The day of the locust by Nathanael West

made a motion with his hand to show that it was nothing.
    "He has a vile heart, poor dear," she went on. "I've begged and begged him to go to a specialist, but you men are all alike."
    "Yes, he ought to go to a doctor," Homer said.
    Her odd mannerisms and artificial voice puzzled him. "What time is it?" she asked.
    "About one o'clock."
    She stood up suddenly and buried both her hands in her hair at the sides of her head, making it bunch at the top in a shiny ball.
    "Oh," she gasped prettily, "and I had a luncheon date."
    Still holding her hair, she turned at the waist without moving her legs, so that her snug dress twisted even tighter and Homer could see her dainty, arched ribs and little, dimpled belly. This elaborate gesture, like all her others, was so completely meaningless, almost formal, that she seemed a dancer rather than an affected actress.
    "Do you like salmon salad?" Homer ventured to ask.
    "Salmon sal-ahde?"
    She seemed to be repeating the question to her stomach. The answer was yes.
    "With plenty of mayonnaise, huh? I adore it."
    "I was going to have some for lunch. I'll finish making it."
    "Let me help."
    They looked at Harry, who appeared to be asleep, then went into the kitchen. While he opened a can of salmon, she climbed on a chair and straddled it with her arms folded across the top of its back and rested her chin on her arms. Whenever he looked at her, she smiled intimately and tossed her pale, glittering hair first forward, then back.
    Homer was excited and his hands worked quickly. He soon had a large bowl of salad ready. He set the table with his best cloth and his best silver and china.
    "It makes me hungry just to look," she said.
    The way she said this seemed to mean that it was Homer who made her hungry and he beamed at her. But before he had a chance to sit down, she was already eating. She buttered a slice of bread, covered the butter with sugar and took a big bite. Then she quickly smeared a gob of mayonnaise on the salmon and went to work. Just as he was about to sit down, she asked for something to drink. He poured her a glass of milk and stood watching her like a waiter. He was unaware of her rudeness.
    As soon as she had gobbled up her salad, he brought her a large red apple. She ate the fruit more slowly, nibbling daintily, her smallest finger curled away from the rest of her hand. When she had finished it, she went back to the living room and Homer followed her.
    Harry still lay as they had left him, stretched out on the sofa. The heavy noon-day sun hit directly on his face, beating down on him like a club. He hardly felt its blows, however. He was busy with the stabbing pain in his chest. He was so busy with himself that he had even stopped trying to plan how to get money out of the big dope.
    Homer drew the window curtain to shade his face.
    Harry didn't even notice. He was thinking about death. Faye bent over him. He saw, from under his partially closed eyelids, that she expected him to make a reassuring gesture. He refused. He examined the tragic expression that she had assumed and didn't like it. In a serious moment like this, her ham sorrow was insulting.
    "Speak to me, Daddy," she begged.
    She was baiting him without being aware of it.
    "What the hell is this," he snarled, "a Tom show?"
    His sudden fury scared her and she straightened up with a jerk. He didn't want to laugh, but a short bark escaped before he could stop it. He waited anxiously to see what would happen. When it didn't hurt he laughed again. He kept on, timidly at first, then with growing assurance. He laughed with his eyes closed and the sweat pouring down his brow. Faye knew only one way to stop him and that was to do something he hated as much as she hated his laughter. She began to sing.
    "Jeepers Creepers! Where'd ya get those peepers?..."
    She trucked, jerking her buttocks and shaking her head from side to side.
    Homer was amazed. He felt that the scene he was witnessing had been rehearsed. He was right. Their