30 Pieces of a Novel

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THIS IS SOMETHING that comes back at moments that for the most part don’t seem to have anything to do with the incident. When he was standing in the bathtub yesterday taking a shower. Well, now that he refers to it he sees where it could sort of be explained why it came back there: the incident happened when he was walking back to the house he was staying at, after swimming in a public pool, and also his nakedness in the shower and no doubt washing his genitals during it. Another time: when he was walking across Central Park on his way to the Whitney Museum. The museum couldn’t have had anything to do with it, but the park certainly might have, if he really wants it explained why the incident comes back at certain times: it happened in a state park, and of course he was walking through it when it did. Other times? Plenty, but he forgets, except one when he was making love with his wife in the daytime when the kids were in school. Why it came then is easily explainable, even if he was in almost the exact opposite mating position as the guy in the incident, though who knows if with a little more thinking that couldn’t be explained too: for instance, the girl with the guy was in the same mating position that he was in with his wife when the thought of the incident came to him again.

He was walking — this is the incident — taking a shortcut through the state park to the house of the woman he was spending the weekend with. But now he remembers he got there Saturday night after work (so the incident could only have happened on a Sunday, not that this adds anything to why it comes back to him so often), after not seeing her for five days — he was a salesman at the time in the Little Boys Shop in Bloomingdale’s and always worked Saturdays, the store’s busiest day, till closing around six — and would usually stay at her place till early Monday morning when he’d get a ride back with one of her friends or neighbors in her village: most of the people she knew there worked in Manhattan. He’d been seeing this woman for about a year now. In fact, shortly before the incident, though he doesn’t think this has anything to do with the frequency with which he recalls it, he’d lived with her a couple of months and commuted to the store: car ride with one of her friends or neighbors to the city, usually public transportation back, and on Saturdays public transportation both ways — subway to the 175th Street station and the Port Authority bus terminal upstairs, Red & Tan bus to her village, and then the long walk up a steep hill to her house if she didn’t meet him in her car at the stop. She was a high school teacher in Nyack, her house a few miles south of Nyack in Piermont, near where the state park and pool were. Her house was once one of the small workers’ row houses owned by a huge paper mill on the Hudson in Piermont. Now the mill only made paper bags and all the row houses were privately owned. It was summer, July or August, so the woman was on vacation and her daughter was either at sleep-away camp, if it was July, or with her father in East Hampton for the weekend, if it was August. But the point is he was taking this shortcut on a park service road that connected the pool with a gate about half a mile away in Piermont. He’d swum in the pool, walked on the service road to get to it. If he’d driven the woman’s car he would have taken a much longer way to get to the pool, though shorter in time, since no vehicle but a state park one was allowed to use the service road. There were the same two or three park trucks, with nobody in them, parked off the road when he walked to and from the pool, and the car of the incident parked on the road when he walked home. If he’d taken her car he would have parked in the pool lot, swum, showered—showered; so that’s possibly another reason why it comes back to him while he’s showering in a bathtub or stall — then driven back to her house and never seen what he saw that afternoon, and it was the afternoon. After a quick light lunch around two or so she asked what his plans were and he said, Why, what does she have in mind? — nothing suggestive in the remark, as sometimes when he said something like that, with a smile or leer, it meant does that mean she wants to have sex? — and she said she was going to do some errands in Nyack and, if she didn’t find what she wanted, then at the Nanuet Mall. Not the greatest thing to do on a hot day, but does he want to come along? and he said it was much too hot — both the temperature and humidity were in the nineties — and he thinks he’d like to go swimming in the park pool. She said she’d drop him off if he wanted to go now, as she was leaving in a few minutes, and he said he didn’t mind the walk — what was it, a mile, maybe a mile and a half? and it could be more peaceful — and also he wanted to have another iced coffee before he left and read the paper a little, which he hadn’t even opened yet. He knew that as much as he’d cool off at the pool, he’d get heated up and sweaty again walking back to her house, since he’d have to climb that steep hill, most of it in the sun. She said she’d probably be here when he got back, if he wasn’t going to leave in the next half hour and just take a quick dip and hustle right home, and she’d see him then, and they’d talk about what they were going to do for dinner, or maybe he wants her to pick up something special on the way home. He said they shouldn’t worry about dinner now — too hot and sticky to — and if the weather stays the same, with no breeze or anything, he doubts he’ll want anything for dinner but a beer and some celery and carrots and a slice of bread. But he wished she’d change her mind and come to the pool with him. It could be crowded, but they’d find a relatively quiet place in the shade — most of the people who go there like to bake in the sun — and read, relax, chat, even nap, and she said that she never cared for public pools, and the horsing around and all the other things that go on there, and that these errands were essential.

