head and dove, and seemed to take an unusually long time hitting the water. For a protracted moment she hung with her body arched, legs pressed together, the dark line between her thighs widening at her underpants. Then the water took her. Her head surfaced and she swam a steady determined crawl, from end to end and back again. David watched over her. Even through the glass he could hear the rhythm of her breathing, a ragged, fragile sound. She was so exposed there, in the water. It seemed as though the noise she made was dangerous, inviting attention the way a wounded animal’s lopsided movements attract predators. The bushes that lined the fence cupped their own shadows, spots of darkness so black they seemed to protrude. David listened for the howls of coyotes. He stood at the window until Janet got out of the pool. When she did he saw her breasts straight on. He was so surprised his attention glazed over and he saw them the way he saw photographs, as products of his own imagination rather than inevitable facts of nature. The only naked women he had ever seen were in pictures. Janet stepped out of the water, picked up her clothes, and ran back into the house, her breasts bobbing heavily, implying their own weight and resilience, throwing shadows on her rib cage. He watched with mingled amazement and satisfaction, vaguely taking credit for the invention of her body. He heard her enter the house, and thought of her dripping on the kitchen linoleum, shivering, holding her wadded clothes to her chest. She sprinted up the stairs and down the hall, past his door. He touched his own chest, gently, with the fingertips of bothhands. The fact that the Janet who slept one room down was the same person he’d just seen running naked was strange enough to keep him awake until after midnight. If he raised himself up in bed he could see the water of the pool, dark and shimmering.
In the morning he woke and went straight to the window. Mom was in the yard with her net, skimming leaves off the water. Each leaf trailed three fingers in the brightening water. Mom picked them up one by one, with a steady patience. David was sure she was shrinking; her cheeks seemed to have no bones under them at all. He thought, though, that if anything was really wrong, someone would be sure to tell him.
B illy shot David all day at school. He shot him from behind during homeroom class, and again at lunch. When David was crossing the yard on his way to the cafeteria he glanced up at the library and saw Billy standing in a window, shooting him from behind the dusty glass. David smiled and waved, but Billy just kept on shooting. Then David raised his own rifle and pretended to shoot back, but Billy didn’t flinch. David felt the weakness of his own bullets. He let the gun drop and walked away, with his shoulders squared and his head held high and his toes turned out, cowboy style. As he walked he could imagine the bullets thudding into his back, dancing him all over the yard.
Without Billy there was nothing to do after school. Other kids were not interested in him, and a few held mysterious grudges. A boy named Benny Richter once tore to pieces the intricate cover David had made for a report on the lost city of Troy, with broken columns cut out of National Geographic and the face of a fashion model he imagined to look like Helen. The scraps of the cover fell at his feet, and before the wind took it he saw the woman’s lips, offering a kiss from a ragged-edgetriangle of skin. With Billy mad at him he had no real friends at all, and after school he just went home.
When he got there he found Janet back in the pool, swimming laps. She had on a two-piece bathing suit. Mom was still at work and Lizzie was up in her room, dancing so hard to her Michael Jackson album she set the hall chandelier abuzz. David went out and sat beside the pool, with his knees tucked under his chin. Janet swam strong determined laps, head down, sucking air every second stroke, her
In the morning he woke and went straight to the window. Mom was in the yard with her net, skimming leaves off the water. Each leaf trailed three fingers in the brightening water. Mom picked them up one by one, with a steady patience. David was sure she was shrinking; her cheeks seemed to have no bones under them at all. He thought, though, that if anything was really wrong, someone would be sure to tell him.
B illy shot David all day at school. He shot him from behind during homeroom class, and again at lunch. When David was crossing the yard on his way to the cafeteria he glanced up at the library and saw Billy standing in a window, shooting him from behind the dusty glass. David smiled and waved, but Billy just kept on shooting. Then David raised his own rifle and pretended to shoot back, but Billy didn’t flinch. David felt the weakness of his own bullets. He let the gun drop and walked away, with his shoulders squared and his head held high and his toes turned out, cowboy style. As he walked he could imagine the bullets thudding into his back, dancing him all over the yard.
Without Billy there was nothing to do after school. Other kids were not interested in him, and a few held mysterious grudges. A boy named Benny Richter once tore to pieces the intricate cover David had made for a report on the lost city of Troy, with broken columns cut out of National Geographic and the face of a fashion model he imagined to look like Helen. The scraps of the cover fell at his feet, and before the wind took it he saw the woman’s lips, offering a kiss from a ragged-edgetriangle of skin. With Billy mad at him he had no real friends at all, and after school he just went home.
When he got there he found Janet back in the pool, swimming laps. She had on a two-piece bathing suit. Mom was still at work and Lizzie was up in her room, dancing so hard to her Michael Jackson album she set the hall chandelier abuzz. David went out and sat beside the pool, with his knees tucked under his chin. Janet swam strong determined laps, head down, sucking air every second stroke, her
Similar Books
