Collected Stories by Peter Carey Page A

What is it?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “You’re staring at the ceiling in a funny way.”
    “I’m lying on my back. I’m staring at the ceiling because I’m lying on my back.”
    “You’re thinking about flying,” she said accusingly.
    “I’m not.”
    “You are. I can tell you are. I always know when you’re thinking about flying. Will you stop, please.”
    “OK,” he said.
    Later she said, “You were thinking about it, weren’t you? Tell me honestly.”
    “No,” he said, “I don’t think I was.”
    “You frighten me when you think about flying. Promise me you won’t.”
    “I promise,” he said.
4.
    “What’s this?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.
    “It’s a water pump,” he said.
    “It has wings.”
    “No, they’re not wings. They’re the blades of the wheel. They lift the water. It’s a water pump.”
    “I think it’s about flying,” she said. “You promised me you wouldn’t.”
    “It’s a water pump,” he said, “really.”
    “Well,” she said, “in any case, there are little eggs all over the cabbages. I came in to tell you.”
5.
    No one had said anything about flying for a long time. They were drying the dishes one night when Marie broached the subject: “If you built something for flying in,” she said, “just say you did …”
    “Yes,” he said.
    “Well, if you did, how many people would it carry?”
    “The two of us.”
    “It could fly with the two of us?”
    “Of course.”
    She looked happy and kissed him suddenly. Her hands left lumps of soap suds in his hair. Then she became thoughtful. “If you built it,” she said, “would there be room for the dog?”
    “Yes,” he said, “that could be done. I hadn’t thought of it, but that could be done.”
    “It wouldn’t be difficult?”
    “No. It’d be easy.”
    “That sounds like a good idea,” she said.
6.
    “Well,” he said, “where do you want to go?”
    Marie buckled up her helmet and picked up the dog. “I don’t know,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”
    “Wherever you want to go,” he said.
    “Well,” she said, “I wouldn’t mind going to …” She stopped. “I’m being selfish. Where do you want to go?”
    “Wherever you want to go.”
    “Well,” she said, “I’ve always wanted to go to Florence.”
    “All right,” he said.
    He looked up at the sky. It was a good night for flying.

A Million Dollars’ Worth of Amphetamines
1.
    When Carlos was arrested the rock’n’roll band fled immediately. In the confusion of the moment they left many valuable things behind them that would later be confiscated by due legal process, by Carlos’s lawyers: cars, paintings, houses — most, in fact, of the vast material wealth they had accumulated.
    The connection between Carlos and the band was not well known, although later, of course, it was public knowledge that he had not only managed their business affairs to his own advantage, but thoughtfully supplied them with heroin and cocaine, thus assuring himself of a huge potential income in blackmail if the need should ever arise.
    Julie, Carlos’s twenty-two-year-old lover, escaped at the same time, slipped across the border and then flew as far south as her savings would permit. She arrived almost destitute.
    Unlike the band, she had no skills to sustain her. Her only talent was her life, her addiction to fear and danger.
    The town she arrived in suggested no avenues of opportunity for the one piece of business her financial security might have depended on.
    She knew where there was half a million dollars’ worth of amphetamines.
    Apart from Carlos, who was in prison, she was the only person in the world who knew.
    The town contained nothing she understood. The streets were wide and straight and without surprise. It boasted thirty-three buildings higher than five storeys, a single strip club, three expensive restaurants serving bad food, one discotheque full of thirteen-year-olds, and an ugly shrine to fallen soldiers