Augusta Played by Kelly Cherry Page B

in the dark, “Norman, I’m scared.”
    He didn’t answer at first, not knowing what she expected of him. “I think,” he said, “it’s natural. At least, I hope it is, because I am scared shitless. But I’m not sure you should tell me that’s how you feel if that’s how you feel.”
    â€œWhy on earth not, if that’s how I feel?”
    â€œLook at it, Gus.” He lit a cigarette. “You’re telling me you’re not sure I’m right for you. It may be a natural fear but hearing you state it is not exactly reassuring to me. If you ask me,” he said, “it’s a classic demonstration of displaced hostility.”
    â€œNobody asked you. Would you mind putting out that cigarette? The smoke isn’t good for my lungs.”
    â€œYou never told me that before, Gus.”
    â€œYou never asked. I’ve worked very hard to develop my diaphragm muscles.”
    Norman stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on his side of the bed. He had to use the butt as a flashlight to locate the ashtray on the table, before he could stub it out.
    â€œAnyway,” Gus said, “you already got your own back by telling me you’re just as scared as I am. I don’t know why we shouldn’t be a little nervous. It’s not every day that people vow to spend the rest of their lives together.”
    Norman felt as if his heart was a rose planted in the garden of his soul, and somebody was digging it up for transplant, every root torn from its rightful place. “Do you think you may have made a mistake?” he asked her, barely able to squeeze the question past his throat.
    â€œThat’s not it!” What was it? A sense of missed possibility. She would have liked to marry the world; instead, she was cutting herself off from most of it. And she did mean “marry,” not “sleep with.” Or maybe “sleep with” was what she meant. How could she know, if she’d never found out? “Norman,” she pleaded, thinking of the wide world to be seen, “let’s go to Africa.”
    â€œSure. First thing in the morning,” he said.
    â€œI’m serious. To see the hippopotami.”
    â€œAnd the rhinoceri.”
    â€œAnd the anthropophagi.”
    â€œWildebeests.”
    â€œElephants.”
    â€œGiraffes! Zebras! Gazelles!”
    â€œThe poisonous horned viper!”
    â€œCome on, what do you know from horned vipers?”
    â€œYou see,” Gus said, weeping, sitting up, and biting her knee, “you see how little you know about me? My father used to work in a zoo. When he was putting himself through school. He was an assistant.”
    â€œTake it easy,” Norman said; “you’re hysterical.”
    â€œI’m not, I’m not.” She did know perfectly well what she was doing, but she couldn’t stop herself; she wanted him to be just as alarmed as she was. When she caught the note of panic in his voice, she calmed down.
    â€œHey,” he said, soothing her, “relax.” He pulled her down beside him and stroked her forehead until she was still. It seemed to him that he held his future in his arms, and that it was going to require infinite attention and tenderness if it was to turn out the way he wanted. Deep exhaustion seized him.
    So Gus pretended to fall asleep in Norman’s arms, but he fell asleep first. The radiator stopped steaming. The room grew cold again; Augusta’s nose on the outside of the blanket felt as cold to her own touch as a puppy’s muzzle. She used to have a dog called Caesar. It seemed to her unbearably sad, that she once had a dog called Caesar and no longer did. She listened to Norman’s breathing. There was always something urgent about it, his sleep-breath, something superintense, as if to breathe by night called for as much concentration as thinking by day. It seemed to Gus odd that she could never know her own night