So he swam, then the walk back. But swam several times, read parts of the book review and magazine sections of the paper in between swimming, and once rested on his stomach and closed his eyes for a few minutes and, he thinks, fell asleep. And occasionally just looked at the other people at the pool, especially some of the younger better-built women in swimsuits, and maybe even fantasized about them, but that he forgets. It was mostly shady on the service road, tall trees with overhanging branches above almost the entire area. He was about three-quarters of the way to the gate when he saw from a distance a car parked on the road. There seemed to be plenty of room off the road for it to park, and why they chose there he’s never been able to figure out — immediacy of the moment, perhaps? Doesn’t make sense. They could have, he’s saying — the couple in the car — parked almost anywhere off the road. But maybe they were afraid of possible ruts or mud or something, when there really wasn’t that much and nothing a car couldn’t drive out of. In fact, the ground was pretty hard, if he remembers. Maybe they thought — or the guy did and the girl went along with it or was persuaded to by him, or the girl did and the guy thought, What the hell, if she thinks so then he’s not going to protest, for all he wants is to get to it: the action, the sex — that no other cars would drive by. After all, it was Sunday, they could have reasoned, so wouldn’t most of the park’s service vehicles be idle for the weekend or just for the day? Actually, probably not, for the weekend could be when they worked the most, Sunday being the park’s busiest day by far, but this was a remote area, so how often then would a service vehicle pass by or a police car check it: every two hours, three, even four? And what they wanted to do would take ten to twenty minutes, or for the guy maybe not even that. They might have done all the preliminaries somewhere else — in the parking lot or under a towel or blanket at the pool — and had only come here to finish up because it was so far out of the way. And maybe they didn’t know that walkers used the road as a shortcut between Piermont and the pool — they wouldn’t if they didn’t live in the area — or even that someone from the pool or town might want to take a long walk on it for exercise or because it was so quiet and shady or maybe it was a good spot to watch birds. Or they knew all that or some of it but thought, What, one or two walkers or hikers or bird-watchers every hour or so? Anyway, the car was parked in the middle of the one-lane dirt road, so if a service vehicle or police car was coming from either direction it would have had to go around it off the road. And if one was coming from the pool area it would have gone around the passenger side — or that’s the side he would have gone around if he’d been driving a car — and the person in the passing car would have seen the couple doing what they were doing, if they still were, and then what? The couple could have been arrested if it was a police car that passed, and who knows what would have happened if one or two park workers caught them at it? Getting closer — he was about a hundred and fifty feet away now — he thought, Maybe the driver’s a bird-watcher and is out with his field glasses somewhere or even looking for birds from the car. Or he could be hunting for wild mushrooms — he’d heard that the Palisades, which this area was part of, had some pretty good edible ones — or went to a nearby spot he knows from previous years where mushrooms are. Or he could be collecting firewood for the winter — lots of spare wood in these woods, and they were woods — but then he’d almost certainly have driven off the road to park out of sight so he could gather the wood secretly, since you’re not supposed to take anything out of a state park except maybe berries and mushrooms, if even that. Then he saw a human figure — he was about a hundred feet from the car now, and his eyes were bad from any long distance — a man, and as he got closer he saw him facing the opened front passenger door and looking as if he was peeing. If you are going to pee in the woods along a public road, he thought, better to do it that way, with the door blocking anyone coming from the gate direction from seeing you do it and your body blocking anyone from seeing you peeing who was coming from the pool. And if it was a walker coming, even a jogger, since joggers probably ran on this road too, the man would be able to see that person from hundreds of feet away, if his eyes were good from that distance, and by the time the person got close, unless the jogger was really moving, his peeing would