Ladies From Hell by Keith Roberts

shrugged. She said, “You got more hangups than I’ve had hot breakfasts in this lousy country. Come on, will you? No point startin’ pitchin’ rocks …”
    The other relaxed. She dropped the missile and followed meekly enough; but in front of the shack she ran to clasp the Convolvulus King’s rough trunk. She stared up, pressing her face to the fresh green leaves; and the American stood hands on hips, shaking her head. “Honey,” she said softly, “this just plain ain’t right. That thing ain’t nothin’. Just an old dead tree, sort of morning glory climbin’ round it. Broken-down barn next to it …” She looked up in turn, and shivered faintly. “Beats me how you can stand livin’ under it anyway,” she said. “It plain gives me the creeps …”
    The Rural turned a troubled face toher; and she reached to take her hand. “Honey,” she said again, “this just ain’t right. That thing’s bin dead a million years. Don’t go back
there
, you don’t belong. Not any more. That’s where they
want
you to be.” She pulled, gently. She said, “Come on …”
    Inside the shack she set a fresh kettle on the little stove. “What we
could
use,” she said, “is some good fresh vegetables. That old Prof I was tellin’ you about, now he grew great vegetables. Got a proper little yard laid out, all fenced round real neat. Used to trade his surplus off for baccy and liquor, reckoned he’d never had it so good. Some of ’em even started runnin’ goats and cows. That’s what we could use now. A goat and a cow. I bet you’d learn to look after them real fast. Don’t you reckon?”
    The Rural made a throaty, croaking little sound; and the other looked up sharply. She said, “You know about them too? Goats and cows?”
    To her amazement, the other nodded vigorously. The American girl narrowed her eyes. “Well then, tell you what we’ll do,” she said. “When Johnny comes, we’ll get you out of this. I ain’t told you about Johnny yet, have I? And we’ll find us a place, farm maybe, and we’ll have all the goats and cows we want. Like Lenny and the rabbits. OK? You on?”
    The Rural pushed at her hair, and slowly smiled.
    “You know,” said the American girl, “you could be sorta cute. But God, you stink …”
    After the makeshift meal she set to work restowing the bulk of the stores she had sorted. Evening was deepening again by the time she finished. She lit two candles, dragged the tin bath round from the side of the shack and set a pair of vast saucepans simmering on the stove. She took down a gaily-coloured plastic bottle and examined it critically. “Pour one capful under running hot tap,” she said. “Well, that’s the first thing we ain’t got. I guess we’ll just have to get by without.” She poured water into the tub, began stirring briskly. “Though why they bin sendin’ down bubble baths,” she said, “passes my understandin’. Unless it’s that undeclared admirer of yourspayin’ court again …”
    The Rural drew nearer, intrigued. A towering bank of golden-white foam was making itself round the point where the American still splashed her fingers vigorously. She put a hand half out, drew back; then, greatly daring, scooped some of the iridescent stuff on to her palm. She smeared it with her fingers, watching the bubbles spread and pop.
    “That’s my girl,” said the American softly. “You’re nosier’n a monkey, ain’t you? Tell you what, give me a gourd an’ a sugar lump and I’d catch you every time …” She added more hot water, undressed quickly and stepped into the bath. “Now you just watch real good,” she said. “Take it all in, honey. Everythin’ I do …”
    The Rural stared, fascinated. The other’s hair gleamed in the soft light; foam clung to her; her red chest-berries bounced as she soaped herself vigorously. “This is also,” she said, “the first time in weeks I bin anythin’ approaching clean. Though I ain’t taking you on in no