The thought of going out to see if anything was happening floated around Harry during the commercials, but he just couldnt seem to work up the initiative. He entertained the thought briefly, each time it passed by, but he allowed it to continue on its merry way as soon as the movie started again. Eventually Marion got home, the makeup and cold winds putting color in her cheeks. She shook herself out of her coat, O, its cold out there. It took me forever to get a cab. Yeah, its a bitch. She spent so much time hanging up her coat and straightening out the clothes in the closet that she became selfconscious and closed her eyes and tried to think the tension out of her stomach and a sparkle in her eyes before turning around and facing Harry. Well, I got the money—walking over to the couch, trying to appear relaxed and nonchalant, Here. She handed the money to Harry. Good. We should be able to get straight now. He tried to relax and not just ignore but deny the fact that there was a feeling of embarrassment in the room that was so intense it was almost tangible. Marion leaned back against the couch and crossed her legs and tilted her head and smiled, speaking as offhandedly as possible, What movie is this honey? Harry shrugged, Don’t know. I just flipped it on. You know. Marion nodded and stared at the screen, fighting, fighting, fighting, but she knew it was not only useless, but senseless to sit here trying to pretend that nothing had happened and that everything was just the same and nothing had changed. That was absurd and she involuntarily shrugged as the word rang through her head, she was far too intelligent and aware to allow herself to fall into the selfdelusive trap. She knew she couldnt talk to Harry about it, that that would only make it worse, much worse, but she could not try to deny it to herself. She almost sighed audibly as she reached and accepted the conclusion. What happened happened. She would accept that and just allow it to drift from her mind into some other space and just not say anything to Harry… she shrugged inwardly. No, the chances are that he wont ask. She sighed, then smiled at Harry when he looked at her, then rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, I love you Harry. He kissed her, I love you too. She smiled again and then he turned his attention to the tube and she stared at it for a moment, trying to ignore the horrendous knot gnawing at her stomach, then uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, I think I/ll get off. You want to too? I just had a taste. Go ahead. She smiled again, automatically, and went to the bathroom telling herself she was only imagining that Harry was acting funny. After she got off she sat for a moment allowing all the conflicts to dissolve and bathe her in a comforting warmth and she felt a real smile on her face and she went back to the living room. She put an arm around Harry and rubbed the back of his neck again, then kissed his ear and rubbed his chest and he slowly responded and they held each other, desperately, reaching, groping, for many minutes, the television droning on in the background, then they decided to go to bed and Harry grabbed her and squeezed her harder and harder and she clung to him and kissed him and bit him as he kissed her body trying to work up a passion that would force itself though his body but something was missing, something was cutting off the flow of something and no matter how desperately they tried they couldnt get the physical motions to mean any more than motions and the harder they tried the more they withdrew into their own shells of embarrassment until they mutely agreed to stop trying and they sort of exhausted themselves into a semblance of sleep and release.
Sara wore her red dress all the time. And the gold shoes. Ada still touched up her hair and if she should suggest that maybe something happened to the show she should be going on, Sara shook not only her head but her arms and her whole body. Sometimes some of the other ladies would come and make a visit and bring a danish or lox and bagels, but Sara was always not hungry. She was still thinking zophtic. The flesh was hanging from her upper arms like a hammock, but she was still not eating and thinking zophtic. So be already zophtic, but youre needing meat on the bones. But Sara would decline and just drink her coffee and talk continually about going on the television, the set always on, Sara studying all the quiz shows so she would be able to compete no matter what show she went on. Soon her friends would leave and she would sit in her viewing chair watching, nodding her head and smiling as she watched herself stand with such poise as she rattled off the answers, like its nothing, and everyone applauded and she got the presents and made a little speech and said that she was not keeping the presents but giving them to somebody needy, and they applauded even more and theres pictures in the paper and on the six oclock news and even on the eleven oclock news she smiled at everybody and when shes on the street people chant, WE LOVE SARA, WE LOVE SARA, \VE LOVE SARA, and she sighed and smiled and hugged herself as she watched her television and drank coffee, but every day, in the morning, something happened and she felt strange and she pulled down the shades and closed the drapes and from time to time she got up and peeked out of the side of the drapes to see if she could catch who was watching her and she looked over as large an area as she could without giving herself away to whoever was spying on her and then she/d go back to her viewing chair and glance sometimes at her refrigerator, quickly, and it just stood there, silent, frightened; and then she/d get up and tiptoe very slowly and quietly to the door and listen for long minutes, holding her breath for as long as possible so they wouldnt hear her, and then she would very carefully bend down and take the tape off the keyhole and peek through to see if she could see them but they always managed to get out of sight before she could find them. She would replace the tape, take a few Valium, then go back to her viewing chair and watch her shows, one upon the other, clutching, from time to time, her breast when a mother was worried and she would tell the woman she knew what it was like to miss your son. My only child, my boobala, and I dont even have a phone number. But hes busy you know. His own business. Hes a professional man my Harry, and soon hes making me a grandmother, and Sara consoled her and told her it would all be alright, and then she would take a few more Valium and her eyes would start getting heavy and a shroud like sadness would wind its way around her and tears trickled down her cheeks as she watched the evening and nighttime shows, and even watching herself on the eleven oclock news didnt seem to stop her sadness as she watched everything through a film of tears and she half muttered a prayer to hear from the television what show she would be on and when; and Harry should come visit and bring his fiancee with him and they would have a glass tea and tell her what show and she would wear the red dress, O Seymour, you remember the red dress? Harrys bar mitzvah? Seymour, theres something wrong? Youll come on the show and we/ll win prizes and give them to the poor people and make nice for them and Harry will be having a grandson for me and she should watch out for that car… O, Im telling you to watch out, always when a car comes like that and the man looks around its trouble and I/ll babysit my little boobala and tell her how to make the stuffed fish Harry loves and why dont you talk to me Seymour? you just stand there looking at me, come, come we/ll go to bed, come, come… and Sara Goldfarb went to bed holding Seymours hand and Harry and his son and the television swam around in her tear filled mind and the tears seeped from her eyes and kept moist the pillow on which she rested her head, trying to wash out the pain from her chest…