hair, but she was already hopping down from the running board, she was walking into the battered weeds at the verge of the road. For a few seconds she stood there, plucking at the thin material of her dress that clung damply to her thighs, and then she took off. She took off down the highway, towards the intersection they’d just passed. She was walking away. For a few seconds, he just stared at her. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was walking away, just walking away, like a person in a dream that you had no voice to call to, walking off down the road into the hazy white sky. And it was so white, that sky, it was like it wasn’t real, so he thought: This isn’t really happening. He wiped his arm across his eyes and she was still walking away. He lunged across the passenger seat and smacked her door shut, half-thinking the sound wouldbring her to her senses, although his hand moved naturally afterwards to the key at the ignition. He’d get the hell out of there, that’s what he’d do, he thought, with his hand at the ignition. But he turned around in his seat to watch her.
She got to the intersection and made the turn and went on down the narrower dirt road. Either side of her the fields of wheat were almost motionless. The truck that had slowed them down had pulled into town; the girl she’d seen out walking by herself had disappeared over a little rise past the grain elevators, and nothing was moving in the whole landscape except for grasshoppers. They arced over the road, sometimes as many as twenty or thirty in her path at once. Their whirring fluttered the air, filled it with a sound that was so like being stroked by them, she shuddered, but she walked through them with her head up, pretending they couldn’t hit her with their brittle, horrid bodies, leaving her spotted with their tobacco-coloured stain.
She wasn’t laughing anymore; her second thoughts were anything but funny. It was hot, godawful hot, and what in the world was she doing? She’d left her bag behind and that ache inside her pelvis was getting critical. And she didn’t have a cent in the world. She’d need money soon; without her rag pads she’d have to buy napkins and a belt. She didn’t look back, but she started walking slower. She tried to think Bill might turn the car around and follow her. He hadn’t started the engine yet; maybe he was considering it. Maybe he’d come after her.
He was still watching her. He’d made fun of her dress, the brown colour, its modesty, but she didn’t have a thing on under that dressand he knew it. Just watching her, thinking about her melting out there in the heat, he was growing hard. She liked that power she had over him, and he liked that about her. She had her faults. She laughed at the wrong times. It was disconcerting. One minute she was asking him for gloves and the next she was walking away. But he’d wait for her, if she stopped and turned back. He’d wait for her.
He did sit there for a bit longer, but she went on as if her feet were taking her mindlessly down the road, further and further down the road into the white sky. He half-noticed, then, that the whiteness was increasing, that it was actually billowing, like a cloud or like fog rolling in, as it might have, rolling towards her like this in some other place. But he wasn’t interested in the sky or any other natural phenomena; he was only interested in her and in what she was doing, leaving him. He couldn’t figure it out; she was walking slower than she had before, but there was only one direction she was going, and that was the one in front of her face. Tears prickled his eyes.
When he was a little guy, his mother would sometimes say to him, “You’re happy now.” He would look up from whatever he was doing and try to catch the expression on her face. It was always just fading. He never knew exactly what she meant. He assumed his happiness was a source of satisfaction to her, but a hint of musing in her voice caught him
She got to the intersection and made the turn and went on down the narrower dirt road. Either side of her the fields of wheat were almost motionless. The truck that had slowed them down had pulled into town; the girl she’d seen out walking by herself had disappeared over a little rise past the grain elevators, and nothing was moving in the whole landscape except for grasshoppers. They arced over the road, sometimes as many as twenty or thirty in her path at once. Their whirring fluttered the air, filled it with a sound that was so like being stroked by them, she shuddered, but she walked through them with her head up, pretending they couldn’t hit her with their brittle, horrid bodies, leaving her spotted with their tobacco-coloured stain.
She wasn’t laughing anymore; her second thoughts were anything but funny. It was hot, godawful hot, and what in the world was she doing? She’d left her bag behind and that ache inside her pelvis was getting critical. And she didn’t have a cent in the world. She’d need money soon; without her rag pads she’d have to buy napkins and a belt. She didn’t look back, but she started walking slower. She tried to think Bill might turn the car around and follow her. He hadn’t started the engine yet; maybe he was considering it. Maybe he’d come after her.
He was still watching her. He’d made fun of her dress, the brown colour, its modesty, but she didn’t have a thing on under that dressand he knew it. Just watching her, thinking about her melting out there in the heat, he was growing hard. She liked that power she had over him, and he liked that about her. She had her faults. She laughed at the wrong times. It was disconcerting. One minute she was asking him for gloves and the next she was walking away. But he’d wait for her, if she stopped and turned back. He’d wait for her.
He did sit there for a bit longer, but she went on as if her feet were taking her mindlessly down the road, further and further down the road into the white sky. He half-noticed, then, that the whiteness was increasing, that it was actually billowing, like a cloud or like fog rolling in, as it might have, rolling towards her like this in some other place. But he wasn’t interested in the sky or any other natural phenomena; he was only interested in her and in what she was doing, leaving him. He couldn’t figure it out; she was walking slower than she had before, but there was only one direction she was going, and that was the one in front of her face. Tears prickled his eyes.
When he was a little guy, his mother would sometimes say to him, “You’re happy now.” He would look up from whatever he was doing and try to catch the expression on her face. It was always just fading. He never knew exactly what she meant. He assumed his happiness was a source of satisfaction to her, but a hint of musing in her voice caught him
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