Read Online We So Seldom Look on Love by Barbara Gowdy - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Gowdy
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has a foot coming out of his mouth. He then has Sylvie remove both pairs of her underpants and lie on a table, her own knees bent and draped with a sheet. John, standing beside the surgeon, tells him that both bowels function normally, both menstrual cycles are regular and not necessarily simultaneous, and that although both vaginas have been penetrated, she is, strictly speaking, still a virgin.
He assured her of her virginity yesterday, after she told him about the boy sticking his finger up her. The surgeon’s fingers are in greased, clear- plastic gloves. It must be the tea, Sylvie thinks, wondering at how unabashed she feels. Why isn’t she having one of her memory spells? She is so relaxed, in fact, shecould sleep. She closes her eyes, and her mind drifts to last night and John kissing her at her bedroom door, a long kiss on the lips that left her little legs tingling.
The surgeon is optimistic that not only will he be able to remove her legs and hips but that he will also succeed in ridding her of what he calls her excess plumbing. Over the next few weeks Sylvie and John go to see him twice more at his office, and then the three of them fly to consult another specialist in New York City. As it happens, the side show is in New Jersey, and after her examination, while John and the doctors are conferring, Sylvie takes a taxi to the fairgrounds.
She cries as she is being hugged and congratulated. She had no idea how homesick she was. Mr. Bean admits to having made the biggest mistake of his life, letting John buy her contract. Half-joking, he tries to talk her out of the operation. “Why would a four-leaf clover want to be an ordinary three-leaf?” he asks.
He’s upset because attendance has dropped off. When Sylvie and Merry Mary are alone in their old trailer, Mary says that he had better get used to it, side shows are becoming a thing of the past. “I’m thinking of going on a diet,” she says.
“I guess I got out just in time,” Sylvie says. She tells Mary about John’s library, where she spends her days reading. She describes the tight white wedding gown.
“Boy oh boy, you hit the jackpot,” Mary says.
“I love John with all my heart,” Sylvie says sincerely.
Mary tugs up her shift to aerate her thighs. The pink mounds of her knees have always struck Sylvie as vulnerable, recalling the bald heads of old men. In her act, Mary informs the audience that each of her thighs has the circumference of a big man’s chest. Sylvie thinks with a thrill of John’s lean chest, how it would lose out to Mary’s thigh. “I’m so happy,” she tells Mary.
Mary fans herself with the hem of her skirt. “So, what happens to Sue?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” Sylvie says.
“After the operation. What’s the doc going to do with her?”
Sylvie feels light-headed.
“See,” Mary says, “why I’m asking is I bought four plots in that cemetery where the baby is. One plot for her, two for me, and they threw in a fourth one half price, so I got one extra. Sue’s welcome to it if you need some place.”
Mary’s huge moon face overlays but does not obscure the face of the surgeon, two weeks ago, listening to her heart and saying, “In Frankfurt I excised an abdominal tumour that turned out to contain teeth, hair and an undeveloped spine.”
“Free, of course,” Mary adds. “No charge.”
Sylvie cannot look at Mary. She looks at her new diamond-and-gold watch and is startled by how late it is. “Five o’clock!” she exclaims. The watch in her memory, the one on the surgeon’s wrist, says four-thirty, the time she should have left the fairgrounds by. Five minutes later she is on the street, climbing into a taxi.
It’s a long drive back to the hotel, the taxi is caught in rush-hour traffic. “Two legs do not add up to a human being,” she says to herself. The night before last John said, “Just keep telling yourself that.” He said, “There is no Sue.”
They were in a restaurant,
He assured her of her virginity yesterday, after she told him about the boy sticking his finger up her. The surgeon’s fingers are in greased, clear- plastic gloves. It must be the tea, Sylvie thinks, wondering at how unabashed she feels. Why isn’t she having one of her memory spells? She is so relaxed, in fact, shecould sleep. She closes her eyes, and her mind drifts to last night and John kissing her at her bedroom door, a long kiss on the lips that left her little legs tingling.
The surgeon is optimistic that not only will he be able to remove her legs and hips but that he will also succeed in ridding her of what he calls her excess plumbing. Over the next few weeks Sylvie and John go to see him twice more at his office, and then the three of them fly to consult another specialist in New York City. As it happens, the side show is in New Jersey, and after her examination, while John and the doctors are conferring, Sylvie takes a taxi to the fairgrounds.
She cries as she is being hugged and congratulated. She had no idea how homesick she was. Mr. Bean admits to having made the biggest mistake of his life, letting John buy her contract. Half-joking, he tries to talk her out of the operation. “Why would a four-leaf clover want to be an ordinary three-leaf?” he asks.
He’s upset because attendance has dropped off. When Sylvie and Merry Mary are alone in their old trailer, Mary says that he had better get used to it, side shows are becoming a thing of the past. “I’m thinking of going on a diet,” she says.
“I guess I got out just in time,” Sylvie says. She tells Mary about John’s library, where she spends her days reading. She describes the tight white wedding gown.
“Boy oh boy, you hit the jackpot,” Mary says.
“I love John with all my heart,” Sylvie says sincerely.
Mary tugs up her shift to aerate her thighs. The pink mounds of her knees have always struck Sylvie as vulnerable, recalling the bald heads of old men. In her act, Mary informs the audience that each of her thighs has the circumference of a big man’s chest. Sylvie thinks with a thrill of John’s lean chest, how it would lose out to Mary’s thigh. “I’m so happy,” she tells Mary.
Mary fans herself with the hem of her skirt. “So, what happens to Sue?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” Sylvie says.
“After the operation. What’s the doc going to do with her?”
Sylvie feels light-headed.
“See,” Mary says, “why I’m asking is I bought four plots in that cemetery where the baby is. One plot for her, two for me, and they threw in a fourth one half price, so I got one extra. Sue’s welcome to it if you need some place.”
Mary’s huge moon face overlays but does not obscure the face of the surgeon, two weeks ago, listening to her heart and saying, “In Frankfurt I excised an abdominal tumour that turned out to contain teeth, hair and an undeveloped spine.”
“Free, of course,” Mary adds. “No charge.”
Sylvie cannot look at Mary. She looks at her new diamond-and-gold watch and is startled by how late it is. “Five o’clock!” she exclaims. The watch in her memory, the one on the surgeon’s wrist, says four-thirty, the time she should have left the fairgrounds by. Five minutes later she is on the street, climbing into a taxi.
It’s a long drive back to the hotel, the taxi is caught in rush-hour traffic. “Two legs do not add up to a human being,” she says to herself. The night before last John said, “Just keep telling yourself that.” He said, “There is no Sue.”
They were in a restaurant,
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