into the room spewing large quantities of her own special brand of verbal kerosene. “Only reason girls from around here run off is when they have to get ridof an illegitimate baby. Is that why you’re going? You can tell the truth!”
“PEARL!” My father screamed and I could see that he had to restrain himself just to keep from killing her. “You GET the hell on out of here!”
My mother looked shocked that he was now turning his rage against her.
Doesn’t she know better than that? Why, he can never even hear the mention of the word sex in front of me. Sometimes I think it’s because he wants to keep me from something he knows I’ll hate—or will love so much that I’ll be in danger of becoming an alley cat too. But I don’t want to think about that anymore.
After chasing Mother away, he came back with his sharply honed ax. “If you go off to Paris, I’m going to do exactly what I told Rabbi Goodstein I was going to do. For me, you will be dead, and for the dead I sit shiva. You leave, and I swear to God I’ll recite the prayers of the dead over you.”
“I also heard”—here Edna Louise allowed herself a little Jacksonian pause—“that your poor mother cries herself to sleep every night.”
Now that was a bold-faced lie! My mother has never been known to keep her head aloft much beyond ten o’clock. “I hadn’t heard that one either,” I answered, grateful for at least the fact that not one of her questions connected up to Anton. “Well, what else have you heard?” I asked, thinking that France was, after all, a pretty good diversionary tactic.
“Oh ... nothing much ... only ...”
“Only what?” Was the connection now going to be made?
“Only about those Frenchmen.”
“What about them?”
Edna Louise narrowed the sidewalk space between us. “Well, I heard that they engage in unnatural sex.”
My mind was filled with all kinds of questions because probably the closest that I’ve ever come to even natural sex was in the movies. It happened just during that period when Clark Gable kissed Loretta Young so hard out there on the balcony of her New York penthouse that the scene had nowhere to go decently, so in the name of decency it just fuzzed out.
Now, trying to find out the answer to the question that was agitating my brain would mean that I’d have to inform the world (via Edna Louise) just how ignorant I was about sex. Still I knew myself well enough to know that, caught between the fires of this agitating kind of curiosity and a somewhat less than devastating embarrassment, I’d probably opt to quench the curiosity. And so I did, but in a way that was hopefully calculated to convey the impression that I knew practically everything there is to know about the subject, but perhaps, I could accommodate just a bare molecule more.
So I asked, “What specifically do you mean by unnatural sex?”
For one who had gained a reputation for having succulent nipples, Edna Louise began to look surprisingly uncomfortable. Finally her gaze seemed to re-focus as she said, “About the same thing, I reckon, that other people mean when they say”—her head moved toward my ear—ldquo;unnatural sex.”
As I tried to figure out how in this world I am ever goingto learn what it is that everybody else apparently already knows (but won’t tell), she again moved toward my ear. And after a long pause, she explained “I’ve heard that Frenchmen have sex almost at the drop of a hat and even if it’s in the daytime!”
“Really,” I answered, never before having realized that the Baptists placed a greater penalty on daytime sex. To some extent, I agree. I mean, who—who in their right mind would want to have sex in the daylight when your body can be looked at like just so much meat?
As interesting as Edna Louise’s thoughts were, they were not nearly so memorable as some of Ruth’s words from long ago. Maybe that’s why now on the very eve of my departure Ruth began resting heavy on my
“PEARL!” My father screamed and I could see that he had to restrain himself just to keep from killing her. “You GET the hell on out of here!”
My mother looked shocked that he was now turning his rage against her.
Doesn’t she know better than that? Why, he can never even hear the mention of the word sex in front of me. Sometimes I think it’s because he wants to keep me from something he knows I’ll hate—or will love so much that I’ll be in danger of becoming an alley cat too. But I don’t want to think about that anymore.
After chasing Mother away, he came back with his sharply honed ax. “If you go off to Paris, I’m going to do exactly what I told Rabbi Goodstein I was going to do. For me, you will be dead, and for the dead I sit shiva. You leave, and I swear to God I’ll recite the prayers of the dead over you.”
“I also heard”—here Edna Louise allowed herself a little Jacksonian pause—“that your poor mother cries herself to sleep every night.”
Now that was a bold-faced lie! My mother has never been known to keep her head aloft much beyond ten o’clock. “I hadn’t heard that one either,” I answered, grateful for at least the fact that not one of her questions connected up to Anton. “Well, what else have you heard?” I asked, thinking that France was, after all, a pretty good diversionary tactic.
“Oh ... nothing much ... only ...”
“Only what?” Was the connection now going to be made?
“Only about those Frenchmen.”
“What about them?”
Edna Louise narrowed the sidewalk space between us. “Well, I heard that they engage in unnatural sex.”
My mind was filled with all kinds of questions because probably the closest that I’ve ever come to even natural sex was in the movies. It happened just during that period when Clark Gable kissed Loretta Young so hard out there on the balcony of her New York penthouse that the scene had nowhere to go decently, so in the name of decency it just fuzzed out.
Now, trying to find out the answer to the question that was agitating my brain would mean that I’d have to inform the world (via Edna Louise) just how ignorant I was about sex. Still I knew myself well enough to know that, caught between the fires of this agitating kind of curiosity and a somewhat less than devastating embarrassment, I’d probably opt to quench the curiosity. And so I did, but in a way that was hopefully calculated to convey the impression that I knew practically everything there is to know about the subject, but perhaps, I could accommodate just a bare molecule more.
So I asked, “What specifically do you mean by unnatural sex?”
For one who had gained a reputation for having succulent nipples, Edna Louise began to look surprisingly uncomfortable. Finally her gaze seemed to re-focus as she said, “About the same thing, I reckon, that other people mean when they say”—her head moved toward my ear—ldquo;unnatural sex.”
As I tried to figure out how in this world I am ever goingto learn what it is that everybody else apparently already knows (but won’t tell), she again moved toward my ear. And after a long pause, she explained “I’ve heard that Frenchmen have sex almost at the drop of a hat and even if it’s in the daytime!”
“Really,” I answered, never before having realized that the Baptists placed a greater penalty on daytime sex. To some extent, I agree. I mean, who—who in their right mind would want to have sex in the daylight when your body can be looked at like just so much meat?
As interesting as Edna Louise’s thoughts were, they were not nearly so memorable as some of Ruth’s words from long ago. Maybe that’s why now on the very eve of my departure Ruth began resting heavy on my
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