be over, though the man didn’t seem to be stopping for him. Now he was maybe twenty feet away and not knowing which side of the car to walk around — the one he’d normally take would be the right, but he didn’t want to pass the guy peeing — when he saw legs hanging over the seat, no pants or skirt or shoes or socks on, though the person might have underpants or a swimsuit on, since all he saw was from the knees down. And the man did seem to have his hands on his fly, or one hand on it and the other extended into the car toward the seat, but he couldn’t see if his penis was out of his pants. What the hell’s going on, he thought, this guy harming or killing someone or dumping a body or what? Gould stopped, didn’t know if he should turn around and go back or just walk quickly past the car on the left side and keep going, but wanted to get away from here, a few hundred feet away, at least a hundred, and then look back at it from there, not that he’d see much with his lousy eyes, for he’d left his distance glasses at the woman’s home. But then he thought maybe someone was being hurt, though he doesn’t hear anything: cries, pleas, things like that. By now he’d walked backwards to the pool about fifteen feet, stopped, and didn’t know which way to go now or what to do. Then the legs started moving, it seemed, the feet a little, and the man, who hadn’t looked this way once, moved in closer till he was between the legs and up against the seat, with both his arms in the car now looking as if they were pressing down on something, and Gould thought, My God, that’s a woman in there and they’re fucking; what a schmuck I’ve been! And right here; who the hell does that? Well, screw them, I just want to get home — and started to walk past their car, since why should he go back and around the long way and all that just because they chose here to do their humping? As he got to the right of the door, walking on the side of the road in some weeds and clumpy dirt, so that he had to look at the ground a couple of times to make sure he wouldn’t trip over anything, and ready to say, Excuse me, if the man suddenly turned around and caught him looking, he saw the woman, shirt on but almost up to her breasts and her legs spread apart, lots of black hairs on the side of her vagina that he could see and even a little of that outer lip folded back or some part like that, back flat on the seat and head raised a few inches and staring warily at him and then sort of dopily with her eyes almost closed as she was jammed hard by the man but giving no sign she was in any harm, guy with his tank top on and pants up but belt and pants buttons undone and going in and out of her slowly now and for a moment all the way out by an inch, and then after a few seconds straight in again, hands splayed on the seat on either side of her waist, bracing himself perhaps or just a place to put them, girl with her head on the seat and eyes totally closed now and smiling. Something cool blew through Gould, where — maybe because of the humidity too but probably at just seeing what he’d never seen any two people do in front of him and just the open and eventually oblivious way they were doing it and the point they seemed to be at in the act, or he would be, and the forest air — he had to catch his breath and really felt dizzy for a few seconds and stumbled back onto the road once he was past the car and for a while walked with his hand clutching his neck. He turned around when he was about fifty feet away, thinking that if the guy was looking at him now he’d just quickly turn around and continue on, and only saw the guy’s head through the window, still moving back and forth like before and never glancing at him, but nothing of her. It could be, because of all he’d taken in, that he’d stopped for half a minute or so by the car, but he wasn’t aware of it. But Jesus, he kept thinking as he walked, never saw anything like it even in the few pornos he’d seen; just two kids, the guy maybe seventeen, eighteen, the girl fifteen or a little more, blank to everything else when she stopped staring at him, for then she looked as if she was doing it out of duty or for money or just for the sake of the guy or maybe she was high. Thought of them the whole way back, her bush, shine on the guy’s penis, vagina lip or skin or whatever it was folded over, and her dreamy-to-transported look and smile, sometimes feeling his penis through the pants pocket and pulling it, rubbing the head, knowing if he stuck his hand inside he’d find it wet, wanting to tell his woman friend what he saw but she wasn’t back, realizing when he got to her front steps that he hadn’t worked up a drop of sweat.

