Cutter and Bone by Newton Thornburg Page A

the Frisbee throwers and a few strollers and huddled groups of teenagers were scattered across the wide greensward, which rose gently to the queen palms and great shaggy eucalyptus at the far edge of the park. So for the moment the world did not seem such a bad place after all. Alex Five certainly was enjoying it. He had just teetered across the chasm again and into Bone’s hands. And as Bone got up now, carrying the baby back to the bench, he picked up a strong new odor that reminded him of Cutter’s monicker for the kid, old Brown Pants. Yet Bone felt no revulsion toward him. He was such a happy uncomplicated little bugger. At the same time Bone was unable to take any real pleasure in the child. The plump pink skin, the almost hairless head, the sweet breath and clear, clear eyes—for some reason they reminded him all too vividly of Mrs. Little’s painted and butchered flesh, the dead black hair and glop-rimmed eyes, the desperation that oozed from her, like yet another cosmetic. For the baby was on his way too now, just a few steps behind. It was only a matter of time before blood would appear in the old brown pants or the sweet lips would begin to exhale the sour deaths of lungs and stomach, and the pink skin would run to white ash as the heart began to tire. Mrs. Little or the kid, it was not much of a choice really, just a matter of time.
    “How touching,” a voice purred. “How too, too sweet.”
    Turning, Bone found himself looking up at Mo, half hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. “Well the mother of the year,” he said.
    “If only I had a Polaroid,” she came back. “Ladies’ Home Journal , certainly they’d buy a print. And then I could give one to Alex, show him what fatherhood is all about.”
    Bone smiled wearily, watching as she sat down on the other side of the baby, took him onto her lap.
    “He didn’t give me much choice,” he explained. “He was yelling his guts out.”
    “Oh, I can imagine. Mother takes a five-minute walk around the block and—”
    “An hour’s more like it,” Bone cut in. “I changed him at the house. I gave him a bottle. And we’ve been here—”
    But Mo was already laughing. “Changed him! Fed him! Oh that’s just too much, Rich. Now if he was a little girl I think I’d understand. I mean, knowing your proclivities.”
    “You get more like Alex every day.”
    “Honest, you mean.”
    “Sick, I mean.”
    Lighting a cigarette, she shrugged indifferently. “Okay, I plead guilty. I guess it was longer than I thought. But it was so nice out, you know? And he was sleeping. I thought I’d just get a little air, and then once I started walking—” She gestured helplessly at the park, the glorious day.
    “That’s why the rent’s so high.”
    “I guess. How’d your job interview go?”
    “I’ll be out of your place tomorrow.”
    She smiled again. “My two Alexes will miss you.”
    And as usual Bone played her game. “I’ll come around still. Don’t worry.”
    “Oh good.” Taking off her glasses, she looked straight at Bone for a change. “Now, why do I do that, huh? I mean always coming on so bitchy with you. I don’t mean anything by it, Rich, I really don’t. For some reason you just bring it out in me.”
    “My natural vulnerability. It invites attack.”
    “Oh sure. Maybe it’s just your looks, you think? I mean, loving Alex, maybe I just naturally resent a handsome bastard like you. And yet I don’t really, I mean resent you. I—”
    “Drop it, okay?”
    “Gladly.”
    The baby had taken hold of her ear and she shook herself free, nuzzled him in the neck and he giggled. And as she looked up Bone saw that her eyes had filled with tears. Because she did not try to hide them he asked her if anything was wrong.
    “I don’t know.”
    “You and Alex?”
    She did not bother to nod. “Has he said anything to you?”
    “About what?”
    “Anything. Everything. Me, the baby, the whole setup.”
    “No. Nothing special.”
    “I don’t