North Dallas Forty Read Online Free PDF

“I’m not going to compound it by going out in public looking like Uncle Wiggily. Leave me alone. I’m tired.”
    “You’re always tired when I’m around. But you’re never too tired to go out drinking and screwing those little whores that hang around Rock City.” She pulled nervously at one pink ear. “I want to do things that other people do.”
    “We’re not like other people. Can’t we discuss this some other time?”
    “You never want to do anything I like.” She was starting to sweat. The bunny suit was getting hot. “You never wanted to get married. Did you?” This was a word game we had started playing shortly after her marriage-inducing pregnancy ended in miscarriage. I would deny the accusation immediately. My denial wouldn’t stop the argument or even slow it, but it served as a landmark while our anger broke new trails.
    Looking back now, I realize the importance of the little procedures in maintaining a relationship. You can obliterate the emotions in a marriage and it will plod on into eternity. But if you tamper with the rhythm, it’ll tumble around your ears.
    Maybe I was just tired or distracted, or maybe I meant to do it. Whatever my reasons, that day I denied too slowly.
    Her eyes widened when the right moment for pledging fidelity had passed. They turned wild as the second stretched into eternity.
    “No. No. Of course, I wanted to get married.” It was too late.
    “You son of a bitch,” she screamed. “I’ll show you.” She ran into the kitchen and began rummaging through drawers. It was to be a suicide attempt, her fourth in as many weeks. Her first fraudulent attempt had been with a knife. It left no marks. Subsequent headlong rushes to the big sleep had involved less deadly implements. Her last attempt had been with a potato peeler.
    I walked upstairs. I was tired. It had been such an easy pass.
    “You bastard,” she screamed, as I reached the top of the stairs. “You don’t even care. Goddam you, I hope you die.” I hoped I did too ... and soon. The ball had been right on my fingertips. I stumbled or something. It just seemed to float away. I couldn’t hold it.
    I washed my face and pissed to the sound of breaking glass and slamming doors. It irritated my wife much more when I ignored her, but I didn’t want to fight with her. She was a hell of a scratcher.
    When I returned downstairs, Tony Bennett was singing about the heart he had left in San Francisco.
    It had been our song in college.
    She was sitting on tine living room floor looking through an album of our wedding pictures. Her face was tearstained and red. One of the pink ears was bent double. She looked up at me.
    “I love you.” A teardrop trickled down a fake whisker and hung, bobbing, on the end.
    I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
    The laugh was the final insult. Tearing off her costume and grabbing mine from the table, she ran onto the patio and threw them in a pile. She soaked them with charcoal starter and set them afire. Chest heaving and eyes blazing, clothed only in her bra and panties, she watched the bunny suits go up in smoke.
    I was going mad.
    The fire seemed to burn everything out and shortly we were on our way to the party, casually dressed and observing a shaky armistice.
    “Are you all right?” I had been driving about ten minutes.
    There was no answer. “Look, I’m sorry. I was tired and depressed.”
    “You’re always tired and depressed. You just come home and stare at television. And whenever B.A. does something you don’t like, you don’t come home at all. Well, I’m sick of it. I want to be tired and depressed sometime.”
    She leaned against the passenger door and pulled her neck down into the fur collar of her coat. I couldn’t blame her for being disappointed. She wanted to join a country club and I wanted to watch television.
    “I want to have a baby.”
    “We can’t afford a baby, you know that.”
    “Why not? You make plenty of money.”
    “Sixteen thousand dollars