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Show 280 on the bed, his eyes wide and desperate, and Alice knelt over his face, a knee on either side of his ears. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed and she listened to the intermittent lapping sound that came from below, urging him to do it faster when he faltered or stopped, excitement rushing like wild centipedes over her body, when all at once she realized she was seeing the transistor radio on the table behind her. She was also seeing the table. Glimmering off at a distant edge of something was the picture of the baying elk, throwing off firelight from its glass. The stone fireplace swam into focus. Exactly what she was seeing these things with was not clear, but she neither stopped to consider nor opened her eyes. Richard was for the moment irrelevant, though in the next instant she saw foam on his tongue and his hairy knees pedalling furiously behind her and the white knuckles of both hands doing something indecent to himself. It was this last, in fact, that sent her into peals of laughter and pushed her over the edge. When that happened she saw everything: the bedpost on either side of her, the soiled pillow in front, the clock on the bench, its hands pointed at twenty to three, the grey window with the nose streaks from a neighboring dog, the pile of newspapers in the corner, the fishing pole with the tangled line leaned against the coatrack by the door, the glint off a nailhead in the door. When it was over and she lay curled up with her knees across Richard's stomach he wanted to know what was so goddam funny and she told him. "You didn't see that," he said. "Want to bet?" He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or suspicious, but when she went on to elaborate the other things he could not help but feel spooky. "Come on," he said. |
