Read Online The Hard Blue Sky by Shirley Ann Grau - Free Book Online

one?” she said.
    “More out there. Go get you’ own.”
    She got up, angry now, went out to the kitchen, and brought a couple of cans for herself.
    He was in the big chair. She sat on the sofa, realized that was a mistake, and was a little shy about changing her seat abruptly.
    He gathered up his beer cans and came over to sit beside her. She started to move. He dumped the cans quick to the cushion, and grabbed her.
    “Don’t spill it,” she said. “I got a clean dress.” She was excited now, she could feel her ears get hot—it was almost like anger, only it wasn’t.
    “It’s a clean dress,” she repeated.
    “Take it off if you worrying about it.”
    “No. …” She pulled back, but he had her by one wrist and yanked her back down. “Ouch,” she said, “you hurt. …”
    “Don’t go whining like a puppy dog.” He finished the can. “Hector, he was right.”
    “About what?” she asked.
    “None of your damn business,” he said.
    He held her on the sofa with one hand, while he finished the three cans. “You didn’t drink yours,” he said.
    “I did.”
    “I been around here,” he said, “I been around here, me, and around here and around here some more. … And no this and no something else. And a man get enough somewhere.”
    He put the empty cans down carefully on the floor. “Don’t want to go ruining you papa’s rug none.” He paused, thinking. Then he stood up. “Come on.”
    In the hall he staggered, and she pulled free and was almost out the front door when he caught her. They knocked the little tabouret over.
    “Jesus,” he said.
    The only light in the hall was a small bare bulb without a shade. He left that on, and he left the door to her room open. That made a dim yellowish light inside as he pushed her down on the bed and carefully, with drunken precision undid the back buttons.
    “Go head and yell,” he was saying, “go ahead.”
    She was more afraid now than anything else. And she held herself perfectly stiff.
    He dragged the dress off. “Being careful,” he said. “Me, I’m being real careful.”
    “Not bad,” he said in a minute, “I seen better, but not bad.”
    And he said: “It’s the god-damn likker.”
    She laughed a little uncertainly.
    “Bitch,” he said, “nobody’s through with you.”
    She pulled away, but not very hard. Her nipples were burning and her belly quivered.
    “Take care of you …”
    “Your teeth,” she said, “they hurt.”
    “Nothing to what they going to do … nothing.”
    The night was very still and there were mosquitoes singing away in the corners of the room. “God-damn fucking likker,” he said, “but it don’t matter.”
    “Jesus,” Perique said, “better go pass out home.”
    He stumbled out through the hall. She heard him cursing the front gate, heard it spring shut behind him, and then heard the irregular rhythm of his steps on the gravel.
    Annie wondered what time it was. The Baby Ben clock which always stood on the bureau had got knocked over; she couldn’t find it. A round white spot of mosquito bite began to rise on her stomach, and she scratched at it fitfully.
    Finally she pushed herself up, and sat on the edge of the bed. She looked back, around her shoulder, at the sheet. She was surprised that there was no blood.
    Annie did not see Perique for two days. Then she met him on the path between the grocery and the Livaudais house. She wasn’t sure what to say. So she said nothing. She started to look down at the ground and pass by him. But he took her arm and stopped her.
    “Look,” he said, “don’t worry.”
    Still looking at the ground, she shook her head, agreeing, and wondering what he was talking about.
    “I had a load on, me,” he said, “but I can tell you just exactly what happened. Like I been cold sober.”
    She nodded, afraid to say anything. She didn’t understand, and she knew she should have.
    “Didn’t want you worrying about nothing.”
    “I wasn’t,” she said.
    “Wasn’t