standing over me. Francis looked at me with an expression of puzzled amusement.
'What's happening in your head?' he said.
Lucinda seemed tired. I put my arms around her waist and rested my cheek against her belly. I felt her stiffen, and then relax. She stroked my hair. I held her arse in my hands.
We cleared the breakfast dishes and went into town, to make the rounds of post office, newspaper, supermarket, and coffee shop. The simplicity and ease of the routine always charmed me. Warm weather, lack of automobiles, and limited population were all it took to keep civilisation pleasant.
'They are destroying the world,' said Francis.
I looked up. He and Bertha were a few steps in front of us, hand in hand. Lucinda and I walked in steps, but not touching. For once the arrangement did not anger me. I found myself enjoying the pattern we formed, each male and female mated, and the couples forming a loose nucleus.
'Nobody seems to mind,' I said.
The four of us stopped at once. The sun was behind a bank of clouds and its ray fell in a perfect fan over the entire bay. The edges of the clouds were silver, and the dense middle sections black from their own shadow. Several sailboats chased a capricious breeze, and the whole earth was vibrant with the thunder of light.
'Classic!' said Francis.
'A New Yorker cover,' I said.
'That's a decadent association,' said Lucinda.
A lively tune played in her eyes, and her mouth was still raw from the dreams of the night before. She wore a long cotton dress which gave her the appearance of long walks in the pine forest. Some slight chemical transformation changed our levels of energy, and all at once I found myself digging her quite openly and frankly, delighting in her presence, in her person. She smiled, and then became embarrassed. She took my hand and looked away, then looked back, saw my eyes still on her, and threw her arms around my neck.
I let myself accept the possibility of union. I thought of Dante G. swimming lazily in his private pool, and an unexpected explosion of joy staggered me. The miracle of love and birth became real right before me. It seemed that I had only to say yes, and all of it would be possible.
'But like the New Yorker cover,' Francis said, 'it's illusory. Fire Island is where the Wizard of Oz lives. Over in Cherryless Grove. They've gone too far. It's nuclear weapons, or nerve gas, or a simple accumulation of poison. Give it, say, fifty years.'
We reached the edge of town. Outside the several bars were scores of boxes with empty booze bottles and beer cans. Cigarette butts made a mosaic on the paths. The police launch and the supply ferry were idling in the dock, farting black and blue clouds of exhaust in the air. The stores kept a brisk trade going in and out of their doors. I went to buy some cigars. 'Fifty-five cents,' the clerk said. 'But they're only thirty-three cents in the city,' I said. 'This ain't the city,' he said.
'Those fucking thieves,' I complained to the others.
'I bought a book the other day,' said Bertha. 'A seventy-five cent book. And he charged me ninety cents. What's the other fifteen cents for? I asked him. And he said, Ten cents is the charge because it's Fire Island, and the other five cents is because we can get it.'
'Did you pay?' asked Lucinda.
'I wanted the book,' Bertha said.
This was about the longest conversation the two of them had ever had. I was depressed by the structure of the formation again, and I could see nothing but limitation coming from these straight, rational, polite people. Life is not like that. Life is confusion and anger and fear; life is danger, and the ecstasy of tasting forbidden fruit. And here we were, quietly being fleeced by the rapacious merchants of a corrupt summer resort, while a world destroyed itself, and made pretty conversation across the parameters of our self-imposed strictures. I was on the brink of beginning to blame the others for the discomfort I was feeling when I remembered I had
'What's happening in your head?' he said.
Lucinda seemed tired. I put my arms around her waist and rested my cheek against her belly. I felt her stiffen, and then relax. She stroked my hair. I held her arse in my hands.
We cleared the breakfast dishes and went into town, to make the rounds of post office, newspaper, supermarket, and coffee shop. The simplicity and ease of the routine always charmed me. Warm weather, lack of automobiles, and limited population were all it took to keep civilisation pleasant.
'They are destroying the world,' said Francis.
I looked up. He and Bertha were a few steps in front of us, hand in hand. Lucinda and I walked in steps, but not touching. For once the arrangement did not anger me. I found myself enjoying the pattern we formed, each male and female mated, and the couples forming a loose nucleus.
'Nobody seems to mind,' I said.
The four of us stopped at once. The sun was behind a bank of clouds and its ray fell in a perfect fan over the entire bay. The edges of the clouds were silver, and the dense middle sections black from their own shadow. Several sailboats chased a capricious breeze, and the whole earth was vibrant with the thunder of light.
'Classic!' said Francis.
'A New Yorker cover,' I said.
'That's a decadent association,' said Lucinda.
A lively tune played in her eyes, and her mouth was still raw from the dreams of the night before. She wore a long cotton dress which gave her the appearance of long walks in the pine forest. Some slight chemical transformation changed our levels of energy, and all at once I found myself digging her quite openly and frankly, delighting in her presence, in her person. She smiled, and then became embarrassed. She took my hand and looked away, then looked back, saw my eyes still on her, and threw her arms around my neck.
I let myself accept the possibility of union. I thought of Dante G. swimming lazily in his private pool, and an unexpected explosion of joy staggered me. The miracle of love and birth became real right before me. It seemed that I had only to say yes, and all of it would be possible.
'But like the New Yorker cover,' Francis said, 'it's illusory. Fire Island is where the Wizard of Oz lives. Over in Cherryless Grove. They've gone too far. It's nuclear weapons, or nerve gas, or a simple accumulation of poison. Give it, say, fifty years.'
We reached the edge of town. Outside the several bars were scores of boxes with empty booze bottles and beer cans. Cigarette butts made a mosaic on the paths. The police launch and the supply ferry were idling in the dock, farting black and blue clouds of exhaust in the air. The stores kept a brisk trade going in and out of their doors. I went to buy some cigars. 'Fifty-five cents,' the clerk said. 'But they're only thirty-three cents in the city,' I said. 'This ain't the city,' he said.
'Those fucking thieves,' I complained to the others.
'I bought a book the other day,' said Bertha. 'A seventy-five cent book. And he charged me ninety cents. What's the other fifteen cents for? I asked him. And he said, Ten cents is the charge because it's Fire Island, and the other five cents is because we can get it.'
'Did you pay?' asked Lucinda.
'I wanted the book,' Bertha said.
This was about the longest conversation the two of them had ever had. I was depressed by the structure of the formation again, and I could see nothing but limitation coming from these straight, rational, polite people. Life is not like that. Life is confusion and anger and fear; life is danger, and the ecstasy of tasting forbidden fruit. And here we were, quietly being fleeced by the rapacious merchants of a corrupt summer resort, while a world destroyed itself, and made pretty conversation across the parameters of our self-imposed strictures. I was on the brink of beginning to blame the others for the discomfort I was feeling when I remembered I had
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