Pricksongs & Descants

by Robert Coover

  Not actually in the tub, just getting in. One foot on the mat, the other in the water. Bent over slightly, buttocks flexed, teats swaying, holding on to the edge of the tub. “Oh, excuse met I only wanted ... !” He passes over her astonishment, the awkward excuses, moves quickly-to the part where he reaches out to— “What on earth are you doing, Harry?” his wife asks, staring at his hand. His host, passing, laughs. “He’s practicing his swing for Sunday, Dolly, but it’s not going to do him a damn bit of good!” Mr. Tucker laughs, sweeps his right hand on through the air as though lifting a seven-iron shot onto the green. He makes a dok! sound with his tongue. In there!”

  ○ ○ ○

  “No, Jack, I don’t think you’d better.” “Well, we just called, we just, uh, thought we’d, you know, stop by for a minute, watch television for thirty minutes, or, or something.” “Who’s we?” “Well, Mark’s here, I’m with him, and he said he’d like to, you know, like if it’s all right, just—” “Well, it’s not all right. The Tuckers said no.” “Yeah, but if we only—” “And they seemed awfully suspicious about last time.” “Why? We didn’t—I mean, I just thought—” “No, Jack, and that’s period.” She hangs up. She returns to the TV, but the commercial is on. Anyway, she’s missed most of the show. She decides maybe she’ll take a quick bath. Jack might come by anyway, it’d make her mad, that’d be the end as far as he was concerned, but if he should, she doesn’t want to be all sweaty. And besides, she likes the big tub the Tuckers have.

  ○ ○ ○

  He is self-conscious and stands with his back to her, his little neck flushed. It takes him forever to get started, and when it finally does come, it’s just a tiny trickle. “See, it was just an excuse,” she scolds, but she’s giggling inwardly at the boy’s embarrassment. “You’re just a nuisance, Jimmy.” At the door, his hand on the knob, he hesitates, staring timidly down on his shoes. “Jimmy?” She peeks at him over the edge of the tub, trying to keep a straight face, as he sneaks a nervous glance back over his shoulder. “As long as you bothered me,” she says, “you might as well soap my back.”

  ○ ○ ○

  “The aspirin...” They embrace. She huddles in his arms like a child. Lovingly, paternally, knowledgeably, he wraps her nakedness. How compact, how tight and small her body is! Kissing her ear, he stares down past her rump at the still clear water. “I’ll join you,” he whispers hoarsely.

  ○ ○ ○

  She picks up the shorts Bitsy threw at her. Men’s underwear. She holds them in front of her, looks at herself in the bedroom mirror. About twenty sizes too big for her, of course; She runs her hand inside the opening in front, pulls out her thumb. How funny it must feel!

  ○ ○ ○

  “Well, man, I say we just go rape her!” Mark says flatly, and swings his weight against the pinball machine. “Uff! Ahh! Get in there, you mother! Look at that! Hah! Man, I’m gonna turn this baby over!” Jack is embarrassed about the phone conversation. Mark just snorted in disgust when he hung up. He cracks down hard on his gum, angry that he’s such a chicken. “Well, I’m game if you are,” he says coldly.

  ○ ○ ○

  8:30. “Okay, come on, Jimmy, it’s time.” He ignores her. The western gives way to a spy show. Bitsy, in pajamas, pads into the livingroom. “No, Bitsy, it’s time to go to bed.” “You said I could watch!” the girl whines, and starts to throw another tantrum. “But you were too slow and it’s late. Jimmy, you get in that bathroom, and right now!” Jimmy stares sullenly at the set, unmoving. The babysitter tries to catch the opening scene of the television program so she can follow it later, since Jimmy gives himself his own baths. When the commercial interrupts, she turns off the sound, stands in front of the screen. “Okay, into the tub, Jimmy Tucker, or I’ll take you in there and give you your bath myself!” “Just try it,” he says, “and see what happens.”

  ○ ○ ○

  They stand outside, in the dark, crouched in the bushes, peeking in. She’s on the floor, playing with the kids. Too early. They seem to be tickling her. She gets to her hands and knees, but the little girl leaps oh her head, pressing her face to the floor. There’s an obvious target, and the little boy proceeds to beat on it* “Hey, look at that kid gon whispers Mark, laughing and snapping his fingers softly. Jack feels uneasy out here. Too many neighbors, too many cars going by, too many people in the world. That little boy in there is one up on him, though: he’s never thought about tickling her as a starter.