Made himself coffee, sat on the porch in the swing chair and opened the newspaper, unconsciously began playing with himself through his pants, went inside and sat at the kitchen table and unzipped his fly and started jerking himself off to get rid of the tension and stop thinking of them, but then thought, Don’t throw it away, save it for when she gets back when maybe he can get her to make love soon or even right away. Story about what he saw won’t hurt. Maybe even just coming right out and saying it’s made him hot, remembering and then telling it, so would she mind much if they did it now, as a favor or just because he’s almost never felt so rutty, and thinking of the couple isn’t all there is to it, for of course there’s her too, on the couch or floor or bed, though he’d love, even if he knows this is screwy and a silly thought and there’s no chance they’re going to do it this way, on a car seat in a remote grove with all those forest smells and sounds around, or in a different position than them if she can come up with one, for though he knows it’s being done in cars all the time he’s never till now known for sure how. Anyway, convincing her that it would be better now or an hour or two later than after her daughter comes home, if it was August, when they’d have to be more inhibited and could only do it in bed, with their usual last sex before he left the next day, unless she’s just started her period and thinks she’s already too messy, as she’s sometimes said.

Heard her car drive up, park in back, went out to meet her, kissed her lips as she was getting out of the car, and she said, “Umm, that’s nice, good welcome home, thanks mucho,” helped her bring the packages and things in — bag of groceries, two six-packs of ale, a planter, plants, bean poles, wire tomato cages or whatever they’re called, gardening tools, twenty-five-pound bag of potting soil and fifty-pound bag of cow manure. She said, “Wow, you’re being super nice, it’s almost as if you missed me,” and he said, “Sure, what do you think, and you know Gould, when isn’t he, right?” and laughed, and she said, “Okay, I don’t want to ruin the mood, so I’ll resist answering that. How was swimming?” Touched his head and said, “Your hair’s still wet. For shopping, I’ll confess, much as I got done, was a dumb idea; you were smart not to go. It felt like it was a hundred both ways outside,” and he said, “How do you mean?” and she said, “You know: temperature, humidity.” “Swimming was great, water just right: cool, not pee-warm. A bit crowded on the grass but I got a shady spot, and some young women near me, three of them like Graces, even took their tops off to expose themselves and sunbathe. Only kidding,” and she said, “But why’d you say it?” and he said, “I have to go into a long psychological explanation? Hey, like everybody else, men especially, stupid thoughts about breasts and sex can suddenly pop into my head. But imagine, I’ve nothing to complain of since you left—me, the arch grumbler from way back when it comes to the country. Even the walk uphill here was nice. But listen to this, you won’t believe it,” and he told her what he had seen on the service road coming home. “I’m sure they’re done by now, but I wouldn’t count on it, the way they were going, so sort of lost in the act. Or they probably waited two seconds and began again. In a secluded or semisecluded area in a state park — they ought to call it the pubic area — where walkers, joggers, bird-watchers, service vehicles, even little Piermont kids taking a shortcut to the pool can parade by and watch, and these stupid teenagers didn’t even stop,” and she said, “Well, from what you said nobody saw it but you, and it was probably over pretty fast, so what’s the big deal? They had to do it badly, and I’m sure she was more like seventeen or eighteen. And this could have been their last time for weeks or even months, if he’s in the army and going off to basic training or overseas — that could be a possibility — so they chose doing it there because they had no other place. They live with their different families in the city, let’s say, or Nyack, in cramped spaces, even, so were dying to be alone. And they’re young, impetuous, want to do it ten times a day. I only hope he used a condom or she had her own device in, because it’s getting monstrous the number of illegitimate births among teens today, and a lot the men care. I see it in my school all the time: pregnant kids. And where they can’t afford it and such, or don’t have the interest or time for babies, they palm them off on their parents or grandparents or