Read Online Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joyce Carol Oates
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Man-Woman Relationships, Young Women, Legislators, Traffic accidents, Drowning Victims
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the
second-best position, paired with the absurd Quayle, he would have the
presidential nomination, or nothing. Yet more canny ,
not at that time to have very actively pursued the nomination himself since
he'd understood, as Dukakis had not, that the Democrats' best efforts in that
election year were doomed.
As Kelly Kelleher had not understood. Those Reagan years, the dismal spiritual debasement, the hypocrisy, cruelty,
lies uttered with a cosmetic smile... surely, the American people would see.
Yet
it had been Kelly who'd been blind, and what a fool. Laughing about it now on
this Fourth of July years later strolling with a United States senator passing
miniature American flags set in the sand by the children of Buffy's neighbors,
making of her exhaustion and heartbreak an amusing anecdote to tell against herself .
But
The Senator did not laugh. He said, vehemently, "Oh Christ. I know. I wanted to die, nearly, when Stevenson lost to Eisenhower—I
loved that man."
Kelly
Kelleher was startled to hear such an admission. A man loving
another man?
Even
in political terms?
The
Senator spoke of Adlai Stevenson and Kelly listened attentively. She had an
imprecise, however respectful, knowledge of Stevenson, for of course she had
studied that era in American history, the Eisenhower years, the Eisenhower
phenomenon her professor had called it, but she did not want to be tested. She
did not want to allude to her father's contempt for the man and she could not
even recall whether there had been a single campaign, or two. In the early 1950s?
Cautiously
she inquired, "Did you work for him, Senator?"
"The
second time, yes. In nineteen fifty-six. I was a sophomore at Harvard. The
first time— when he might actually have won—I was just a kid."
"And
were you always—political?"
He bared his big teeth in a happy smile, for clearly
this was his question.
"'The
state is a creation of nature, and man is a political animal'—by nature."
He
was quoting—was it Aristotle?
Kelly
Kelleher who had been drinking an unaccustomed amount of beer much of the
afternoon laughed happily too. As if this were a fact to be celebrated. It was the wind whipping her hair, it was the beauty of the island. Grayling Island. Maine. The pounding surf like a narcotic, the high-banked beach, pebbly sand
stretching for miles festooned with wild rose and the enormous wind-sculpted
dunes, those curious creases or ripples in them as if a giant rake had been
combed through them with infinite care. How blessed was Kelly Kelleher's life,
to have brought her here]
It
was unlike her to be so bold, so flirtatious. Asking The Senator archly,
"'Man'—and not woman? Isn't 'woman' a political animal too?"
"Some women. Sometimes. We know that. But, most of the time, women
find politics boring. The power-play of male egos. Like war. Eh? Boring in its monotony, beneath all the turmoil?"
But
Kelly was not to be led. As if this were a seminar, and Kelly Kelleher one of
the stars, she said, frowning, "Women can't afford to think of politics as
'boring'! Not at this point in history. The Supreme Court, abortion—"
They
were walking much slower now. They were breathless, excited.
The
tender soles of Kelly's feet stung from the heat of the white-glaring sand. Yet
the wind was raising tiny goose bumps on her arms: it must have been
twenty-five degrees cooler here than back in Boston.
The
Senator, noticing the goose bumps, drew a forefinger gently along her arm.
Kelly shivered the more at his touch.
"Are
you cold, dear?—that thing you're wearing is so flimsy."
"No.
No, I'm fine."
"Would
you like to turn back?"
"Of course not."
Touching her arm. That sudden intimacy. Standing so close, staring down
at her.
Deliberately,
slowly as if with exaggerated courtesy The Senator gripped Kelly Kelleher's
shoulders, stooped to kiss her, and her eyelids fluttered, she was genuinely
startled, surprised, yes and excited too, for how swiftly this was happening,
how swiftly after
second-best position, paired with the absurd Quayle, he would have the
presidential nomination, or nothing. Yet more canny ,
not at that time to have very actively pursued the nomination himself since
he'd understood, as Dukakis had not, that the Democrats' best efforts in that
election year were doomed.
As Kelly Kelleher had not understood. Those Reagan years, the dismal spiritual debasement, the hypocrisy, cruelty,
lies uttered with a cosmetic smile... surely, the American people would see.
Yet
it had been Kelly who'd been blind, and what a fool. Laughing about it now on
this Fourth of July years later strolling with a United States senator passing
miniature American flags set in the sand by the children of Buffy's neighbors,
making of her exhaustion and heartbreak an amusing anecdote to tell against herself .
But
The Senator did not laugh. He said, vehemently, "Oh Christ. I know. I wanted to die, nearly, when Stevenson lost to Eisenhower—I
loved that man."
Kelly
Kelleher was startled to hear such an admission. A man loving
another man?
Even
in political terms?
The
Senator spoke of Adlai Stevenson and Kelly listened attentively. She had an
imprecise, however respectful, knowledge of Stevenson, for of course she had
studied that era in American history, the Eisenhower years, the Eisenhower
phenomenon her professor had called it, but she did not want to be tested. She
did not want to allude to her father's contempt for the man and she could not
even recall whether there had been a single campaign, or two. In the early 1950s?
Cautiously
she inquired, "Did you work for him, Senator?"
"The
second time, yes. In nineteen fifty-six. I was a sophomore at Harvard. The
first time— when he might actually have won—I was just a kid."
"And
were you always—political?"
He bared his big teeth in a happy smile, for clearly
this was his question.
"'The
state is a creation of nature, and man is a political animal'—by nature."
He
was quoting—was it Aristotle?
Kelly
Kelleher who had been drinking an unaccustomed amount of beer much of the
afternoon laughed happily too. As if this were a fact to be celebrated. It was the wind whipping her hair, it was the beauty of the island. Grayling Island. Maine. The pounding surf like a narcotic, the high-banked beach, pebbly sand
stretching for miles festooned with wild rose and the enormous wind-sculpted
dunes, those curious creases or ripples in them as if a giant rake had been
combed through them with infinite care. How blessed was Kelly Kelleher's life,
to have brought her here]
It
was unlike her to be so bold, so flirtatious. Asking The Senator archly,
"'Man'—and not woman? Isn't 'woman' a political animal too?"
"Some women. Sometimes. We know that. But, most of the time, women
find politics boring. The power-play of male egos. Like war. Eh? Boring in its monotony, beneath all the turmoil?"
But
Kelly was not to be led. As if this were a seminar, and Kelly Kelleher one of
the stars, she said, frowning, "Women can't afford to think of politics as
'boring'! Not at this point in history. The Supreme Court, abortion—"
They
were walking much slower now. They were breathless, excited.
The
tender soles of Kelly's feet stung from the heat of the white-glaring sand. Yet
the wind was raising tiny goose bumps on her arms: it must have been
twenty-five degrees cooler here than back in Boston.
The
Senator, noticing the goose bumps, drew a forefinger gently along her arm.
Kelly shivered the more at his touch.
"Are
you cold, dear?—that thing you're wearing is so flimsy."
"No.
No, I'm fine."
"Would
you like to turn back?"
"Of course not."
Touching her arm. That sudden intimacy. Standing so close, staring down
at her.
Deliberately,
slowly as if with exaggerated courtesy The Senator gripped Kelly Kelleher's
shoulders, stooped to kiss her, and her eyelids fluttered, she was genuinely
startled, surprised, yes and excited too, for how swiftly this was happening,
how swiftly after
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