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Show 55 "Let's have lunch here," she had said, when Hunt had indicated time to break. "I have unequal relationships with women," Hunt had said out of the blue; they were unknown words, arriving but unexpected. Martha McAllister had nodded. "Do you not want me to tell you that I've fallen in love with you?" she asked. "That's right," Hunt had said. "Your eyes are incredible," she had said. "Stop i t . Please." And Hunt had walked behind the counter in his tiny ship's kitchen in his studio and enclosed himself. "Don't you believe that you could be loved?" Martha McAllister had asked. "I have water-packed tunafish or hamspread," Hunt had said. "You've made rae believe that !_ could be loved." Her voice had been, though unyielding, soft. "I have Schilitz beer and Gallo burgandy." "Okay . . . okay," she had said; " I ' l l have tunafish and burgandy." "In burgandy?" "And burgandy." She'd been angry. They'd eaten lunch, at f i r s t , in silence. Then Martha had asked Hunt about different birds she saw, moving in branches, just beyond the window. He'd identified them. He knew birds. He knew birds and animals, young and adult males of his species. Then, after another l u l l , in their talk about birds and seasons, Martha had asked the question: "Should I ask the obvious?" And Hunt had t r i ed not to sound defensive: "If i t ' s obvious - no," |