  ○ ○ ○

  His little hand, clutching the bar of soap, lathers shyly a narrow space between her shoulderblades. She is doubled forward against her knees, buried in rich suds, peeking at him over the edge of her shoulder. The soap slithers out of his grip and plunks into the water. “I ... I dropped the soap,” he whispers. She: “Find it.”

  ○ ○ ○

  “I dream of Jeannie with the light brown pubic hair!” “Harry! Stop that! You’re drunk!” But they’re laughing, they’re all laughing, damn! he’s feeling pretty goddamn good at that, and now he just knows he needs that aspirin. Watching her there, her thighs spread for him, on the couch, in the tub, hell, on the kitchen table for that matter, he tees off on Number Nine, and—whap!—swats his host’s wife on the bottom. “Hole in one!” he shouts. “Harry!” Why can’t his goddamn wife Dolly ever get happy-drunk instead of sour-drunk all the time? “Gonna be tough Sunday, old buddy!” “You’re pretty tough right now, Harry,” says his host.

  ○ ○ ○

  The babysitter lunges forward, grabs the boy by the arms and hauls him off the couch, pulling two cushions with him, and drags-him toward the bathroom. He lashes out, knocking over an endtable full of magazines and ashtrays. “You leave my brother alone!” Bitsy cries and grabs the sitter around the waist. Jimmy jumps on her and down they all go. On the silent screen, there’s a fade-in to a dark passageway in an old apartment building in some foreign country. She kicks out and somebody Bills between her legs. Somebody else is sitting on her face. “Jimmy! Stop that!” the babysitter laughs, her voice muffled.

  ○ ○ ○

  She’s watching television. All alone. It seems like a good time to go in. Just remember: really, no matter what she says, she wants it. They’re standing in the bushes, trying to get up the nerve. “We’ll tell her to be good,” Mark whispers, “and if she’s not good, well spank her.” Jack giggles softly, but his knees are weak. She stands. They freeze. She looks right at them. “She can’t see us,” Mark whispers tensely. “Is she coming out?” “No,” says Mark, “she’s going into—that must be the bathroom!” Jack takes a deep breath, his heart pounding. “Hey, is there a window back there?” Mark asks.

  ○ ○ ○

  The phone rings. She leaves the tub, wrapped in a towel. Bitsy gives a tug on the towel. “Hey, Jimmy, get the towel!” she squeals. “Now stop that, Bitsy!” the babysitter hisses, but too later with one hand on the phone, the other isn’t enough to hang on to the towel. Her sudden nakedness awes them and it takes them a moment to remember about tickling her. By then, she’s in the towel again. ‘1 hope you got a good look,” she says angrily. She feels chilled and oddly a little frightened. “Hello?” No answer. She glances at the window—is somebody out there? Something, she saw something, and a rustling—footsteps?

  ○ ○? ○

  “Okay, I don’t care, Jimmy, don’t take a bath,” she says irritably. Her blouse is pulled out and wrinkled, her hair is all mussed, and she feels sweaty. There’s about a million things she’d rather be doing than babysitting with these two. Three: at least the baby’s sleeping. She knocks on the overturned endtable for luck, rights it, replaces the magazines and ashtrays. The one thing that really makes her sick is a dirty diaper. “Just go on to bed.” “I don’t have to go to bed until nine,” he reminds her. Really, she couldn’t care less. She turns up the volume on the TV, settles down on the couch, poking her blouse back into her skirt, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Jimmy and Bitsy watch from the floor. Maybe, once they’re in bed
, she’ll take a quick bath. She wishes Jack would come by. The man, no doubt the spy, is following a woman, but she doesn’t know why. The woman passes another man. Something seems to happen, but it’s not clear what She’s probably already missed too much. The phone rings.

  ○ ○ ○

  Mark is kissing her. Jack is under the blanket, easing her panties down over her squirming hips. Her hand is in his pants, pulling it out, pulling it toward her, pulling it hard. She knew just where it was! Mark is stripping, too. God, it’s really happening! he thinks with a kind of pious joy, and notices the open door. “Hey! What’s going on here?”

