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By Root 12249 0

late childhood and early teens, and all of them were deaf-mutes. Or at least I assumed they were Jews, since one of the kids held a big hand-lettered placard which read: Beth Israel School for the Deaf. Two motherly, bosomy women roamed the aisle with cheery smiles, flicking their fingers in sign language as if conducting a voiceless choir. Here and there a child, beaming, would flick back winglike fluttering hands. I felt myself shudder within the bottomless drainpipe of my hangover. I had an awful sensation of doom. My jangled nerves together with the sight of these incapacitated angels and the smell of faulty combustion leaking up from the engine—all merged into a phantasm of aching anxiety. Nor was my panic alleviated by Sophie’s voice at my side and the bitter flavor of what she had to say. She had begun to take little nips from the bottle and had become incredibly garrulous. But I was really astounded at the words she spoke about Nathan, the blunt rancor in her voice. I could scarcely believe this new tone, and blamed it on the whiskey. Over the roar of the engine and in a bluish haze of hydrocarbons I listened to her in numb discomfort, praying for the purity of the beach.

“Last night,” she said, “last night, Stingo, after I told you about what happened in Connecticut, I realized something for the first time. I realized I was glad that Nathan left me like he done. Really and truly glad, I mean. I was so completely dependent on him, you see, and that was not a healthy thing. I couldn’t move without him. I couldn’t make a simple little décision without thinking of Nathan first. Oh, I know I had this debt to him, he done so much for me—I know that—but it was sick of me to be just this little kitten for him to fondle. To fuck and fondle—”

“But you said he was on drugs,” I interrupted. I felt an odd need to say something in his defense. “I mean, isn’t it true that he was so awful to you only when he was high on these drugs—”

“Drugs!” she said sharply, cutting me off. “Yes, he was on drugs, but does that have to be an excuse, for God’s sake? Always an excuse? I’m so tired of people that always says that we must pity a man, he is under the influence of drugs and so that excuses his behavior. Fuck that noise, Stingo!” she exclaimed in a perfect Nathanism. “He almost killed me. He beat me! He hurt me! Why should I continue to love a man like that? Do you realize that he done something to me that I didn’t tell you about last night? He broke one of my ribs when he kicked me. One of my ribs! He had to take me to a doctor—not Larry, thank God—he had to take me to a doctor and I had x-rays and I had to wear all this tape for six weeks. And we had to invent a story for this doctor—that I slipped up and fell and crack my rib on the pavement. Oh, Stingo, I’m glad I’m rid of such a man! Such a cruel person, so... so malhonnête. I’m happy to leave him,” she proclaimed, wiping a tiny smear of moisture from her lip, “I’m really ecstatic, if you wish to know the truth. I don’t need Nathan no more. I’m still young. I have a nice job, I’m sexy, I can find another man easy. Ha! Maybe I’ll marry Seymour Katz! Wouldn’t Nathan be surprised if I married this chiropractor he was falsely accusing me of having a relationship? And his friends! Nathan’s friends!”

I turned to look at her. There was a glint of fury in her eyes; her voice rose shrilly and I wanted to hush her up, until I realized that there was no one but myself to listen. “I really couldn’t stand his friends. Oh, I was very fond of his brother. Larry. I will miss Larry and I liked very much Morty Haber. But all these other friends. These Jews with their psychoanalysis, always picking their little sores, worrying about their little brilliant brains and their analysts and everything. You heard them, Stingo. You know what I mean. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? ‘My analyst this, my analyst that... ’ It is so disgusting, you would think they had suffered something, these comfortable American Jewish people with their Doctor So-and-So they pay many dollars an hour to examine