Visitors
Visitors (第1/3页)
Itsthreeoclockinthemorning.
Bishopsdaughterisill,stomachpains.Shessleepingonthecouch.
Bishoptooisill,chillsandsweating,aflu.Hecantsleep.Inbed,helistenstotheoccasionalgroansfromtworoomsaway.Katieisfifteenandspendsthesummerwithhimeveryyear.
Outsideonthestreet,someonekicksonamotorcycleandrevsitunforgivingly.Hisbedroomisbadlyplaced.
HesgivenherPepto-Bismol,ifshewakesagainhelltryTylenol.Hewrapshimselfinthesheet,pullshist-shirtawayfromhisdampchest.
Theresaradioplayingsomewhereinthebuilding,big-bandmusic,hefeelsratherthanhearsit.Thesteady,friendlyair-conditionerhustlinginthenextroom.
Earlierhedtakenhertoadoctor,whofoundnothing."Youvegotabellyache,"thedoctorsaid,"stickwithfluidsandcallmeifitdoesntgoaway."Katieisbeautiful,tallwithdarkhair.
Intheafternoontheydgone,groaning,toahorrormovieaboutwolvestakingoverthecity.Atvividmomentsshejumpedagainsthim,pressingherbreastsintohisback.Hemovedaway.
Whentheywalktogetheronthestreetshetakeshisarm,holdingontightly(because,hefigures,shespendssomuchofhertimeaway,away).Veryoftenpeoplegivethempeculiarlooks.
Hesbeenpickingupoldladieswhovebeenfallingdowninfrontofhim,theselastfewdays.OnesittinginthemiddleofanintersectionwavingherarmswhiledangerousCheckerscurvedaroundher.Theoldladiesinvariablydisplayasuperbfightingspirit."Thankyou,youngman!"
Hesforty-nine.Writingahistoryof19thCenturyAmericanpainting,aboutwhichheknowsathingortwo.
Notenough.
Agroan,heartfeltbutmuted,fromtheotherroom.Shesawake.
Hegetsupandgoesintolookather.Thered-and-whitecottonrobesheswearingis,tuckedupunderherknees."Ijustthrewupagain,"shesays.
"Didithelp?"
"Alittle."
Heonceaskedherwhatsomething(abox?achair?)wasmadeofandshetoldhimitwasmadeoutoftree.
"Doyouwanttotryaglassofmilk?"
"Idontwantanymilk,"shesays,turningtolieonherfront."Sitwithme."
Hesitsontheedgeofthecouchandrubsherback."Thinkofsomethingterrific,"hesays."Letsgetyourmindoffyourstomach.Thinkaboutfishing.Thinkaboutthetimeyouthrewthehotelkeysoutofthewindow."Once,inParis,shehaddonejustthat,fromasixth-floorwindow,andBishophadhadvisionsofsomeFrenchmanwalkingdowntheQuaidesGrands-Augustinswithasetofheavyironhotelkeysburiedinhisbrain.Hedfoundthekeysinapottedplantoutsidethehoteldoor.
"Daddy,"shesays,notlookingathim.
"Yes?"
"Whydoyoulivelikethis?Byyourself?"
"WhoamIgoingtolivewith?"
"Youcouldfindsomebody.Yourehandsomeforyourage."
"Ohverygood.Thatsveryneat.Ithankyou."
"Youdonttry."
Thisisandisnottrue.
"Howmuchdoyouweigh?"
"Oneeighty-five."
"Youcouldlosesomeweight."
"Look,kid,gimmeabreak."Heblotshisforeheadwithhisarm."Youwantsomecambrictea?"
"Youvegivenup."
"Notso,"hesays."Katie,gotosleepnow.ThinkofagreatbigpileofGuccihandbags."
Shesighsandturnsherheadaway.
Bishopgoesintothekitchenandturnsonthelight.Hewonderswhatadrinkwoulddotohim,orforhim——puthimtosleep?Hedecidesagainstit.HeturnsonthetinykitchenTVandspendsafewminuteswatchingsomekindofJapanesemonstermovie.Thepoorlydesignedmonsterispickinguphandfulsofpeopleand,ratherthoughtfully,eatingthem.BishopthinksaboutTokyo.HewasonceinbedwithaJapanesegirlduringamildearthquake,andhesneverforgottenthefeelingofthefloorfallingoutfromunderneathhim,orthewomansterror.Hesuddenlyremembershername,Michiko."Younobutterflyonme?"shehadasked,whentheymet.Hewasastonishedtolearnthat"butterfly"meant,inthepatoisofthetime,"abandon."Shecookedtheirmealsoveracharcoalbrazierandtheysleptinanicheinthewallclosedofffromtherestofherroombyslidingpaperdoors.BishopworkedonthecopydeskatStars&Stripes.Onedayawirephotocameinshowingtheheadsofthefour(then)womensservicesposingforagroupportrait.BishopsluggedthecaptionLEADINGLADIES.TheelderlymastersergeantwhowasservingascityeditorbroughtthephotobacktoBishopsdesk."Wecantdothis,"hesaid."Aintitashame?"
HeswitcheschannelsandgetsDollyPartonsinging,bycoincidence,"HouseoftheRisingSun."
Atsomepointduringeachsummershellsay:"Whydidyouandmymothersplitup?"
"Itwasyourfault,"heanswers."Yours.Youmadetoomuchnoise,asakid,Icoul
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