102
JANE MAYH ALL
Upon seeing him, she had flipped. "Oh," she said, "aren't you
-?"
and she gave his name, "and didn't you write -?" To which he
acquiesced, she had mentioned his latest novel. "Oh," she said, "I
just thought that book was wonderful. I read it seven times. What
do you think of that?" The guileless, wide-eyed question. The book's
topic had been incest, "an incitement to incest" (to quote a
corny
blurb) . Oh, my rummage brain, in context,
I'd thought
disappoint–
ing. A force-feed, heartless vaudeville stunt. But, at least he'd dared
to write it, servicing the uninformed. . .. But, what did he think of
that? "Seven times!" the Author had answered. "I think you must
be crazy. I think you ought to have your head examined."
I conceded as I listened; it was a likeable, cogent story. Only
a sour-head could miss that vitality of reply. A frank, honest rebuff.
And there were comic overtones. It was like a Freudian Chinese
box. The framework "outside the culture" and WHAT the book was
about. You could see how he kept it simple, like a kind of obscene
Kathleen Norris. I'm not being uncharitable, the counterparts are
true. But mostly the virtue worked in how he'd handled the girl.
Easing out of the awkward moment, with some friendly character.
The hero kind, but firm.
Most of the table reacted with sounds of approhation. It was a
sort of harmless in-the-know, and didn't affect anything else. The
faces, I noted, were smiling. Only the Author looked uncomfortable.
He hadn't peered up. Though the attention was oentered on him.
"And so, what was she like?" A woman at the end indulged
the question.
I shy at the gratuitous, and thought he would also. Merely –
I don't know why. He seemed modest, uncompromising. And hadn't
looked up from his plate.
But the eyelashes fluttered slightly. He sent a clear, gray glance.
I hadn't notioed before the extent of penetration.
"What was she like -?" He appeared to ruminate. "Well, I'd
say," he brought the words out slowly, "she had hair."
"Hair?" The woman laughed uncertainly. She didn't know
how to take it. "But all girls today have hair - ."
He gave a stunning, beautiful smile. His face, incredibly, seemed
thinner. At once, my premonitions of the serpent world returned.
"That," he said, "isn't what I mean. She had hair -" he
