Plainsong Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoulders.
    We met at a dance last summer, she said. I was sitting by the door and he came up and asked me to dance. He was good-looking too. When he came up to me I told him, I don’t even know you. He said, What’s there to know? Well, who are you? I said. What does that matter? he said. That don’t matter. I’m just somebody that’s requesting you to step out on the floor here and take a dance. He talked that way sometimes. So I told him, All right then. Let’s see if you can dance, whoever you are since you won’t tell me your name. I stood up and he took my hand and led me out on the floor. He was even taller than I thought he was. That’s when it started. That’s how.
    Because he was a good dancer, Maggie said.
    Yes. But you don’t understand, the girl said. He was nice. He was nice to me. He would tell me things.
    Would he?
    Yes. He told me things.
    Like what for instance?
    Like once he said I had beautiful eyes. He said my eyes were like black diamonds lit up on a starry night.
    They are, honey.
    But nobody ever told me.
    No, Maggie said. They never do. She looked out through the doorway into the other room. She lifted her tea cup and drank from it and set it down. Go on, she said. Do you want to tell the rest?
    After that I began to meet him in the park, the girl said. That’s where he’d pick me up. Across from the grain elevators. I’d get in his car and we’d go over to Shattuck’s on the highway and get something to eat, a hamburger or something, and then we’d drive around out in the country for an hour with the windows rolled down and we’d talk and he’d say funny things and the radio would be tuned in to Denver, and all the time the night air would be coming in. And afterward, after a while, we’d always drive to that old homestead place and stop. He said it belonged to us.
    But he never came to your house to pick you up?
    No.
    Didn’t you want him to?
    The girl shook her head. Not with Mama there. I told him not to.
    I see, Maggie said. Go on.
    There’s not much more to tell, the girl said. After school started at the end of August we still went out a couple times more. But something happened. I don’t know what. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t give me any warning. He just stopped picking me up. One day he didn’t come for me anymore.
    You don’t know why?
    No.
    Do you know where he is now?
    Not for sure, the girl said. He was talking about going to Denver. He knew somebody in Denver.
    Maggie Jones studied her for a time. The girl looked tired and sad, the blanket wrapped about her shoulders as though she were some survivor of a train wreck or flood, the sad remnant from some disaster that had passed through and done its damage and gone on. Maggie stood up and collected their cups and emptied the remains of tea into the kitchen sink. She stood at the counter looking at the girl.
    But honey, she said, talking a little heatedly now. For God’s sake. Did you not know any better?
    About what?
    Well, did you not use any protection at all?
    Yes, the girl said. He did. But it broke on him a couple of times. At least he said it did. He told me that. Afterward when I got home I used hot salt water. But it didn’t do any good.
    What do you mean you used hot salt water?
    I squirted it inside myself.
    Didn’t that burn?
    Yes.
    I see. And now you want to keep it.
    The girl looked at her quickly, startled.
    Because you don’t have to, Maggie said. I’ll go with you and help you speak to a doctor. If that’s what you want.
    The girl turned away from the table and faced the window. The glass reflected the room back on itself. Beyond were the neighbors’ dark houses.
    I want to keep it, she said, still facing out, speaking softly, steadily.
    You’re certain?
    Yes, she said. She turned back. Her eyes appeared very large and dark, unblinking.
    But if you change your mind.
    I know.
    All right, Maggie said. I think we better get you to bed.
    The girl rose from the kitchen table. Thank you,