have these sloppy cheap abortions that kill or maim some of these girls,” and he said, “No bag, I saw the whole thing in glimpses. Average-size dick but hard as a rock, it seemed; the opening of her vagina — what is that part called? The labia, lip, vulva, but the flap,” and, when she just stared at him, “but you know what I mean. I’m not saying this for any prurient reason. It was really something. I wanted to come back — I’m not kidding now — and just jump on you, or maybe give you a little preparation for the leap, for besides making me somewhat perturbed as to their just doing it in the open there for everyone to see, I have to admit it got me excited too,” and she said, “Fine, wonderful; good thing I was still out shopping. Why didn’t you do it to yourself when you got back if you felt that excited? It’d seem, if you’re going to do it at once like that, that’d be the time,” and he said, “Because, if you want to know, I didn’t want to lose it for you,” and she said, “You mean that when my turn comes around you want there to be something left?” and he said, “In a way,” and she said, “Oh, please, how do you know I’d even want to today or tonight?” and he said, “I thought I might be able to convince you if it was immediately apparent you weren’t interested. That is, if you were physically up to it: your period or just being too knocked out by the heat or sleepy tonight. Or we’d just do it a last time because I leave tomorrow and won’t see you for almost a week. And I didn’t want to do it a few hours after or even try doing it an hour after I just came by doing it to myself. It wouldn’t be as exciting for me that way, if I could even get it up a second time so soon,” and she said, “If I wanted to make love I could suggest it. Or I can get into it when you suggest it, if I want to. But I certainly don’t need to be persuaded. I don’t even like being persuaded. I definitely don’t; I don’t like pressure of any kind when it comes to sex. Either we both want to and we do it or one of us wants to and suggests it in an agreeable soft undemanding way and the other says ‘no’ or ‘yes’ or ‘later’ or ‘I don’t know when,’ and that’s the way it should be, but you obviously don’t agree,” and he said, “Why, my face?” and she nodded, and he said, “Well, what I think is maybe sometimes the other should bend over backwards a little — and I don’t mean literally, but literally sometimes would be okay too,” and laughed, and she didn’t, and he said, “Sorry, my silly jokes again, if that one could be called that. Or just my unrestrainable compulsion to make them when we’re talking about serious things, but you know what I’m saying,” and she said, “No, what?” and he said, “You know, that occasionally one of us might want to do it with the same sort of urgency those two kids had before, if that’s what it was with them and not just some lunkhead scoring or a dumb girl trying to trap the guy by getting him to screw her when they had no protection during her most fertile period. ‘Fertile period.’ That’s a good one, since you’re least fertile when you have your period. But this doesn’t have to happen all the time, when one doesn’t and the other most urgently does. Though sometimes the other in this should cooperate that way, that’s all I’m saying, or try to — it’s part of sort of helping each other out. And believe me, it’s easier for the woman than the man, for what’s it take?” and she said, “Easier physically perhaps for the woman, under ideal conditions, if you’re only talking about male erections here. Because you think all it takes for her is a simple spreading of legs and letting the guy in? That’s what you expected of me when I came home?” and he said, “No, I told you, first I thought I’d only suggest we do it — amiably, undemandingly, deferentially — thinking maybe you’d want to, since that’s what’s happened plenty of times,” and she said, “Never on such a hot stifling day — there’s no air,” and he said, “Then we’d turn the fan on us,” and she said, “And get a cold? I hate when that thing’s blowing right on me,” and he said, “Then we get it to blow around the room. It’s got a switch to make it oscillate, doesn’t it? I should know, I bought it for you,” and she said, “And what am I supposed to say now—” and he said, “You’re not, that’s not why I said it”—“‘Thank you for the oscillating fan, here’s my fanny backwards, plug into it from whichever angle you wish’?” and he said, “Of course not; I was only saying—” and she said, “I know what you were only saying. You were saying, ‘Listen, first I’ll try to ensnare you into sex and if that doesn’t work I’ll