nothing.
“Well.” He cleared his throat, which led to a long cough, and then he said, “To be honest, I wanted to apologize. I know I’m really a bastard. I should never’ve hit you.”
“It didn’t hurt,” I said. It hadn’t.
He looked surprised. “I’m glad of that, at least, but I still feel so damn bad about it.” The Texas accent made him sound sincere, and his eyebrows were knitted together. His eyes were dark and sad. He dragged on his cigarette and looked hard at me, though he didn’t look for long. My fingers felt cold and thin to each other.
“Forget about it,” I said, and meant it. I’d gotten the money, he’d hit me, so what? It was just my body, and it was over.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re real sweet, you know that? You shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing. I know it’s none of my damn business, but you’re real pretty and nice, and it’s just wrong. It could be dangerous, too, with fools like me running around loose.”
I felt my throat tighten, near the spot he’d held me down against the floor.
Here he was, someone else again, and what role was left for me to play?
I swallowed and said, quieter than I’d meant to, “Why’d you hit me then?”
He leaned across the counter and whispered, as if it were the most astonishing fact I’d ever hear, “Sweetheart, I have no idea.” He shook his head and looked at his thumbnails lined up next to each other on the counter, then he looked up at me again with damp eyes. “That’s the truth,” he said. “I don’t have the slightest damn idea. Just something sick in me, I guess.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said, and my own eyes went stupidly damp. I felt myself step back a bit then, away from my body or out of it, and I could see myself as if in a mirror. Embarrassed, sentimental, blurred.
Gary Jensen began to fish for another cigarette in his shirt pocket and handed one to me, too. The flame was warm near my face when he lit it, and I didn’t look up again.
Outside now it was deep blue, though the October sky had begun to clear with just a bruise of old light, the sun already sunk like a shipwreck to the west, where Lake Michigan sloshed sloppy with dead fish and weeds.
The office felt too small and hot, a dull fan scrambling the heat, blasting dust into the air, and I imagined the dry mummies of mice stuck in the electric furnace duct, crumbling and blowing mouse ash into the air. Us sucking it into our lungs. The cigarette smoke filled my mouth with soot.
“You saw that woman then, the one who came looking for me?” he asked.
“I guess so.”
“She’s got a good heart, too, and I’ve broke it to pieces. She’s the mother of my child, for chrissakes, and I’ve treated her worse than dirt. Worse than dirt.” He shook his head, seeming baffled by himself. “Who knows why a guy like me does the kind of stuff he does. Who knows?”
I shrugged and said, “I don’t,” exhaling a banner of gray hair over his shoulder.
He grinned. “No, hon, I suppose you don’t. But I just want to tell you I have never been sorrier in my life for anything I’ve done than I am for hitting you. There’s just no excuse for hitting a pretty little girl like you. A total stranger. And I just had to have you know that. Especially since, you know, you were being real nice to me, and we were doing something—intimate. You know? The way I behaved was just plain wrong. I am one evil guy. My mama would just roll over in her coffin if she knew what kind of man I have become.”
“O.K.,” I said, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray near his elbow, “but I need to get back to work.” I felt annoyed, familiar, myself again.
He straightened up then, as if I’d caught him in a lie. “I understand. I understand.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I hope this isn’t going to make matters even worse. But money is not a problem for me right now, though I suspect it is for you. Here.” He handed me a wad of drab
“Well.” He cleared his throat, which led to a long cough, and then he said, “To be honest, I wanted to apologize. I know I’m really a bastard. I should never’ve hit you.”
“It didn’t hurt,” I said. It hadn’t.
He looked surprised. “I’m glad of that, at least, but I still feel so damn bad about it.” The Texas accent made him sound sincere, and his eyebrows were knitted together. His eyes were dark and sad. He dragged on his cigarette and looked hard at me, though he didn’t look for long. My fingers felt cold and thin to each other.
“Forget about it,” I said, and meant it. I’d gotten the money, he’d hit me, so what? It was just my body, and it was over.
“Thank you,” he said. “You’re real sweet, you know that? You shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing. I know it’s none of my damn business, but you’re real pretty and nice, and it’s just wrong. It could be dangerous, too, with fools like me running around loose.”
I felt my throat tighten, near the spot he’d held me down against the floor.
Here he was, someone else again, and what role was left for me to play?
I swallowed and said, quieter than I’d meant to, “Why’d you hit me then?”
He leaned across the counter and whispered, as if it were the most astonishing fact I’d ever hear, “Sweetheart, I have no idea.” He shook his head and looked at his thumbnails lined up next to each other on the counter, then he looked up at me again with damp eyes. “That’s the truth,” he said. “I don’t have the slightest damn idea. Just something sick in me, I guess.”
“I guess you’re right,” I said, and my own eyes went stupidly damp. I felt myself step back a bit then, away from my body or out of it, and I could see myself as if in a mirror. Embarrassed, sentimental, blurred.
Gary Jensen began to fish for another cigarette in his shirt pocket and handed one to me, too. The flame was warm near my face when he lit it, and I didn’t look up again.
Outside now it was deep blue, though the October sky had begun to clear with just a bruise of old light, the sun already sunk like a shipwreck to the west, where Lake Michigan sloshed sloppy with dead fish and weeds.
The office felt too small and hot, a dull fan scrambling the heat, blasting dust into the air, and I imagined the dry mummies of mice stuck in the electric furnace duct, crumbling and blowing mouse ash into the air. Us sucking it into our lungs. The cigarette smoke filled my mouth with soot.
“You saw that woman then, the one who came looking for me?” he asked.
“I guess so.”
“She’s got a good heart, too, and I’ve broke it to pieces. She’s the mother of my child, for chrissakes, and I’ve treated her worse than dirt. Worse than dirt.” He shook his head, seeming baffled by himself. “Who knows why a guy like me does the kind of stuff he does. Who knows?”
I shrugged and said, “I don’t,” exhaling a banner of gray hair over his shoulder.
He grinned. “No, hon, I suppose you don’t. But I just want to tell you I have never been sorrier in my life for anything I’ve done than I am for hitting you. There’s just no excuse for hitting a pretty little girl like you. A total stranger. And I just had to have you know that. Especially since, you know, you were being real nice to me, and we were doing something—intimate. You know? The way I behaved was just plain wrong. I am one evil guy. My mama would just roll over in her coffin if she knew what kind of man I have become.”
“O.K.,” I said, putting the cigarette out in the ashtray near his elbow, “but I need to get back to work.” I felt annoyed, familiar, myself again.
He straightened up then, as if I’d caught him in a lie. “I understand. I understand.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I hope this isn’t going to make matters even worse. But money is not a problem for me right now, though I suspect it is for you. Here.” He handed me a wad of drab
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