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Authors: Larry McMurtry
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walk it off.”
“If I was pent up I think I’d know a way to get unpent,” Duane said. “We’ve probably had more of a sex life than any ten people you can name in this town.”
“Yes, but beautiful memories aren’t enough,” Karla said.
“I wish I hadn’t waked up,” Duane said. “If there’s one thing that’s not going to make me less depressed it’s talking about sex.”
“I know, but right now I can’t think of anything else to talk about,” Karla said.
“We’ve had slumps before,” he reminded her. “A slump now and then has to be expected when you get to be our age.”
“That’s not what it says in my health magazines, Duane,” Karla mentioned.
He politely refrained from asking what it said in her health magazines. He didn’t want to know about tanned, healthy, perfectly adjusted old couples who had sex constantly, even at advanced ages. Besides, he had a feeling Karla was going to tell him anyway, and she did.
“It says in my health magazines that people who have healthy bodies and good attitudes can go right on having sex until they’re eighty-five or ninety or so,” she said.
“Yeah, but those health magazines don’t have anything to do with real life,” Duane pointed out. “They’re just magazines. In real life people have slumps all the time.”
“I guess they do, but that doesn’t mean I like just having sex on my birthday,” Karla said.
“Oh hush,” he said. “We’ve had sex since your birthday.”
Then, once he thought about it, he couldn’t really be sure they had had sex since her birthday, and her birthday was nine months back. Sex was one of those things that seemed to inhabit a no-man’s-land beyond explanation or excuse. It had been there for a long time and now it seemed to be gone. He had no desire to make love to Karla or any other woman—not at the present time.
“Couldn’t you just try a teeny little bit of counseling, just for me?” Karla asked. “My birthday is coming around again. It could be like an early birthday present or something.”
“I’m going to take a walk now,” Duane said. “I’ll think about the counseling while I’m walking.”
“Duane, it’s three-fifteen in the morning; you can’t take a walk now,” Karla said, alarmed that he would even consider such a thing.
“Sure I can,” Duane said. “All it takes is two good legs. The time of day doesn’t have a thing to do with it.”
In fact he couldn’t wait to get out of the house, into the cold air—couldn’t wait to be alone in the night with his thoughts, walking by himself, beyond the reach of expectation or demand.
“If you ask me you’re clinically depressed or you wouldn’t even think of such a thing,” Karla said. “It’s the middle of the night. People don’t just go walking around in the middle of the night—not in this part of the country.”
“It’s not against the law, though,” Duane pointed out. “There’s nothing out there that’s going to hurt me.”
“I guess a truck could hurt you if it was coming around the corner real fast and didn’t expect to see a crazy man walking in the road,” Karla said. She was growing indignant at the mere thought of Duane walking around the streets at three-fifteen in the morning.
“No truck is going to come around the corner and hit me and I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said, sliding out of the bed and grabbing his new walking shoes.
“Where do you think you’re going to walk to at this hour?” Karla asked. “It won’t even be light enough to see good for three hours.”
“I don’t mean to be walking anywhere but in the road,” Duane said. “I think I can see well enough to stay in the road.”
“If it was summer you might step on a snake,” Karla said—realizing, though, that February was not the summer.
Duane didn’t bother to answer. He quickly shaved and showered, got dressed, and carefully tied his walking shoes. By the time he was ready to leave
“If I was pent up I think I’d know a way to get unpent,” Duane said. “We’ve probably had more of a sex life than any ten people you can name in this town.”
“Yes, but beautiful memories aren’t enough,” Karla said.
“I wish I hadn’t waked up,” Duane said. “If there’s one thing that’s not going to make me less depressed it’s talking about sex.”
“I know, but right now I can’t think of anything else to talk about,” Karla said.
“We’ve had slumps before,” he reminded her. “A slump now and then has to be expected when you get to be our age.”
“That’s not what it says in my health magazines, Duane,” Karla mentioned.
He politely refrained from asking what it said in her health magazines. He didn’t want to know about tanned, healthy, perfectly adjusted old couples who had sex constantly, even at advanced ages. Besides, he had a feeling Karla was going to tell him anyway, and she did.
“It says in my health magazines that people who have healthy bodies and good attitudes can go right on having sex until they’re eighty-five or ninety or so,” she said.
“Yeah, but those health magazines don’t have anything to do with real life,” Duane pointed out. “They’re just magazines. In real life people have slumps all the time.”
“I guess they do, but that doesn’t mean I like just having sex on my birthday,” Karla said.
“Oh hush,” he said. “We’ve had sex since your birthday.”
Then, once he thought about it, he couldn’t really be sure they had had sex since her birthday, and her birthday was nine months back. Sex was one of those things that seemed to inhabit a no-man’s-land beyond explanation or excuse. It had been there for a long time and now it seemed to be gone. He had no desire to make love to Karla or any other woman—not at the present time.
“Couldn’t you just try a teeny little bit of counseling, just for me?” Karla asked. “My birthday is coming around again. It could be like an early birthday present or something.”
“I’m going to take a walk now,” Duane said. “I’ll think about the counseling while I’m walking.”
“Duane, it’s three-fifteen in the morning; you can’t take a walk now,” Karla said, alarmed that he would even consider such a thing.
“Sure I can,” Duane said. “All it takes is two good legs. The time of day doesn’t have a thing to do with it.”
In fact he couldn’t wait to get out of the house, into the cold air—couldn’t wait to be alone in the night with his thoughts, walking by himself, beyond the reach of expectation or demand.
“If you ask me you’re clinically depressed or you wouldn’t even think of such a thing,” Karla said. “It’s the middle of the night. People don’t just go walking around in the middle of the night—not in this part of the country.”
“It’s not against the law, though,” Duane pointed out. “There’s nothing out there that’s going to hurt me.”
“I guess a truck could hurt you if it was coming around the corner real fast and didn’t expect to see a crazy man walking in the road,” Karla said. She was growing indignant at the mere thought of Duane walking around the streets at three-fifteen in the morning.
“No truck is going to come around the corner and hit me and I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said, sliding out of the bed and grabbing his new walking shoes.
“Where do you think you’re going to walk to at this hour?” Karla asked. “It won’t even be light enough to see good for three hours.”
“I don’t mean to be walking anywhere but in the road,” Duane said. “I think I can see well enough to stay in the road.”
“If it was summer you might step on a snake,” Karla said—realizing, though, that February was not the summer.
Duane didn’t bother to answer. He quickly shaved and showered, got dressed, and carefully tied his walking shoes. By the time he was ready to leave
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