Read Online At Play in the Fields of the Lord by Peter Matthiessen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Matthiessen
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the laughter rose and burst in high little sounds out of his nostrils:
snee, snee, snee, snee
. From along the bar and at the windows, beneath the display of hand-tinted Virgins and flamenco dancers on
aguardiente
calendars, soft-drink signs and plaster crucifixions, the laughter clattered without mercy. Sweet Suzie laughed straight into the face of Moon, her dark eyes mirthless, and fat Mercedes, who imagined that she was the mother of the joke, laughed modestly as best she could, for on Wolfie’s knee with both of Wolfie’s hands clasped hard upon her breasts, it was hard for a girl to get a breath. Moon recognized her as the girl who worked in Guzmán’s kitchen. He smiled at her sympathetically, in response to which she winked at him again, and again stuck her tongue out.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” shouted the Comandante, hurling himself backward; he believed himself to be the witty one.
“Snee, snee, snee, snee,”
the Old Wolf whimpered, doubled forward. Yet Guzmán, surrounded by laughter, laughed alone; and as for Wolfie, at no time during his entire seizure did he know or care what he was laughing at.
“This is a madhouse,” Moon said approvingly to Quarrier, who looked like a man on whom the sky was falling.
Suzie, following Moon’s gaze, leaned back and nestled her elbow in the missionary’s groin; cocking her head far backward so that she stared straight up into his face, she cried out the identical words that Mercedes had spoken with such success a few minutes before. She kept her head that way for several moments, frowning when her remark was disregarded, and at the same time aware that something better was afoot: for Quarrier, who had jerked back from her elbow, was helplessly peering down into her dress. The girl raised her hands beneath her breasts until they swelled like buttocks in the neck of her dress, and said to Quarrier, “
S-ss-t, s-ss-t, misionero, s-ss-t!
”
Recoiling, Quarrier uttered a little cry. His sweating tormented head swung back and forth, back and forth. “What do you seek here?” he said to Moon. “What are these lost souls laughing at?” Moon took his wrist and pulled him down onto the bench beside him. “Be quiet,” he said, “you’re not here to save us.” But Quarrier persisted, waving his free arm about. “You are lost souls, can’t you realize that? You have Satan in you, every one of you!”
Moon squeezed his wrist so hard that the man faced him in surprise. “She’s got nice tits,” Moon said, “wouldn’t you say?” Quarrier opened his mouth, then closed it, reddening so violently that his whole face seemed to swell. Moon said to him, “Now listen, friend, you’re welcome here, but never mind the Gospel lessons.”
But Wolfie, in violent antipathy to Quarrier, was repeating, “What are they
laughin
at, he says! What are they
laughin
at?” louder and louder; then he reared up in his chair, shoving his Fat-Girl aside. “What are you, some kind of a religious
fanatic
or somethin? You don’t like people enjoyin theirselves, or what?” He smashed his fist on the table. “At least that Catholic, at least he’d take a
drink
with us, for Christ sake! Hey”—he turned again to Moon—“hey, Lewis, you remember them big spade girls we had in them rum-and-drums up in Barbados? Did I ever tell you them whores was devout
Catholics
, for Christ sake—
and
Protestants? And I bet every humpin one of them, Catholic and Protestant, had the clap.”
Now what tam you mus go, sweet honey. Coss when you go, you woan com bock
.
“I was in Barbados once,” Quarrier said. “On a freighter. We came down here by freighter from Fernandina, Florida. In Barbados my boy Billy and myself went up the street and had ourselves a very nice chicken chow mein dinner.”
Now that, thought Moon, makes
two
sad things that happened in Barbados.
Wolfie winced. “Oh man,” he said. “Lissen. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was gonna say, like where the hell do you get off
snee, snee, snee, snee
. From along the bar and at the windows, beneath the display of hand-tinted Virgins and flamenco dancers on
aguardiente
calendars, soft-drink signs and plaster crucifixions, the laughter clattered without mercy. Sweet Suzie laughed straight into the face of Moon, her dark eyes mirthless, and fat Mercedes, who imagined that she was the mother of the joke, laughed modestly as best she could, for on Wolfie’s knee with both of Wolfie’s hands clasped hard upon her breasts, it was hard for a girl to get a breath. Moon recognized her as the girl who worked in Guzmán’s kitchen. He smiled at her sympathetically, in response to which she winked at him again, and again stuck her tongue out.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” shouted the Comandante, hurling himself backward; he believed himself to be the witty one.
“Snee, snee, snee, snee,”
the Old Wolf whimpered, doubled forward. Yet Guzmán, surrounded by laughter, laughed alone; and as for Wolfie, at no time during his entire seizure did he know or care what he was laughing at.
“This is a madhouse,” Moon said approvingly to Quarrier, who looked like a man on whom the sky was falling.
Suzie, following Moon’s gaze, leaned back and nestled her elbow in the missionary’s groin; cocking her head far backward so that she stared straight up into his face, she cried out the identical words that Mercedes had spoken with such success a few minutes before. She kept her head that way for several moments, frowning when her remark was disregarded, and at the same time aware that something better was afoot: for Quarrier, who had jerked back from her elbow, was helplessly peering down into her dress. The girl raised her hands beneath her breasts until they swelled like buttocks in the neck of her dress, and said to Quarrier, “
S-ss-t, s-ss-t, misionero, s-ss-t!
”
Recoiling, Quarrier uttered a little cry. His sweating tormented head swung back and forth, back and forth. “What do you seek here?” he said to Moon. “What are these lost souls laughing at?” Moon took his wrist and pulled him down onto the bench beside him. “Be quiet,” he said, “you’re not here to save us.” But Quarrier persisted, waving his free arm about. “You are lost souls, can’t you realize that? You have Satan in you, every one of you!”
Moon squeezed his wrist so hard that the man faced him in surprise. “She’s got nice tits,” Moon said, “wouldn’t you say?” Quarrier opened his mouth, then closed it, reddening so violently that his whole face seemed to swell. Moon said to him, “Now listen, friend, you’re welcome here, but never mind the Gospel lessons.”
But Wolfie, in violent antipathy to Quarrier, was repeating, “What are they
laughin
at, he says! What are they
laughin
at?” louder and louder; then he reared up in his chair, shoving his Fat-Girl aside. “What are you, some kind of a religious
fanatic
or somethin? You don’t like people enjoyin theirselves, or what?” He smashed his fist on the table. “At least that Catholic, at least he’d take a
drink
with us, for Christ sake! Hey”—he turned again to Moon—“hey, Lewis, you remember them big spade girls we had in them rum-and-drums up in Barbados? Did I ever tell you them whores was devout
Catholics
, for Christ sake—
and
Protestants? And I bet every humpin one of them, Catholic and Protestant, had the clap.”
Now what tam you mus go, sweet honey. Coss when you go, you woan com bock
.
“I was in Barbados once,” Quarrier said. “On a freighter. We came down here by freighter from Fernandina, Florida. In Barbados my boy Billy and myself went up the street and had ourselves a very nice chicken chow mein dinner.”
Now that, thought Moon, makes
two
sad things that happened in Barbados.
Wolfie winced. “Oh man,” he said. “Lissen. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was gonna say, like where the hell do you get off
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