Keep the Change

21

Joe spent the following day with the state brand inspector, trying to organize all his cattle receipts. When he got home, Astrid was in bed. She was running a high fever and had sunk into a glumly witty state of disassociated illness. She looked so helpless, so dependent, so unlike anything he’d ever seen before in Astrid that he felt an abounding sweetness well up within. He was sorry that it seemed so inappropriate to mention his declining fortunes. He was under a momentary spell of amicability. People at full strength were better able to sustain their loathing, and avoid these vague and undrained states.

“My darling,” said Joe.

“Do you know who’s been just swell?” she asked, propping herself up in bed. She looked like a pretty nun without makeup and with her hair pulled back.

“Who?”

“Smitty.”

“Smitty? How do you know Smitty?”

“He’s been by. And I mean swell.”

“That’s quite strange.”

“He seems so concerned! He’s concerned with everything. He just trains this concern on things. What concern is shown by Smitty!”

“What about Lureen? She been by?”

“She was here too. Now that one isn’t sure about me. But Smitty is so lovely. He thought he might be able to get me some insurance.”

“You didn’t go for it, did you?”

“No, but I gave him fifty bucks for some kind of filing fee.”

“I know that filing fee. It’s called Old Mr. Boston Dry Gin.”

“I couldn’t say. I went for his story. It charmed me. I’m already bored. I wish I was back in Florida, fucking and using drugs. It’s easy to grow nostalgic in a situation like this.”

“Oh, darling, just stop,” he said, annoyed by his own reaction. He thought of vigorous, robust Ellen, ranch girl, heartening the next generation with teaching. Difficult to imagine her saying in the middle of lovemaking, as Astrid once did, “Now I’d like it up my ass.” He had prevaricated, he recalled, then ultimately brooded about the prospects of a second chance.

“You know it’s funny,” said Joe, wondering why he didn’t appreciate Astrid any more than he did. “I’ve had such a thing for this schoolteacher.”

“Do I have to hear this?”

“I’m trying to keep you entertained. We’re beyond any little ill feelings along these lines anyway, aren’t we? Besides if I tell you this in a sarcastic way and make it good and trivial I can write ‘finis’ to the sonofabitch.” It wasn’t true. He wanted to hurt her. He was laying in stores to hate himself.

“Knock yourself out. I really don’t care.”

Joe believed her. There was malice in his continuation of the story. It was temporarily beyond him to take stock of the gravity of their situation. It was an awful moment.

“Anyway, I’ve been drawn to her innocence, whether or not it exists. It may not exist. But I took it as a working proposition that the innocence was real.”

“Did you stick it in?”

“I’m afraid I did.”

“She can’t be that innocent.”

“But we had these wonderful little skits. I knew her years ago. We hit golf balls together. We discussed her background on the ranch.”

“You stuck it in.”

“We stuck it in. We had meals together in an atmosphere that combined lightheartedness and high courtship. We went for a long drive.”

“This is to puke over,” said Astrid.

“Now, Astrid. There was something quite delicate. A picture had begun to form.” Joe felt like a vampire.

“I can see that picture.”

“But wait. I had decided to marry her. We would live together in the picture that had begun to form. I flew to New York and quit my job with Ivan. I was exhausted. When I was flying home, the country unfolded beneath the wings and it all came to me that — I don’t like that smile, Astrid — I would marry this lovely girl. And I must say, that is a very nasty smile, indeed.”

“I shouldn’t laugh,” said Astrid. “I am in the dreary mental situation in which sneezing, laughing, coughing, calling the dog, or ensemble singing are equally uncomfortable. Anyway, what happened is that you thought it over and upon consideration, upon the most serious consideration you—”

“No. Not this time. I called and before I had the chance to propose, her husband went for a ride with me and told me that they were working it out.”

“There’s a husband?”

“And a right odd one at that. He used to thrash me when I was a boy, beat me like a gong.”

“Well, if you’d had any conviction, you’d have argued with him. If you’d had the kind of conviction that it would take to go back to your painting, you’d have told that hubby off. Now what’ve you got? A trashy-mouth Cuban who doesn’t appreciate you.”

“Oh, darling,” said Joe in a flat and uninterested tone, “don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Astrid’s weeping was real. Joe could scarcely remonstrate with her. She had every right to this. His position had eroded and he could not say a thing. Instead, he gazed through the window at nothing and came to appreciate how wonderful much of the world could seem.

Collecting herself, she said, “Well, what am I to do?”

“I’m not good at this,” said Joe.

Astrid tried to shift her weight slightly. She sighed. “Given my desperation, I wonder if you’d have time to murmur some smut in my ear.”

“Astrid.”

“Something about the schoolteacher possibly. Anything. There was a fly in the room earlier. You can’t imagine my absorption in watching its confused circuit of my room.”

“I hope you’re resisting ideas like that.”

“What easy ideas have you resisted?”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too.”

The sudden bitterness of these remarks was stunning. Literally, they were both stunned by what they had said. They had heard it before and it was still utterly stunning, as stunning to hear as to say.

He rose to go. “We don’t mean that.”

“We don’t?” said Astrid. She looked exhausted. He was horribly sorry that he hadn’t headed the moment off. But they had been in this intense snare for so long. It was hard to keep things from just running their course.