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Show 21 I stare at the telephone number she has written on a little scrap of paper. "I'm seeing Maude tomorrow," I say, knowing the explanation is trite. "She's been kept in the home. I haven't seen her for almost two weeks." Luel stops, the shirt only half-way closed. She flips her taut breasts, suggestively. "Wouldn't you rather have me?" I stare without answering at the telephone number. My stomach wavers within me, a viscous and slippery pond. I watch Luel, but behind it see only Sadie's dead smile. "No," I finally say. * * * "The rings were a gift of love," I am saying for the dozenth time. The judge peers out over the chest-high barrier, the members of the jury scratch their knees, Luel and her father Tate lean together, whispering, on the other side of the court. "I am not a thief or an extortionist or a prostitute," I am saying, "and I did not make her die. She wanted it that way." I see nothing but their uncomprehending eyes, spying out perversion which preys on the old. I see the hot afternoon light seeping around the corners of the drapes, watch the dust-balls forming between the baseboards and the floor, study new patterns of fingerprints oh the walls. There is more to tell, but I am finally realizing that no one can hear, and I do not wish to expose my loves to those who cannot understand. |