ask you to participate in it as a favor’: spread my legs, let you zip it in when I’m in no way ready, couple of pump motions, shoot the works, and out, and heck with me and my feelings and the timing and everything else in the process — I’m to simply be your little dumping ground for semen,” and he said, “No, really, but sometimes you wouldn’t want it the same way around for you?” and she said, “Absolutely not. Like you, I’d suggest, and if you weren’t interested, which’d be surprising — your heightened male ego sometimes I’m practically sure makes you do it when you’ve no energy or inclination to. Anyway, that’d be it, then: we wouldn’t do it and it wouldn’t be the end of the relationship but just an example of its honesty and sturdiness and durability,” and he said, “Nice words, and I appreciate your putting the situation that way, but I see we have a small disagreement here, nothing major, so it’ll be okay,” and she said, “If you can’t even agree with what I just said then it is major or bumping into it. But this entire conversation — finding out what you want and how you want and expect it — has really turned me off, Gould,” and he said, “I hope not through the morning too, before I’ve got to get up for work,” and she said, “Yes, it probably has, so don’t count on getting laid, all right? Now I want to take a shower and get out of these stinky clothes,” and he said, “Get out of the clothes first, I’d suggest,” and she said, “What’s that supposed to mean?” and he said, “Believe me, nothing sexy or come hither-like; just the order of those two: you’d want to get out of your clothes before you stepped into the shower, wouldn’t you?” and she said, “What do you think I am, stupid?” and he said, “I swear, anything but,” and she said, “Then what?” and he said, “I’m sorry, my irrepressible joke-making again, maybe. Can’t you take a joke, or, rather, can’t I fail at making one, if not many? I mean, some guys never make one and some never even try. They’re dour, serious, stolid, which I’m by nature not. And it’s summer. Though I’m not on vacation, I wish I were, and I should be but the store’s not going to give me one, so in a way I am this weekend — I feel relaxed, if maybe a bit witless,” and she said, “Oh, get off it, that’s bullshit. I don’t know, this isn’t going to work,” and he said, “What isn’t?” and she said, “Listen, don’t get offended, but why don’t you take the bus home now. I want to be alone and do some planting after my shower,” and he said, “After you clean up you want to get dirty?” and she said, “Planting isn’t getting dirty. And yes, the shower will be to wash up but mostly to cool myself off, and the planting is for some veggies I want to come up in early fall. I still have time: radishes and a variety of late lettuces that can take the cooler weather,” so it was probably July that this happened, even early July, though radishes only take, he remembers from when he once planted them when he rented a house in Connecticut ten years ago, about seventeen days to mature, so who knows when it was. And he forgets how long lettuce takes, but the time could vary for different kinds, and he said, “I’ll help you and also with the poles for the beans and tomatoes and any holes you want dug, no matter how deep — really, right now I feel energized,” and she said, “I don’t need help. Planting, to me — any gardening work — is restful, peaceful, a great relaxing activity … even spiritual, which you’ll undoubtedly laugh at my saying,” and he said, “No, do you see me laughing? It probably is what you say; why shouldn’t it be? And I can understand it: hands in the ground and so on,” and she said, “And also, and I’m a little skeptical about what you just said, but also — the hands thing, and your agreeing so readily — maybe I want a break from you today and I’d think you’d want one by now from me too,” and he said, “I don’t, everything’s fine,” and she said, “What I’m saying is that all your previous talk about sex and so forth — not your friendly-enough talk now, which I think you’re hiding behind — makes me a bit wary of you. As if you’re going to get so keyed up you’ll pounce on me and try doing it even when I say I don’t want to, though with you believing that eventually, with enough encouragement, pushy kisses, and force, I would,” and he said, “You know I wouldn’t do that. To be honest and not hiding, as you said I just was, sure, I might think of ravishing you — you know, it’d quickly cross my mind — for I occasionally have these thoughts; what man doesn’t? But I never would to you or anyone, that force business, for I also have