Greg Bear Queen of Angels

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What happened? Was she that bad for you?
For Christ s sake.
Nadine bit her lower lip. He looked at her with what he hoped was a forbidding
expression.
+ I m a simple man. Don t you see I m simply waiting for the right moment.
The poetry faded again, returned again. Moses. Blood sacrifice to keep away
the wrath of God. Richard had looked that up once; Goldsmith s interpretation
of the story was not orthodox. Circumcision. What did they call circumcision
in women: infibulation.
Clitoridectomy. + The things one gathers leading a literary life.
He put aside a polite suggestion from somewhere below that he start crying.
His expression remained fixed and mild. We were divorced, he said.
+ Not true.
We were going to be divorced, I mean, he corrected himself. Neither he nor
whoever spoke with Goldsmith s poetry was confessing now. An earlier fellow
was poking forth. The one who had been married. + I thought I killed him.
Yes?
Again the suggestion: This is best spoken of while you are crying, you know.
No tears.
Dione was her name. I was a lobe sod for Workers Inc.
Yes.
We had a daughter. Again he swallowed. Gina. She was sweet.
You loved them both very much, Nadine suggested. He scowled then chuckled.
Even in her helpfulness she intruded, did not know where to stop. He saw
himself inadequately modeled within her and that was the story of Nadine s
life, knowing thyself or anyone else being impossible for her. Broken modeler.
Yes, he said. I did. But I wanted to write and I realized I couldn t do
that while I
stayed a lobe sod. So I talked about quitting. He watched. She came up to the
bait. Soon he would grab her; confession not such a bad thing, making her
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lower her guard. The voice of the other continued.
That worried her, Nadine suggested.
Yes. That worried her. She didn t like poetry. Writing. She was strictly vid.
It got worse.
Yes.
Much worse. Gina was in between. I felt like I was coming apart. Finally I
had to leave.
Yes.
We waited a year. I tried to write. Dione worked two jobs. Neither of us was
therapied but that didn t matter so much back then. I never sent anything out
to be published. I went to work for another company. Copyediting newspaper
text. Dione said she wanted me back. I said I wanted her. But we couldn t
bring ourselves together.
Something else. Every time.
Yes.
The divorce was almost final. Gina was taking it bad. Dione wanted to take
her in for therapy. I said no. I said let her be herself, let her work it out.
Dione said Gina was she was seven Dione said Gina was talking about death a.
lot. I said yes but she s too young to know anything about it, it s curiosity,
let it be. She ll grow.
Yes.
He could just reach out and take one arm, turn her around. + How do you go
about it with your bare hands. Without tools.
+ It would be a good idea to cry now.
I m listening, Nadine said.
The divorce. Two weeks and it would be through the courts. Informal
proceedings, no court appearance, all assets divided already.
That s the way I ve done it, Nadine said.
She was bringing Gina to me for a weekend. We did that. We didn t want to
hurt her.
Nadine said nothing to encourage him. Even in her insensitivity she could
sense something disagreeable coming.
There was a slaveway tangle. A bus. Their bus. Small quake in the valley had
severed slaveway grids. They went into a retaining wall and seven cars slammed
into them. Gina died. Dione too, a day later.
Nadine s eyes grew wider. She looked feverish. My God, she said
breathlessly.
+ She s specking it prime. She likes digging her fingers in, kneading the
humus.
I took it alone. I didn t get therapy. I walked around like a zombie. I
thought I really loved Dione. I didn t expect anything so final. Gina came to
talk with me before bed. I
was really flying. I stayed away from therapy because I felt it would dishonor
them, Gina and Dione. I made a little shrine for them and burned incense. I
wrote poetry and burned it. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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