  ○ ○? ○

  He soaps her back, smooth and slippery under his hand. She is doubled over, against her knees, between his legs. Her light brown hair, reaching to her gleaming shoulders, is wet at the edges. The soap slips, falls between his legs. He fishes for it, finds it, slips it behind him. “Help me find it,” he whispers in her ear. “Sure Harry,” says his host, going around behind him. “What’d you lose?”

  ○ ○? ○

  Soon be nine, time to pack the kids off to bed. She clears the table, dumps paper plates and leftover hamburgers into the garbage, puts glasses and silverware into the sink, and the mayonnaise, mustard, and ketchup in the refrigerator. Neither child has eaten much supper finally, mostly potato chips and ice cream, but it’s really not her problem. She glances at die books on the refrigerator. Not much chance she’ll get to them, she’s already pretty worn out Maybe she’d feel better if she had a quick bath. She runs water into the tub, tosses in bubblebath salts, undresses. Before pushing down her panties, she stares for a moment at the smooth silken panel across her tummy, fingers the place where the opening would be if there were one. Then she steps quickly out of them-, feeling somehow ashamed, unhooks her brassiere. She weighs her breasts in the palms of her hands, watching herself in the bathroom mirror, where, in the open window behind her, she sees a face. She screams.

  ○ ○? ○

  She screams: “Jimmy ! Give me that!” “What’s the matter?” asks Jack on the other end. “Jimmy! Give me my towel! Right now!” “Hello? Hey, are you still there?” Tm sorry, Jack,” she says, panting. “You caught me in the tub. I’m just wrapped in a towel and these silly kids grabbed it away!” “Gee, I wish I’d been there!” “Jack—!” “To protect you, I mean.” “Oh, sure,” she says, giggling. “Well, what do you think, can I come over and watch TV with you?” “Well, not right this minute,” she says. He laughs lightly. He feels very cool. “Jack?” “Yeah?” “Jack, I ... I mink there’s somebody outside the window!”

  ○ ○? ○

  She carries him, fighting all the way, to the tub, Bitsy pummeling her in the back and kicking her ankles. She can’t hang on to him and undress him at the same time. “I’ll throw you in, clothes and all, Jimmy Tucker!” she gasps. “You better not!” he cries. She sits on the toilet seat, locks her legs around him, whips his shirt up over his head before he knows what’s happening. The pants are easier. like all little boys his age, he has almost no hips at all. He hangs on desperately to his underpants, but when she succeeds in snapping these down out of his grip, too, he gives up, starts to bawl, and beats her wildly in the face with his fists. She ducks her head, laughing hysterically, oddly entranced by the spectacle of that pale little thing down there, bobbing and bouncing rubberily about with the boy’s helpless fury and anguish.

  ○ ○? ○

  “Aspirin? Whaddaya want aspirin for, Harry? I’m sure they got aspirin here, if you—” “Did I say aspirin? I meant, uh, my glasses. And, you know, I thought, well, I’d sorta check to see if everything was okay at home.” Why the hell is it his mouth feels like it’s got about six sets of teeth packed in there, and a tongue the size of that liverwurst his host’s wife is passing around? “Whaddaya want your glasses for, Harry? I don’t understand you at all!” “Aw, well, honey, I was feeling kind of dizzy or something, and I thought—” “Dizzy is right. If you want to check on the kids, why don’t you just call on the phone?”

  ○ ○? ○

  They can tell she’s naked and about to get into the tub, but the bathroom window is frosted glass, and they can’t see anything clearly. “I got an idea,” Mark whispers. “One of us goes and calls her on the phone, and the other watches when she comes out” “Okay, but who calls?” “Both of us, we’ll do it twice. Or more.”

  ○ ○? ○

  Down forbidden alleys. Into secret passageways. Unlocking the world’s terrible secrets. Sudden shocks: a trapdoor! a fall! or the stunning report of a rifle shot, the whaau-ii-ung! of the bullet biting concrete by your ear! Careful! Then edge forward once more, avoiding the light, inch at a time, now a quick dash for an open doorway—look out! there’s a knife! a struggle! no! the long blade glistens! jerks! thrusts! stabbed! No, no, it missed! The assailant’s down, yes! the spy’s on top, pinning him, a terrific thrashing about, the spy rips of? the assailant’s mask: a woman!

