Dusk and Other Stories - James Salter [21]
“Hmm?”
“Please.”
“No, darling.”
“Please!”
“No, we have enough of our own as it is.”
“Where?”
“All over the house.”
“Please!”
“No. Now stop it.” To Truus she remarked casually, “Is it a boyfriend?”
“It’s no one,” Truus said. “Just someone I met.”
“Well, just remember you have to watch yourself. You never know who you’re meeting, you have to be careful.” She drew back slightly and examined her eyes, large and black-rimmed. “Just thank God you’re not in Italy,” she said.
“Italy?”
“You can’t even walk out on the street there. You can’t even buy a pair of shoes, they’re all over you, touching and pawing.”
It happened outside Dean and DeLuca’s when Christopher insisted on carrying the bag and just past the door had dropped it.
“Oh, look at that,” Truus said in irritation. “I told you not to drop it.”
“I didn’t drop it. It slipped.”
“Don’t touch it,” she warned. “There’s broken glass.”
Christopher stared at the ground. He had a sturdy body, bobbed hair, and a cleft in his chin like his banished father’s. People were walking past them. Truus was annoyed. It was hot, the store was crowded, she would have to go back inside.
“Looks like you had a little accident,” a voice said. “Here, what’d you break? That’s all right, they’ll exchange it. I know the cashier.”
When he came out again a few moments later he said to Christopher, “Think you can hold it this time?”
Christopher was silent.
“What’s your name?”
“Well, tell him,” Truus said. Then after a moment, “His name is Christopher.”
“Too bad you weren’t with me this morning, Christopher. I went to a place where they had a lot of tame mice. Ever seen any?”
“Where?” Christopher said.
“They sit right in your hand.”
“Where is it?”
“You can’t have a mouse,” Truus said.
“Yes, I can.” He continued to repeat it as they walked along. “I can have anything I want,” he said.
“Be quiet.” They were talking above his head. Near the corner they stopped for a while. Christopher was silent as they went on talking. He felt his hair being tugged but did not look up.
“Say good-bye, Christopher.”
He said nothing. He refused to lift his head.
In midafternoon the sun was like a furnace. Everything was dark against it, the horizon lost in haze. Far down the beach in front of one of the prominent houses a large flag was waving. With Christopher following her, Truus trudged through the sand. Finally she saw what she had been looking for. Up in the dunes a figure was sitting.
“Where are we going?” Christopher asked.
“Just up here.”
Christopher soon saw where they were headed.
“I have mices,” was the first thing he said.
“Is that right?”
“Do you want to know their names?” In fact they were two desperate gerbils in a tank of wood shavings. “Catman and Batty,” he said.
“Catman?”
“He’s the big one.” Truus was spreading a towel, he noticed. “Do we have to stay here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked. He wanted to go down near the water. Finally Truus agreed.
“But only if you stay where I can see you,” she said.
The shovel fell out of his bucket as he ran off. She had to call him to make him come back. He went off again and she pretended to watch him.
“I’m really glad you came. You know, I don’t know your name. I know his, but I don’t know yours.”
“Truus.”
“I’ve never heard that name before. What is it, French?”
“It’s Dutch.”
“Oh, yeah?”
His name was Robbie Werner, “not half as nice,” he said. He had an easy smile and pale blue eyes. There was something spoiled about him, like a student who has been expelled and is undisturbed by it. The sun was roaring down and striking Truus’ shoulders beneath her shirt. She was wearing a blue, one-piece bathing suit underneath. She was aware of being too heavy, of the heat, and of the thick, masculine legs stretched out near her.
“Do you live here?” she said.
“I’m just here on vacation.”
“From where?”
“Try and guess.”
“I don’t know,” she said. She wasn’t good at that kind of thing.
“Saudi Arabia,” he said. “It’s about three times this hot.”
He worked there, he explained. He had an apartment of his