fat stomach asleep and wearing a big white diaper, was a baby. It was pale and chubby-looking, and it snored quietly. There were bubbles of spit at the corners of its mouth. I stood there looking at it for a long time.
Then I said to Mary Lou softly, “Is it a girl?”
She nodded. “I’ve named her Jane. After Simon’s wife.”
That seemed all right. I liked the name. I liked being a father. To be responsible for another person, for my own child, seemed like a good thing.