All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

could find about the Nile and the Ganges and the Amazon and every other big river. Sally lay on the bed beside me while I read. She was tying knots in the cord of the apartment’s one Venetian blind.
    “I’ll be glad when you turn the light out,” she said. “It’s drawing bugs.”
    It was drawing a few small bugs. “I left your chicken in the oven,” I said. “It was great. You can really cook.”
    “I don’t need compliments,” she said. “I know I can cook.”
    I looked at her and got a cool look back. It was just beginning to dawn on me that she hated for me to read. No one close to me had ever liked it that I read a lot—I thought surely Sally would. If I was going to have to feel guilty about reading I didn’t see how marriage could be worth it.
    “Are you going to eat your chicken?” I asked.
    “No,” she said. “Rick bought me a cheeseburger and a malt.”
    Rick was wealthy, too. We had never been able to stand one another. I closed the book and watched the bugs swarm around the light. The screens in the apartment were terrible. When I turned off the light the bugs all came to the bed.
    “I guess I’ll be getting some money,” I said. “We could even have a baby.”
    “Good-o,” she said. I thought that would please her. A baby seemed to be what she wanted out of marriage. She had already mentioned it several times.
    “Why did you want to read when we could be fucking?” she asked.
    I hadn’t been doing things in any particular order of precedence, but I guess from Sally’s point of view that was wrong. She certainly had an order of precedence. I couldn’t understand why Godwin thought she was frigid. I had never slept with a quicker comer—a man would have had to be awfully premature to get there ahead of Sally. I couldn’t believe my good luck. I had never really expected to get married at all, and I certainly never dreamed I’d get someone who was so beautiful, and such a joy to sleep with.
    A few small bugs got squashed between us, while we were making love. Afterward we sat up in bed and picked them off one another’s bellies. We were very sweaty. The window was open and we sat and watched cars go by on the street while we dried off. Then unfortunately a car turned in. It was our landlord, Mr. Fitzherbert.
    “Thank God we finished,” I said, lying back down. “Just keep still.”
    “It’s our apartment,” Sally said. “We can fuck in it if we want to.”
    Unfortunately our apartment was tacked onto Mr. Fitzherbert’sgarage. He was a large, aging oilman who lived with his ancient mother and three even more ancient aunts. I don’t know what his problems were, but he handled them by getting really drunk every night. He drove a Chrysler Imperial and usually came roaring into the garage about midnight. Our apartment was extremely flimsy and when he entered the garage the left wheels of the Chrysler passed within about two feet of our heads. It had been in my mind for two years that if he ever got really drunk and drove into the apartment instead of the garage I would be done for. Now there was Sally to think about, and the physical danger was only part of it. Mr. Fitzherbert didn’t like us sleeping together. He had thrown a fit one night just from hearing our bed squeak, and we were only turning over.
    When he drove in and killed his motor I lay very still. Sally sat very still. But Mr. Fitzherbert was cagy. He opened the car door—it bumped against our wall—but then he too became very still. He was listening for us. For about two minutes things were very silent—all that could be heard was an occasional bug, hitting the window screen. It was a war of nerves. I could imagine Mr. Fitzherbert, sitting in the Chrysler. He was listening for the least sound of movement.
    Wars of nerves don’t interest Sally long. Suddenly she bounced on the bed with her behind. It made an awful squeak. Apparently Mr. Fitzherbert was stunned. No sound came from the Chrysler. Before I could