Rabbit Redux by John Updike Page A

of substances he cannot name, that has aged as in a department store window, worn out without once conforming to his body. The orange juice tastes acid; it is not even frozen orange juice but some chemical mix tinted orange.
                He breaks his egg into the pan, sets the flame low, thinks guiltily of his mother. Janice turns off the vacuum, comes over, pours herself some coffee to sit opposite him with as he eats. Lack of sleep has left purple dents beneath her eyes. He asks her, "Are you going to tell him?"
                "I suppose I must."
                "Why? Wouldn't you like to keep him?"
                "What are you saying, Harry?"
                "Keep him, if he makes you happy. I don't seem to, so go ahead, until you've had your fill at least."
                "Suppose I never have my fill?"
                "Then I guess you should marry him."
                "Charlie can never marry anybody."
                "Who says?"
                "He did once. I asked him why not and he wouldn't say. Maybe it has to do with his heart murmur. That was the only time we ever discussed it."
                "What do you and he discuss? Except which way to do it next." She might have risen to this taunt but doesn't. She is very flat, very honest and dry this morning, and this pleases him. A graver woman than he has known reveals herself. We contain chords someone else must strike. "We don't say much. We talk about funny little things, things we see from his windows, things we did as children. He loves to listen to me; when he was a boy they lived in the worst part of Brewer, a town like Mt. Judge looked marvellous to him. He calls me a rich bitch."
                "The boss's daughter."
                "Don't, Harry. You said that last night. You can't understand. It would sound silly, the things we talk about. He has a gift, Charlie does, of making everything exciting - the way food tastes, the way the sky looks, the customers that come in. Once you get past that defensiveness, that tough guy act, he's quite quick and, loving, in what he sees. He felt awful last night, after you left, that he had made you say more than you meant to. He hates to argue. He loves life. He really does, Harry. He loves life."
                "We all do."
                "Not really. I think our generation, the way we were raised, makes it hard for us to love life. Charlie does. It's like - daylight. . You want to know something?"
                He agrees, "Sure," knowing it will hurt.
                "Daylight love - it's the best."
                "O.K. Relax. I said, keep the son of a bitch."
                "I don't believe you."
                "Only one thing. Try to keep the kid from knowing. My mother already knows, the people who visit her tell her. It's all over town. Talk about daylight."
                "Let it be," Janice says. She rises. "Goddam your mother, Harry. The only thing she's ever done for us is try to poison our marriage. Now she's drowning in the poison of her life. She's dying and I'm glad."
                "Jesus, don't say that."
                "Why not? She would, if it were me. Who did she want you to marry? Tell me, who would have been wonderful enough for you? Who?"
                "My sister," he suggests.
                "Let me tell you something else. At first with Charlie, whenever I'd feel guilty, so I couldn't relax, I'd just think ofyour mother, how she's not only treated me but treated Nelson, her own grandson, and I'd say to myself, O.K., fella, sock it to me, and I'd just come."
                "O.K., O.K. Spare me the fine print."
                "I'm sick, so sick, of sparing you things. There've been a lot of days" - and this makes her too sad to confess, so that a constraint slips