Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter [132]
“That theory,” she interrupted. “Have you any idea how childish it is?`...never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.’ Sure it does.”
“Well, is that childish?”
She laughed again, and the steam iron hissed under her hands. “You know what I mean. Old-fashioned. It’s not a new theory, as you seem to think. It hasn’t done us much good, has it? That’s one of those ideas that float around.”
“I don’t think it’s the same thing,” Jack said lamely. “Anyway, just because it’s been around doesn’t mean it’s no good.”
“You’re certainly a philosopher these days. My, yes, having a baby makes a person think.” She held up one of his sweat shirts. “Do you think this needs to be ironed? It’s only wrinkled under the arms.”
“No, forget it.”
“Have you done anything about getting a better job?”
“Not today. I want to figure out what I want to do, you know, permanently.”
“All philosophy today. No time to think about making a little more money.”
“Oh, get off my back.”
But she was right; he had been avoiding the idea of change, putting off the necessary hard thought he would have to work his way through to discover what his life’s occupation was going to be. As a matter of fact, he did not mind parking cars. He was reasonably happy; he did not seem to have any ambitions at all.
“We have to get a bigger apartment, you know,” she said. “We could borrow down-payment money from Myron, and buy a house. Except that I really don’t want to live in one of those damn cracker boxes. But there are some awfully nice places in Sausalito...“
“No,” Jack said. She had hinted at this before. “We don’t live off him or anybody else.”
“You didn’t mind the thousand dollars.”
“That was different.”
“Yes, we don’t have to pay it back.”
Jack was silent. There was really no arguing with her. She just did not understand. “Listen,” he said at last. “I think I really will try to decide what to do with myself. Maybe I’ll take one of those aptitude tests or something.”
“That would be nice,” she said dryly. “`We find, Mister Levitt, that your aptitudes indicate a strong tendency in the direction of either philosophy or running a gas station.”’ She looked at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. But I really think you ought to go to college. I could work, after Billy gets a little older. You need an education.”
“Fuck it,” Jack said. But he did not really mean it; he was just mad at her. The idea of having her put him through college was very inviting. But there was another way. “Listen,” he said. “I work nights; I could go to college anyway. Why not?” He began to get enthusiastic. “Hell, why not? Go to classes in the morning, study in the afternoon and at work. I can sit in a car and study. I could get a lot done.”
“It wouldn’t work.”
“Why not? Hell, yes, it would work!”
“No. Because we don’t have enough money to pay for any extras, like books or tuition; and in the second place, I don’t think you could handle eight hours of work and college at the same time. It’s damn hard, you know.”
“Well, shit. It was an idea.”
“Yes, you’re good at that.”
“Oh, balls.”
Lately Sally had been like this; she wanted things to change, she wanted a new apartment or even a home of their own, she wanted Jack to begin to find a career for himself, or at least a better-paying job; yet she didn’t like any of the ideas he came up with, and seemed always to be making fun of him. It was irritating. Most of the time they were getting along better than they ever had, but there was this one argument about changing their circumstances that always left Jack with a bad taste in his mouth; and also there would be times when Sally would hardly speak to him, and he would be made to feel guilty and would not know why, and would get angry about it and ask her what was bothering her, and if she said anything at all it would be, “Nothing. Does something have to be wrong?” And he would still feel guilty. But otherwise,