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Show 238 it seemed to Philip, to reprimand him for his negligence, partially to let him know that her intrusion on him and Tia was legitimate, suspicionless, inconsequential. Philip bent himself to the chicken, began dipping the pieces into the barbecue sauce. Tia, standing in the middle of the kitchen, picked at the linoleum with her sandal. "What can I_ do?" she whined. "Nothing," said Philip. "Absolutely nothing." "Missed your chance," said Julia. Philip buried himself in his task; moving the chicken out of the sink, through the thick red liquid and into a second cakepan. After each movement he licked his index finger. After the truck stopped, and they had their first cups of tea, the Arabs would prepare the meat: large, skewered chunks of lamb suspended over the fire which exploded with each new load of fat, flames licking hungrily at the meat. Now this, thought Philip, was the standard and the model, the prototype of all barbecues everywhere. When the sunrises were made, Tia took two of them and left the kitchen. Philip was grateful for the silence until he became aware of his wife in the center of it. "Really," Julia said after a moment, "she's such a child." It was not unkindly said, but Philip could hear that it came from the throat, the sound of a hurt animal. "Well, she is_ young," he said without turning around. Julia yelped. "Young? She has a twelve-year-old daughter, Philip, how fucking young is that?" |
