Read Online Heading Out to Wonderful by Robert Goolrick - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Goolrick
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justice, and he said all the words, and then she said her only other words of the day, “I do.” And that was that.
Louise, the colored woman, had put out some sliced ham and some potato salad and a coconut cake. Nobody ate much. Will and Boaty had nothing to say to each other any more, except to talk about the old days, and that didn’t seem right on his wedding day, so they kept quiet. Alma tried to get Sylvan to talk, but she just looked pretty and nodded her head, as though she had been hypnotized. The justice regretted his own hot dinner waiting at home, and the foremen were embarrassed, for their employer and for the girl, so they ate quickly what little they ate, and then they left. Will and Alma stayed a while longer in the awkward silence, with Sylvan, now Mrs. Glass, sitting still and pretty as a porcelain doll, but they were gone pretty quickly, too, and the colored woman cleaned up while Boaty and his new bride sat in the parlor, and then they were alone and Sylvan took off her shoes.
Boaty thought he should maybe talk to her, but he’d almost never been alone with a woman except for his mother, and he had no idea what to say.
“You need a bathroom?” was all he could think of, so he showed her the way, and stood outside listening while she was in there, noticing that she didn’t wash her hands after the toilet flushed. It kind of made him nervous.
When she came out, he looked at her, and, without a word, walked in and began filling the tub. He handed her some fancy French soap he’d bought, his only wedding present, and took her gently by the elbow and led her into the bathroom, then left her alone. There was silence for a long time, as though she didn’t know what to do, then Boaty heard her clothes dropping to the floor, and heard her slowly settling herself into the water.
He listened to it all. She was naked in the hot water. It excited him.
After half an hour, she came out, dressed, her hair clinging to her damp neck. They went back to sit in the parlor, but he could still smell it on her, or thought he could, the pig shit, the outhouse, the moonshine that had run in her family’s veins for generations. He got up, filled the bath again, and she seemed to know what to do, and he stood outside the door again, listening.
She never said a word to him all day. She didn’t smile, she didn’t look troubled, either. She was just blank.
He made her bathe three times that afternoon, until all the towels were damp on their hooks, and he finally could sit in his own living room with his own wife and not smell the stink of country on her. By the time she was done, clean to his satisfaction, her skin had the color of the sun setting outside, and it was time to eat again, so they sat down to two plates left out by Louise, covered in wax paper, and they ate a little, and then they went upstairs to bed.
She was so shy, and so inept, that he knew her father had been telling the truth. He hadn’t expected her to rush at him, but he also realized he didn’t exactly know what to do, either.
So he just took off his clothes, except for his boxer shorts, big, voluminous, patterned things, tented now, he noticed with some embarrassment. He laid his suit and tie and shirt neatly on a chair. Then he lay down on the bed, grunting with the effort to lower himself, a big, hairy melon on a chenille bedspread. After a while, she began to take off her clothes, but not before she drew down the shades, even though it was only half dark and even though it would serve to make the room even more stifling. She turned away from him, and, naked now, backed her way toward the bed. Just the way her mother had told her. She was just barely seventeen years old. She felt older than her own mother.
It caught her by surprise when the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, and she tumbled back against his belly, and he saw her for the first time, the first time he had seen any woman naked, in fact and, even though he knew
Louise, the colored woman, had put out some sliced ham and some potato salad and a coconut cake. Nobody ate much. Will and Boaty had nothing to say to each other any more, except to talk about the old days, and that didn’t seem right on his wedding day, so they kept quiet. Alma tried to get Sylvan to talk, but she just looked pretty and nodded her head, as though she had been hypnotized. The justice regretted his own hot dinner waiting at home, and the foremen were embarrassed, for their employer and for the girl, so they ate quickly what little they ate, and then they left. Will and Alma stayed a while longer in the awkward silence, with Sylvan, now Mrs. Glass, sitting still and pretty as a porcelain doll, but they were gone pretty quickly, too, and the colored woman cleaned up while Boaty and his new bride sat in the parlor, and then they were alone and Sylvan took off her shoes.
Boaty thought he should maybe talk to her, but he’d almost never been alone with a woman except for his mother, and he had no idea what to say.
“You need a bathroom?” was all he could think of, so he showed her the way, and stood outside listening while she was in there, noticing that she didn’t wash her hands after the toilet flushed. It kind of made him nervous.
When she came out, he looked at her, and, without a word, walked in and began filling the tub. He handed her some fancy French soap he’d bought, his only wedding present, and took her gently by the elbow and led her into the bathroom, then left her alone. There was silence for a long time, as though she didn’t know what to do, then Boaty heard her clothes dropping to the floor, and heard her slowly settling herself into the water.
He listened to it all. She was naked in the hot water. It excited him.
After half an hour, she came out, dressed, her hair clinging to her damp neck. They went back to sit in the parlor, but he could still smell it on her, or thought he could, the pig shit, the outhouse, the moonshine that had run in her family’s veins for generations. He got up, filled the bath again, and she seemed to know what to do, and he stood outside the door again, listening.
She never said a word to him all day. She didn’t smile, she didn’t look troubled, either. She was just blank.
He made her bathe three times that afternoon, until all the towels were damp on their hooks, and he finally could sit in his own living room with his own wife and not smell the stink of country on her. By the time she was done, clean to his satisfaction, her skin had the color of the sun setting outside, and it was time to eat again, so they sat down to two plates left out by Louise, covered in wax paper, and they ate a little, and then they went upstairs to bed.
She was so shy, and so inept, that he knew her father had been telling the truth. He hadn’t expected her to rush at him, but he also realized he didn’t exactly know what to do, either.
So he just took off his clothes, except for his boxer shorts, big, voluminous, patterned things, tented now, he noticed with some embarrassment. He laid his suit and tie and shirt neatly on a chair. Then he lay down on the bed, grunting with the effort to lower himself, a big, hairy melon on a chenille bedspread. After a while, she began to take off her clothes, but not before she drew down the shades, even though it was only half dark and even though it would serve to make the room even more stifling. She turned away from him, and, naked now, backed her way toward the bed. Just the way her mother had told her. She was just barely seventeen years old. She felt older than her own mother.
It caught her by surprise when the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, and she tumbled back against his belly, and he saw her for the first time, the first time he had seen any woman naked, in fact and, even though he knew
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