LEONARD MICHAELS
549
me, the one who did the smashing, the feel of it still irr my hands,
wood crushing flesh. She whispered, "My fault, my fault," her eyes
big, wild with silvery exhilaration, claiming all guilt, pleading with
me for forgiveness. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I did it. It was my own
fault."
I retreated slowly, fearfully, as if from a forbidden being, the
awesome other, taboo. Her hands lay palms-up in her lap, fingers
greenish-blue, pads shrivelled, looking waterlogged, squashed. They
seemed like a memory of hands. In a photograph, I'd have guessed
they were dead; so empty and still, they were in terrible pain. With–
out a word, I settled into my chair and waited for it to end. There
was nothing to do, nothing to say. An immense passion, a weight of
incoherent turgid feeling, enclosed us like the walls of a cave. At the
bottom corner of the desk, she crossed her ankles, rubbing them to–
gether, soothing and hugging herself down there, out of sight, qui–
etly, so that I might not notice. I noticed. In a slow, dull voice, I
said, "Drop the course. Take it independently. Do it any way you
like."
Though still big with pain, her eyes took on new urgency.
"Don't you care what I do?"
I regretted having spoken, tried to change the effect, but
managed only a feeble question. "What do you mean?" I put it very–
gently, each word a tender baby of concern.
"You know." This was sullen.
"I do?"
"Damn right. You started this."
"This?"
"Yes, this."
"But you sit there shivering in front of me. I go to the window.
You stick your hand under it . . ."
"Oh please. Please don't go on like that.
If
you say one more
word, you'll inflict irredeemable stupidity on both of us. There isn't
enough time for little games. Don't pretend nothing has happened
between us."
"What's happened? The window ..."
She leaned forward, grit her teeth, and kicked me hard in the
shin. Then neither of us moved or seemed to breathe. We sat facing
each other across the desk, her purse between us, window light fill–
ing her hair with a cloudy glow. My heart beat in me like a blud–
geon. Any word, any move, would be wrong. The g:reen and lavender
of her clothing now seemed intensely sensational, the open collar