  ○ ○? ○

  Fumbling behind her, she finds it, wraps her hand around it, tugs. “Oh!” she gasps, pulling her hand back quickly, her ears turning crimson. “I ... I thought it was the soap!” He squeezes her close between his thighs, pulls her back toward him, one hand sliding down her tummy between her legs. I Dream of Jeannic—“I have to go to the bathroom!” says someone outside the door.

  ○ ○? ○

  She’s combing her hair in the bathroom when the phone rings. She hurries to answer it before it wakes the baby. “Hello, Tuckers.” There’s no answer. “Hello?” A soft click. Strange. She feels suddenly alone in the big house, and goes in to watch TV with the children.

  ○ ○? ○

  “Stop it!” she screams. “Please, stop!” She’s on her hands and knees, trying to get up, but they’re too strong for her. Mark holds her head down. “Now, baby, we’re gonna teach you how to be a nice girl,” he says coldly, and nods at Jack. When she’s doubled over like that, her skirt rides up her thighs to the leg bands of her panties. “Cmon, man, go! This baby’s cold! She needs your touch!”

  ○ ○? ○

  Parks the car a couple blocks away. Slips up to the house, glances in his window. Just like he’s expected. Her blouse is off and the kid’s shirt is unbuttoned. He watches, while slowly, clumsily, childishly, they fumble with each other’s clothes. My God, it takes them forever. “Some party!” “You said it!” When they’re more or less naked, he walks in. “Hey! What’s going on here?” They go white as bleu cheese. Haw haw! “What’s die little thing you got sticking out there, boy?” “Harry, behave yourself!” No, he doesn’t let the kid get dressed, he sends him home bareassed. “Bareassed!” He drinks to that. “Promises, promises,” says his host’s wife. I’ll mail you your clothes, son!” He gazes down on the naked little girl on his couch. “Looks like you and me, we got a little secret to keep, honey,” he says coolly. “Less you wanna go home die same way your boyfriend did!” He chuckles at his easy wit, leans down over her, and un buckles his belt “Might as well make it two secrets, right?” “What in God’s name are you talking about, Harry?” He staggers out of there, drink in hand, and goes to look for his car.

  ○ ○? ○

  “Hey! What’s going on here?” They huddle half-naked under the blanket, caught utterly unawares. On television: the clickety-click of frightened running feet on foreign pavements. Jack is fumbling for his shorts, tangled somehow around his ankles. The blanket is snatched away. “On your feet there!” Mr. Tucker, Mrs. Tucker, Mark’s mom and dad, the police, the neighbors, everybody comes crowding in. Hopelessly, he has a terrific erection. So hard it hurts. Everybody stares down at it.

  ○ ○ ○

  Bitsy’s sleeping on the floor. The babysitter is taking a bath. For more than an hour now, he’s had to use the bathroom. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Finally, he goes to knock on the bathroom door. “I have to use the bathroom!” “Well, come ahead, if you have to.” “Not while you’re in there.” She sighs loudly.
“Okay, okay, just a minute,” she says, “but you’re a real nuisance, Jimmy!” He’s holding on, pinching it as tight as he can. “Hurry!” He holds his breath, squeezing shut his eyes. No. Too late. At last, she opens the door. “Jimmy!” “I told you to hurry!” he sobs. She drags him into the bathroom and pulls his pants down.

  ○ ○ ○

  He arrives just in time to see her emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, to answer the phone. His two kids sneak up behind her and pull the towel away. She’s trying to hang onto the phone and get the towel back at the same time. It’s quite a picture. She’s got a sweet ass. Standing there in the bushes, pawing himself with one hand, he lifts his glass with the other and toasts her sweet ass, which his son now swats. Haw haw, maybe that boy’s gonna shape up, afer all.

  ○ ○ ○

  They’re in the bushes, arguing about their next move, when she comes out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. They can hear the baby crying. Then it stops. They see her running, naked, back to the bathroom like she’s scared or something. I’m going in after her, man, whether you’re with me or not!” Mark whispers, and he starts out of the bushes. But just then, a light comes sweeping up through the yard, as a car swings in the drive. They hit the dirt, hearts pounding. Is it the cops?” “I don’t know!” “Do you think they saw us?” “Sshh!” A man comes staggering up the walk from the drive, a drink in his hand, stumbles on in the kitchen door and then straight into the bathroom. “It’s Mr. Tucker!” Mark whispers. A scream. “Let’s get outa here, man!”