Collected Stories

Happy Story

1.

Marie was critical of his ideas about flying. “You’re really in a bad way about this.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad way,” he said.

“It’s an obsession,” she said, “all this talk about flying and birds. I think you’re simply unhappy and want to escape.”

He lay on his back on the beach and watched a seagull ride the wind, dropping, sliding, turning. “I think it’d be good,” he said, “look at that seagull.”

Marie closed her eyes. “I’ve seen them,” she said. “They’re white and have orange beaks.” She was silent a moment. “And orange legs,” she added. Later she broke the silence to say, “If you could fly you’d want to do something else, like swim.”

“Seagulls can swim,” he said.

“Not under water.”

“They can dive under water,” he said, “but they can’t stay under for long.”

“That’s what I mean,” she said, “they can’t stay under for long. They can’t swim under water, not like a fish.”

“No,” he said, “that’s true, they’re not like fish.”

“Doesn’t that make you unhappy?”

“No,” he said, “I’m more interested in the flying.”

She turned on the sand. “You’re exasperating,” she said. “I know you’ll never be happy.”

“I’d be happy if I could fly.”

“That doesn’t seem very likely.”

“It isn’t impossible either.”

“No,” she sighed, “I guess it’s not impossible.”

2.

“You’re crying,” she said.

“No, not really.”

“I know why you’re crying. You’re crying because of your wife.”

“No, I don’t think that’s true.”

“I’m sure it’s true.”

“It’s not, really.”

“Then it’s because you can’t fly.”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I wasn’t crying.”

3.

After making love she was still restless. “What is it?” she asked him.

“What’s what?”

“You know.”

“No, really, I don’t. I feel good. Do you feel good?”

“Yes, I feel good, but what about you? What is it?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re staring at the ceiling in a funny way.”

“I’m lying on my back. I’m staring at the ceiling because I’m lying on my back.”

“You’re thinking about flying,” she said accusingly.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can tell you are. I always know when you’re thinking about flying. Will you stop, please.”

“OK,” he said.

Later she said, “You were thinking about it, weren’t you? Tell me honestly.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t think I was.”

“You frighten me when you think about flying. Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise,” he said.

4.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

“It’s a water pump,” he said.

“It has wings.”

“No, they’re not wings. They’re the blades of the wheel. They lift the water. It’s a water pump.”

“I think it’s about flying,” she said. “You promised me you wouldn’t.”

“It’s a water pump,” he said, “really.”

“Well,” she said, “in any case, there are little eggs all over the cabbages. I came in to tell you.”

5.

No one had said anything about flying for a long time. They were drying the dishes one night when Marie broached the subject: “If you built something for flying in,” she said, “just say you did …”

“Yes,” he said.

“Well, if you did, how many people would it carry?”

“The two of us.”

“It could fly with the two of us?”

“Of course.”

She looked happy and kissed him suddenly. Her hands left lumps of soap suds in his hair. Then she became thoughtful. “If you built it,” she said, “would there be room for the dog?”

“Yes,” he said, “that could be done. I hadn’t thought of it, but that could be done.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult?”

“No. It’d be easy.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said.

6.

“Well,” he said, “where do you want to go?”

Marie buckled up her helmet and picked up the dog. “I don’t know,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever you want to go,” he said.

“Well,” she said, “I wouldn’t mind going to …” She stopped. “I’m being selfish. Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever you want to go.”

“Well,” she said, “I’ve always wanted to go to Florence.”

“All right,” he said.

He looked up at the sky. It was a good night for flying.