control — so never, believe me, never,” and she said, “Okay, we’ll talk tomorrow if you like, but now, what about it?” and he said, “You mean the bus?” and she just looked at him, and he said, “So I’ll take it. You ask, and with that glare, I’ll do it, for what other choice do I have, walk to New York? Even get you to drive me?” and she said, “You know the bus is easy for you, a half-hour ride and then the subway, and I wasn’t glaring,” and he said, “You say you weren’t, you weren’t, and as for the bus, very easy, very, yes, sure,” and headed for the stairs, and she said, “Okay, it’s a little inconvenient, I’m sorry,” and without turning around he said, “Forget it,” and went upstairs and packed his bag, got his typewriter and papers, for he always took them to her place weekends, came downstairs, and said, “Should I walk to the stop or will you drive me?” and she said, “I don’t want any last-minute scenes and I think we’ve said enough, so could you get there yourself? You have fifteen minutes to the next bus and it’s all downhill,” and he said, “I know what it is, I’ve walked it a few hundred times, up and down, up and down, like sex, right? those ups and downs,” and she said, “You’re being mean and a bit childish now — yes, like sex, back and forth, to and fro, high and low…. So maybe you don’t want to come here anymore; well, that’s okay with me,” and he said, “That’s what you think I said? All right, maybe I secretly did, maybe I don’t want to come here, maybe you’re right — I’ll let you know if that’s so. ‘Bye, honey,” and turned around without waiting for a response, if she was going to give one — he knew anyway that right now she thought he was a big pill and she couldn’t care less he was going — and left the house. He should have jerked off when he wanted to and had the chance, he thought, as he walked downhill. He wouldn’t have been so sexually keyed up when she got home, as she said. Every third word of his wouldn’t have been a dumb pun or reference or allusion to sex, and there wouldn’t have been that conversation about it either. And then after telling her about what he saw on the road, unless she said or indicated something regarding it or used it to make some point, that would have been it for the time being, and he wouldn’t have felt like jumping her, which he actually did think, and then later tonight in bed they could have done it — he still would have had the picture in his head of the way those kids did it and what that lip or flap looked like and the hair around it or could easily have called it up, if he had to — and it would have been all right, exciting, good; it would have been just fine.

At the bus stop he thought, Maybe she’ll drive up to it as she did once after a bad argument when he either stormed out of her house with his things because he was livid at her or she was at him and had ordered him to go — one of several times that had happened, his weekend there cut short because one of them wanted it to be or even them both — and say, “Listen, let’s talk about this some more”—that’s what she said that one time, or something like—“You want to take a drive with me, not to the city but around here, or go for coffee or a drink or come home or something? Let’s. But I don’t like you leaving like this. It worries me, and your going isn’t exactly what I want.” But she didn’t this time. Bus came and he got on, and as it pulled away he didn’t want to look back to the stop or the street her car would be on if she did drive down, since he knew she wouldn’t be there, but he looked and she wasn’t there and that day was the last he saw her till about fifteen months later at a Columbus Avenue fair in New York on Columbus Day or one of the weekends before when the avenue was closed to traffic from 65th to 86th and she was walking with some guy she obviously liked, and Gould said hello and she smiled and said hi and introduced him to the guy, who stayed silent though continually looked admiringly at her while they talked for about two minutes, how her daughter and father were and had she started another year teaching school? how his mother and a couple of his friends were and was he still working at Bloomingdale’s? and then they said goodbye and he sort of saluted the guy instead of shaking his hand, which he didn’t want to do, and they went in opposite directions in the middle of the avenue, he looking back at her a few times and only once seeing her looking back at him, though they were now about half a block apart and she could have been looking at something else in his direction and he just happened to be there.