by Harry Mazer
That night Willis rolled up in a blanket by the window, Zola at his feet. His father coughed all night. In the morning, his father didn’t want any breakfast. Not even a cup of coffee. He was nervous and anxious to go. “A whole day’s driving ahead of us.”
“Maybe you don’t need coffee, but I do,” Willis’s mother said, and she poured a cup for him, too. The cup shook in his father’s hand.
“We like your girlfriend,” his mother said. “I hope we see her again another time.”
“By then he’ll have six more girls,” his father said.
Willis watched his father go down the stairs, taking them one at a time, his shoulders bent. So slow. His father, who used to be so jaunty, the best-dressed man in the neighborhood.
“You stick with this girl,” his mother said from the car. “Listen to your mother. You have somebody good there.”
Twenty-three
Sunday, with Willis directing her, Sophie drove the car out to the old, deserted Jackson Air Base on the flats north of the city. The roads into the base were blocked off by hills of dirt, but the motorcyclists and dirt bikers had chewed a path around them and that was how they drove in.
Inside the base, the roads were long and straight. A great place to run. Willis was excited by the road stretching out in front of him. He warmed up. Sophie was going to time him with the car, set a pace he would try to match. “Just push me. Don’t let me get lazy.”
He ran as fast and as hard as he could, keeping pace with the car. He was dripping when he finished, but exhilarated, and he wiped his head and his eyes and kissed Sophie. He felt totally relaxed, totally alive. He had Sophie and he had the running and he had everything.
“You’re salty,” she said, tasting his lips.
He lay back and let himself be kissed.
Later, when he left Sophie at her place, he noticed a pull in his right leg. By the time he got home, his whole leg was aching.
Dr. Waring asked Willis to cross his ankles and touch his toes. “Where do you feel the discomfort?”
Willis touched his right leg. “Here.”
The doctor went straight to where it hurt, sending exquisite shooting pains down Willis’s leg and back up into his buttocks. The doctor had the hands of a football player.
“How much running do you do?”
“Four to six miles Monday, Wednesday and Friday.” That was stretching it a little.
“What else?”
“Eight to ten on the weekend.”
“Saturday and Sunday both?”
“Yes.” Everything he was saying was more or less true.
“What else?”
He hesitated. He didn’t want the doctor to think he was some jerk who didn’t know what he was doing, an office jock who only worked out on the weekend and ruined himself running. “I do some interval training.”
“How have you been treating the pain?”
“I iced it when it first happened.”
“And I suppose you went back to running?”
“Yes.”
“You runners are all alike. If it hurts, make it hurt more.”
Willis was silent. His leg was throbbing.
“Would you run if I told you that you had a fractured femur or that you’d cracked a bone in your foot?”
“Is that what happened?”
“No, I’m just trying to impress something on you. When something hurts, stop. You’ve got an inflamed sciatic nerve.”
That didn’t sound too bad.
“I want you to stop running until the pain and soreness disappear.”
“How long will that be?”
“I don’t know. It may take a week. It may take two weeks. It may take two months. Depends on you.”
“Two months! Because I’ve got a pain in the butt?”
“The more you rest, the faster you heal. Stay off your feet until that pain disappears.”
“Stay off my feet! I have to work. And I can’t run?”
“That’s right. I know it’s hard for you runners to get it through your skulls. You cannot run while that pain and soreness persist. That’s what pain means. Your body is telling you something. Do you keep your hand in the fire when you feel the heat? The principle is the same here.”
“Two months! What am I going to do for two months?”
“Swim,” the doctor said.
Willis’s Australian crawl was adequate; his head came up at every fourth stroke and his legs kept up a steady flutter, two beats to every arm stroke. He hated swimming laps. It was boring. There was nothing to see, no place to go. Round and round like a goldfish. Or was it a motorboat? Or an ape going up a tree, arm over arm?
He swam twice a day at the downtown YMCA, once in the morning before he went to work and again at night after family hour. He swam laps. That’s what you did in a pool, up and back, then up and back again. What good could he say about swimming? Not much. Maybe he was staying in shape for running. Maybe he was sweating, but how could he tell?
The pool was old, the tiles were cracked and the locker room smelled stale and mildewed. Afterward, he smelled like he’d been dipped in chlorine. His eyes were always red. He bought a pair of goggles, and they helped a little.
He kept increasing the ante, putting the pressure on himself. Forty laps, fifty, sixty, a hundred. His head heated up and his arms beat the water like wooden paddles. He was having a workout, he was staying in shape, but he didn’t believe it.
Sometimes Sophie came for family hour and they’d fool around in the pool together. Playtime, everyone in the pool, fathers and their little kids, old people keeping their arms and legs in motion, Willis and Sophie.
Tonight, she wore a yellow frilled cap and a black bathing suit. He couldn’t get his eyes off her. He was supposed to be helping her improve her stroke. She did a sort of dog paddle with her head above the water. “Put your face in,” he said, “the way I showed you yesterday. The dead man’s float.” He put his hand under her stomach to move her along.
“I can swim without putting my face in the water.”
“No, you can’t. You’ll never be a good swimmer if you’re afraid to swallow a little water.” He demonstrated, showing her how to stretch out her arms and relax and let her head go under, then bring it up to breathe.
She tried, but she came up sputtering. “Forget it,” she said. “You swim your way and I’ll swim mine.”
“I’ll never understand it,” he said. “You’re afraid to put your face in the water, but you’re not afraid to go up in an airplane.”
“That’s just the way I am.”
“Let’s try it again. The main thing,” he said, putting his arm around her waist and letting his fingers spread over her hip, “the most important thing …” It was hard for him to think when he had his arms around her. “Is the breathing.”
