girl always was when she was asleep, and it was astonishing, it was just like the little girl, the bottom gone west with womanhood, wide and thick and whiter than the little girlâs, but the head almost no different at all, the same face, the same thoughtfulness, but now the mother opened her eyes to be both the little girl and the little girlâs mother, the eyes limpid, lewd and loving.
âDo you like it?â
âYes.â
âIs it as good as ice cream?â
âBetter.â
âIs it true what they say about the Japanese?â
âThat was propaganda to make the soldiers hate them.â
âI donât mean the war. I mean the wonderful thoughtfulness of them in such things.â
âI knew what you meant.â
âIsnât it wonderful of the Japanese to be so thoughtful?â
âDonât you mean experimental?â
âWhatâs that mean?â
âTo experiment.â
âWell, isnât it wonderful?â
âI donât know.â
âDidnât you ever have a Japanese girl?â
âYes, but she had to pretend to be Chinese because of the war.â
âWell, is it true?â
âShe was born in California, it was just the once, I didnât ask her.â
âI didnât mean for you to
ask
her. Look at you,â she laughed suddenly. âDoes
this
make a fool of you, too?â She pushed higher and laughed. âIf you want it so badly, if youâve got to have it again, if youâve got to have more, have all you want.â
âYou donât have to put ideas in my head.â
âIâm not looking at your
head
. Your headâs for art and I donât want any part of it. If youâve always gotto have more, thereâs always more to have, so why donât you take all you want?â
âI want to read.â
âYou donât look as if you want to read.â She laughed, moved the large round white slowly around, watching his eyes, and him.
He got up, smiling with the surprise he had for her. She still didnât know him. He watched her turn it slowly, her eyes watching him and waiting. She wanted to be quiet now, to let his thinking let her know how to be, and then she felt the sharp sting of his open hand. She screamed, felt it again, screamed again, laughing, leaped to her feet, and ran away. He caught her, and she felt it again, only harder. Again, laughing and calling him dog, and again, until she began to plead with him to stop, and then began to cry, hurt and wanting to hide, crying to herself. He lighted a cigarette and asked if she had been terribly surprised.
âYou dog. You dirty crook, I thought you were going to be nice. You hurt me, you really hurt me, Iâll never get pregnant again from the way you hurt me, you hurt me everywhere, where I get pregnant even, you dirty dog, youâll never have any more children from me, I thought you wanted to play, I thought you were going to be nice, I didnât care about the first one or the second one but the others hurt me, you dirty dog.â
âTake it easy. Youâll wake up the kids.â
âDonât talk to me any more.â
She was mad now, not crying any more, just mad because heâd broken up the play that promised to be so wonderful. Mad because he had done such a thing when she had been having so much fun watching how it was making a fool of him again, done it on purpose, to make a fool of her.
âAnd donât come near me.â
The play was gone out of her voice. She was going now and going fast, because heâd broken it up.
âDonât ever come near me again. I can be like other wives, too, you know.â
âShut up.â
âAnd donât you dare say shut up to me again.â
âShut up.â
The woman began to cry again, only this time it was the big beautiful baby bawling, bawling the way she had bawled when he had told her so long ago in New