her freshly tanned skin dark against the sheets. For a long moment Ruth just stood there, watching.
Joanna raised herself on her arms and turned her head toward them. “What?” she said.
Ruth just stood there.
“What?” Joanna repeated.
Ruth knew she had to say something. “When did you stop?” she asked.
“Stop what?”
“Loving me,” Ruth said.
Joanna sunk back into the bed, and then just as quickly threw the sheet aside and swung herself to the floor. Her nakedness was too sudden to be erotic. She began to dress.
“What are you doing?” Ruth asked.
“I’m leaving,” Joanna said. “I never should have stayed here.”
“Don’t leave,” Ruth said. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t—I mean, go back to bed. Please, just go back to bed.”
Joanna was shoving things in her bag. “I’m leaving,” she said.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Ruth said.
“I’m leaving,” Joanna repeated.
“You can’t drive now. You’re still tired. You’ll have an accident.”
“I’ve already had an accident,” Joanna said. “This is an accident.”
She squeezed by Ruth and ran down the stairs. Ruth and Virgil both followed. The grass was wet. Joanna threw her bag into the car through the open window and then walked around to the driver’s side.
Virgil began to bark. Ruth held his collar, which only made him bark louder. He pawed at the side of the car. He wanted, to get in. He wanted to go.
“Virgil, no,” Ruth yelled. “No, Virgil, no.”
Joanna started the car. She had to back down the long driveway, the headlights shining out at Ruth, at her holding Virgil with both hands now, Virgil barking and lunging toward the departing car, their shadows cast behind them onto the scrim of darkness. Joanna turned the headlights off. She backed away without seeing.
After a while Virgil was quiet. It was as if he knew math: Each bark seemed to be interspersed with twice as much silence as its predecessor. When he was done he lay down in the driveway, exhausted from barking and lunging. I wish I were a dog, Ruth thought. I wish I were a dog who could bark bark bark and then be done. She lay down in the driveway beside Virgil. He did not find this odd. He extended his paw and touched her arm.
After a while it was very quiet. Or rather it was no more quiet than it had been but the quietness asserted itself. It came into focus. After a while you couldn’t help but be aware of the quiet, no matter what else you were thinking.
If I lie here long enough the sun will rise, Ruth thought. She lay with her ear to the ground, hearing nothing, but thinking of Indians and railroads and buffalo and the car driving away and Joanna in the car. Above her were stars. They were bright and confused. They were crowding the sky. The more you looked the more you saw. So after a while she stopped looking. She closed her eyes.
Eventually she got up. Virgil got up, too, as if he had been waiting all along. But he hadn’t been. He didn’t know what was going on. He was, after all, just a dog. It took very little to make him happy. If you petted him and said good dog good dog he was happy. You could make Virgil happy if you wanted to. He followed her inside. There were lights on that Ruth hadn’t remembered turning on. She turned them off and stood in the guest room. The unmade bed was something that should be taken outside and burned. And the table: In moonlight, at least, it gleamed.
PART II
Someone who excites you
Should be told so, and loved, if you can, but no one
Should be able to shake you so much that you wish to
Give up.
—Kenneth Koch, “Some General Instructions”
SLOWLY
L ATER, THIS IS HOW WE heard it: It was the sixth day of their honeymoon and their last day in Ireland. They decided to drive to the coast, to a beach they had passed the day before, and picnic. At the breakfast table, Jane made a list of what they needed for their meal, and after breakfast Ethan drove the rental car to the closest
Joanna raised herself on her arms and turned her head toward them. “What?” she said.
Ruth just stood there.
“What?” Joanna repeated.
Ruth knew she had to say something. “When did you stop?” she asked.
“Stop what?”
“Loving me,” Ruth said.
Joanna sunk back into the bed, and then just as quickly threw the sheet aside and swung herself to the floor. Her nakedness was too sudden to be erotic. She began to dress.
“What are you doing?” Ruth asked.
“I’m leaving,” Joanna said. “I never should have stayed here.”
“Don’t leave,” Ruth said. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t—I mean, go back to bed. Please, just go back to bed.”
Joanna was shoving things in her bag. “I’m leaving,” she said.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Ruth said.
“I’m leaving,” Joanna repeated.
“You can’t drive now. You’re still tired. You’ll have an accident.”
“I’ve already had an accident,” Joanna said. “This is an accident.”
She squeezed by Ruth and ran down the stairs. Ruth and Virgil both followed. The grass was wet. Joanna threw her bag into the car through the open window and then walked around to the driver’s side.
Virgil began to bark. Ruth held his collar, which only made him bark louder. He pawed at the side of the car. He wanted, to get in. He wanted to go.
“Virgil, no,” Ruth yelled. “No, Virgil, no.”
Joanna started the car. She had to back down the long driveway, the headlights shining out at Ruth, at her holding Virgil with both hands now, Virgil barking and lunging toward the departing car, their shadows cast behind them onto the scrim of darkness. Joanna turned the headlights off. She backed away without seeing.
After a while Virgil was quiet. It was as if he knew math: Each bark seemed to be interspersed with twice as much silence as its predecessor. When he was done he lay down in the driveway, exhausted from barking and lunging. I wish I were a dog, Ruth thought. I wish I were a dog who could bark bark bark and then be done. She lay down in the driveway beside Virgil. He did not find this odd. He extended his paw and touched her arm.
After a while it was very quiet. Or rather it was no more quiet than it had been but the quietness asserted itself. It came into focus. After a while you couldn’t help but be aware of the quiet, no matter what else you were thinking.
If I lie here long enough the sun will rise, Ruth thought. She lay with her ear to the ground, hearing nothing, but thinking of Indians and railroads and buffalo and the car driving away and Joanna in the car. Above her were stars. They were bright and confused. They were crowding the sky. The more you looked the more you saw. So after a while she stopped looking. She closed her eyes.
Eventually she got up. Virgil got up, too, as if he had been waiting all along. But he hadn’t been. He didn’t know what was going on. He was, after all, just a dog. It took very little to make him happy. If you petted him and said good dog good dog he was happy. You could make Virgil happy if you wanted to. He followed her inside. There were lights on that Ruth hadn’t remembered turning on. She turned them off and stood in the guest room. The unmade bed was something that should be taken outside and burned. And the table: In moonlight, at least, it gleamed.
PART II
Someone who excites you
Should be told so, and loved, if you can, but no one
Should be able to shake you so much that you wish to
Give up.
—Kenneth Koch, “Some General Instructions”
SLOWLY
L ATER, THIS IS HOW WE heard it: It was the sixth day of their honeymoon and their last day in Ireland. They decided to drive to the coast, to a beach they had passed the day before, and picnic. At the breakfast table, Jane made a list of what they needed for their meal, and after breakfast Ethan drove the rental car to the closest
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