A Lost King: A Novel by Raymond Decapite Page A

around as though waiting to be introduced to each other. Foolishly, I started to talk again.
    â€œWhen I start work in that store, Peggy, I’ll bring a surprise for you every day. Do you know they have lobster from South Africa?”
    â€œIt sounds dreamy.”
    â€œAnd peas and potatoes from Belgium. Those potatoes are like little white marbles.”
    We strolled back and sat on her porch. All was dark and quiet in the house. We twined our fingers and kissed again and again. I kissed her pale eyes and dark fragrant hair. Soon I was exploring the milky pulsing warmth of her throat. No longer could I keep my hands away from the curving places of her body.
    â€œYou shouldn’t,” she whispered. “Please, Paul.”
    â€œBut I should. You mean I mustn’t.”
    â€œWell then, you mustn’t.”
    â€œMy darling Peggy. But why don’t we do it?”
    â€œYou don’t mean it.”
    â€œI do mean it. I love you and I want to marry you.”
    â€œIs that what you mean?”
    â€œI mean everything. I mean business. Let’s get married on the day after I get my first pay.”
    â€œWhy do you get so serious? How can you say such a thing?”
    â€œI say what I feel. What do you want me to say?”
    â€œYou don’t have any plans or anything. It’s just words.”
    â€œPlans for what?”
    â€œFor what? For everything. Where would we live?”
    â€œWhere would we live? We’d live in my house.”
    â€œAre you serious, Paul?”
    â€œOf course I’m serious. Why do you keep saying that? It’s like you’re asking if I’m in my right mind.”
    â€œWell, are you? Do you expect me to live in Lincoln Court?”
    â€œOf course. What’s wrong with Lincoln Court? It’s where you do live. What’s the matter with you?”
    â€œIs this a place for children to grow up in?”
    â€œI don’t understand. It’s the place if it’s where they are.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œWhat is this, Peggy? Children grow up wherever they are. Children are like flowers.”
    â€œThen you don’t see anything wrong in having your children here? And living the rest of your life here?”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with it?”
    â€œWhat’s right with it?”
    â€œYour mother and father are here. You were born here. And it’s a good thing they didn’t feel like you do. Where would you be?”
    â€œI’m not going to die here, Paul.”
    â€œYou mean you’re looking for a better place to die? I don’t understand this. What difference does it make where we live?”
    â€œAll right then. What would we live on?”
    â€œBut I’ve got this wonderful job.”
    â€œYou didn’t even start yet. Is this what you offer a girl?”
    â€œWhat is all this? I love you. I’ll take care of you always. I can do a lot of things. I can cook and wash clothes and clean house. I know how to shop for food. I’m good-natured and I make up songs. Ask anyone about Paul Christopher.”
    â€œYou don’t understand how things are with me. Do you really expect me to spend the rest of my life in this smoke and dirt? I watched my mother get old and gray in this alley. I won’t let it happen to me.”
    â€œBut where is this other place you’re talking about? This place where the children are supposed to be and nobody gets gray? Is it in the city limits? It must be one of those new suburbs. Is it Parma Heights? I heard taxes were high there.”
    â€œI don’t want to discuss it with you.”
    â€œLet me tell you a story. They say my uncle used to tell it. Once upon a time there was an old man. He was sitting in a chair and all he had left in the world was a pile of old strings and some pieces of wood. Now his chair was uncomfortable and he complained about it. And then he complained about the room the chair was in and then the house