“It was horrible, a horrible nightmare. It was a rape, Larry, don’t you understand that?”
“No, I don’t understand it. Why’d you take those pills?”
“To escape him!”
“How’d you forget to lock an entrance door?”
“I forgot!”
“Did he tell you he loved you?”
“Yes.”
“And did you tell him you loved him?”
“No! I’ve never told that to anyone but my grandfather and you!”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying, I’m not, do you think I wanted to tell you this, you asked me to, do you think I enjoyed what he did to me, do you think I enjoyed getting raped, damnit, do you think it was fun?”
“Why’d you leave the door open?”
“I thought it was locked.”
“A goddamn door is either locked or it isn’t! You wanted him to get into that house!”
“No, no, I didn’t.”
“You wanted him to find you. That’s why you took the pills, so that you couldn’t fight him, couldn’t resist him!”
“No, no!”
“You went through all the motions—”
“Stop it, stop it!”
“... but you wanted him to take you. Goddamnit, Maggie, you wanted to be—”
“All right!” she screamed. “I wanted to be raped. I was a bitch in heat, all right? The stink of it was on me, all right? It went out to all men everywhere, it filled their nostrils, it suffocated them with the stink of my hunger, all right? I wanted him, I wanted him, I wanted him!”
“You’re a whore,” he said, and without taking his eyes from the road, he lashed out at her in a backhanded slap which caught her on the side of her face and sent her reeling back against the seat.
“You fool,” she said.
“Shut up!”
“You damn stupid fool, you damn idiot. Don’t you know you’re still the first man, no matter what happened? Don’t you know you’re the only man? Oh, you stupid, stupid...”
She began crying suddenly and fitfully. He had never seen her cry before, and the sight amazed him. Her misery was complete, the fullest misery he had ever seen on the face of a woman. It was as if, secure in the beauty of her face, she could allow it to crumble completely, allow it to dissolve without mercy, permit it to twist in uncontrollable sorrow.
“Cut it out,” he said.
“I’ve... lost... you.”
“Cut it out!”
“I’ve lost you! I’ve lost you!”
She moved suddenly toward him, a surprisingly swift motion, throwing herself into his arms so that he was forced to take one hand from the wheel to support the sudden weight of her body. The car swerved out of control for an instant, and then he recaptured the wheel, and her head was on his chest, and she was still weeping bitterly, gasping for breath.
“Tell me it doesn’t matter,” she said.
Doesn’t it matter? he asked himself. Doesn’t it matter that she’s been had, didn’t I suspect it in the beginning, be honest, wasn’t it this about her which attracted me to her in the first place, didn’t I know she could be had?
“Tell me you still love me,” she said.
Love you? he thought. Do I love you? I’m mad as hell, I could kill that son of a bitch if he was here, I could kill him, I’ve turned into a fine man, a fine upstanding citizen, I hit young kids and defenseless women, the hero, the great god Cole! But do I love you? Where’s the end of this, Maggie? Where the hell was the beginning? When do we ever start knowing each other, when do we ever progress beyond strangers in the straw, or should we, should we? I’m angry, and all right it’s juvenile! I’m angry, and maybe it’s a throwback to my first concept of womanhood, the mother’s tit, the pure symbol of lily-white virginal security, but I’m still angry, and where the hell does it all lead, where does it end? If the redheaded kid had you, and if I had you, how many others can have you and will have you, goddamnit Felix Anders is right, Felix Anders is the sage of the century!
“Tell me,” she said. “Please. Please.”
Or maybe I want out, he thought. Maybe I’ve never loved her, maybe it always was biology and always will be biology, is that all life amounts to, is that all love amounts to, am I in love with Maggie or am I a statistic in the Kinsey Report?
“Tell me,” she pleaded. “Tell me.”
Sure, he thought, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you it’s over, Maggie, finished. It’s over because I can’t understand it any more, it’s too complicated, too involved, it’s strangling me, Maggie, I can’t breathe! I know you all these months, and I haven’t begun to know you, and I’m angry and I’m sad and I want to cry and I want to fight, and I love you, I don’t know how you can do these things to me, how you can rip me up with a dagger, cut out my guts, leave me bleeding and crying and still loving you, still knowing I can’t live without you, still wanting you and needing you, goddamnit why do I need you so much, Maggie, why do I need you, you slut, you bitch, you animal, I love you, I love you.
She sat up suddenly, as if by intuition, as if she had read his thoughts and knew his mind. She yanked the wheel sharply to the right, and the car bumped over the shallow concrete rim at the side of the road, and then rolled to a stop on the grass.
He began to shake his head, but she brought her mouth very close to his lips, and her eyes glowed in the darkness, and she said, “Love me, Larry. Now!”
And he seized her to him roughly.
22
Lawn talk was in the air. You could smell it. It was not yet April, but lawn talk was just ready to burst from everyone’s mouth.
Felix Anders sucked secretly at the late March air.
The forsythias, encouraged by the mild weather, were banked in yellow fury around the six-room ranch he called his home. The emaciated tree on the front lawn was beginning to bud. White billowy clouds hung in the fair blue sky. Felix Anders sucked at the air, looking very much like a man who’d just returned home after the twelve o’clock Mass. He had, in fact, just come back from church. Felix considered himself a devout Catholic even though he did not believe in confession or birth control. He had made his peace with his faith, and he never ate meat on Fridays, nor did he ever miss Sunday Mass.
On this Sunday in late March he secretly sucked the balmy air into his lungs.
The model was behind Felix now. The parting had truly been a sorrowful one, worthy of a major film by a major movie company, complete with that last long heart-rending sigh, oozing with the terrible bittersweet knowledge of star-crossed impossibility. He could see the final scene now, almost as if it were already in the can and waiting for national distribution. The limpid eyes meeting, the unspoken words I’ll Always Love You. Pause. Even Though This Can Never Be. Double pause.
The model steps sorrowfully out of the Oldsmobile Felix Anders owns. For a moment her thigh winks at him, and he remembers again the finite pleasures of her body, the infinite treasures of her mind, remembers for only a fleeting instant. She walks away from him then, out of his life. He watches her sadly. He waves. Music up and under.
Felix sets the Oldsmobile in motion. He drives down a Cinemascope road lined with tall poplars into a Technicolor sunset. The words THE END, written on the wind, superimpose themselves over the car as it moves into the distance, farther, farther, farther, and is gone.
THE END
The End
The end
The end
The end
It was over.