![]() ![]() Soon she would stride down the aisle cracking her whip. The forewoman stretched and rubbed her eyes. The sack of peyote buttons beneath Delores’s head was singing her awake, as it did each morning. She woke up and discovered that it was true. Linda was dreaming she was in bed with Kym. Was dreaming she could fly, and Big Red, snoring mightily, dreamed she had found a lot of money lying around on the ground. Is it something usual? What can we do for them?” “ I’ve made a mistake. ![]() And tonight… we can… really make love.” “I have to go, Julian.” “Why? Why do you have to go?” “My thumbs hurt.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” “But I don’t want you to leave. ![]() The Countess had sent a flunky by with her rucksack, and now she walked to it. It’s the paintings.” “The paintings? My watercolors? Well, I do use lots of blues and greens.” “No, it’s not your paintings.” “Not my paintings?” “ It’s the stillness.” “My home is too quiet for you?” asked Julian incredulously, for he could plainly hear Puerto Ricans beating garbage cans in the next block. Ha ha.” “ It’s not the piano.” “Oh… What is it then? Me?” “ It’s the books.” “The books?” “No. The Countess says I’m the first Indian in history to be scalped by Beethoven. “ It’s the piano.” “The piano? You don’t like my white piano? Well, if you’d prefer, I mean, if you’ll be coming here often-and I hope you shall-I suppose I can have it removed. It’s not the air conditioner that’s making me cold.” “Oh… Well, what is it? Is it… me?” Eyes downcast again. ![]()
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