“The main thing,” she repeated, smiling. “Always talking about the main thing.” They kissed in the water, just their lips touched, and they kissed again. That was the end of swimming lessons for that day.
Twenty-four
Every day now, Willis went out at lunch to be with Sophie. “Hey, Willis,” Benny called after him as Willis punched out, “going out for lunch again? What’s her name?”
“Who?” Willis said and kept going.
“Who—is that her name? Hey, Willis, don’t run away.”
Willis walked out to Spring Street and sat down on the stone steps opposite the newsstand. It was a cold day, windy, with a white scum over the sky. Sophie was busy, but gave him a little wave.
As soon as she was free, she came over and pulled him up, then sat down in his place.
“Hey, you took my seat.”
“It’s nice and warm. Want to sit in my lap?”
“No thanks.”
“Sit down next to me, then. Down,” she ordered.
“Arf. Arf.”
She unwrapped one of the sandwiches she’d brought and divided it.
“Good,” he said.
She l
eaned against him. “Is it on for tonight? You coming over?” She smoothed his hair and made a little braid in back. “You know what? Your right ear is bigger than your left ear.”
“That’s from hanging on the phone.”
“Who are you calling? You don’t call me.”
“You don’t have a phone.”
“You don’t either. Do you make all your phone calls from the Laundromat? Are there a lot of girls in there?”
“I never noticed.”
“Liar.” She pushed him. “You stand there with the phone to your ear and look at all the pretty girls. That’s why you’ve got one fat ear.”
“What about you?”
“What about me? I don’t have fat ears.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “Are they fat?”
“They’re nice. Did I tell you I’m going to start running again?” It had been only two weeks since he’d seen the doctor and his leg was already feeling better.
“I don’t want you to start too soon,” she said.
“I won’t push it.” He went over to the diner and brought back a couple of fruit tarts and a container of milk.
A few minutes later, Benny walked by, waved to Willis and gave Sophie a long look.
“Who’s that?” Sophie asked. “He’s cute.”
Benny stopped. “Somebody calling me?”
Sophie’s hand went to her face. “I didn’t want him to hear that,” she whispered to Willis.
Benny came over. “Is this your girlfriend, Willis?” He smiled at Sophie. She went into the newsstand and started arranging magazines. Benny peered in at her, and she put a magazine in front of her face.
“Sophie,” Willis said, “this is Benny from work.”
“Oh, Sophie,” Benny said. “I remember now.”
Was he teasing? Was he laughing at her? Willis didn’t like it. “Hey, Benny,” he said, “you’ve got someplace to go, don’t you?”
“Not really.”
“Yes, you do.” He moved Benny along. “See you later.”
“See you, Sophie,” Benny called.
“Is he gone?” Sophie said, coming out. “Did you see the way he looked at me, Willis? He really looked me over.”
“Oh, that’s the way he is. You didn’t have to hide from him.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“Guys like Benny, you ice them. That’s the only way to be with them.” Willis flipped the pages of a magazine.
“How would you know?” Sophie said. “You’re not a girl.”
Willis picked up a magazine, then dropped it. “I’m not from the country, either.”
She gave him a look, then slapped a few magazines down on the counter.
He’d put his foot in it again. “So we’re eating supper together tonight, right?” he said.
“Why? So you can give me some more advice?”
“Well, you have to admit you don’t know how to hide anything. Why’d you act that way with Benny? You see guys every day. I’ve seen you with your customers. You don’t have trouble talking to anybody. Why that big show for Benny?”
“It wasn’t a show! I told you, he embarrassed me. My customers don’t embarrass me.”
“Well, you embarrassed me, too. He’s going to give me the needle about that for a week.”
“Oh, I’m really sorry for you,” she said. “You want a candy bar?”
“What for?”
“To sweeten you up.”
He laughed. “So, what time tonight?”
“I just remembered I’m going to baby-sit for Brenda.”
“Since when?”
“Since just now.”
“Good. Because I just remembered I couldn’t make it, anyway. I’m going to get a haircut.” He didn’t have to look at her to know that they were in trouble. The whistle blew. “I’ll see you,” he said. Then, over his shoulder, “I might be back on time.”
“For what?” she said, and she went back into the stand.
Twenty-five
Haircut. He’d said it and now he had to go through with it. Right after work, he went to the old neighborhood, to the barbershop on Almond Street where he used to go as a boy to get his haircuts.
The barber snapped out the sheet and pinned it snugly around his neck. The fight with Sophie was gnawing at Willis.
“You want a trim?”
Willis looked at himself in the mirror. “Take it off.”
“How much?”
“Skin it.”
Later, when he could have been eating with Sophie, Willis was underneath the car fixing the brakes. If he got the car running soon enough, he’d go over to her place and make up with her. But by the time he was through messing around, it was too late.
Then, Saturday morning, he was on his way over to Sophie’s and the car started to smoke and then it died. He spent the rest of the morning just getting the stupid car off the street. He worked on it all afternoon. If anything else went wrong, he was going to run it off a cliff.
Later he cleaned up, and he and Zola drove over to Sophie’s. She was outside, sitting on the steps with Brenda. She was wearing a green cardigan, the orange skirt and white sneakers.
Willis leaned over Zola and nodded to Brenda. “Hi. How’re you doing?”
“You talking to me?” Brenda said.
“Anybody.” He wanted to say something to Sophie, but she wasn’t looking at him. “You haven’t seen my new car before, have you?”
“Who?” Brenda said.
“You.”
“New car? That heap?”
“It’s new to me.”
Brenda walked around the car and kicked the tires. “It’s a car,” she agreed.
“Well.” He didn’t get out. He didn’t feel safe. “Zola really likes to ride in the car.”
Sophie came over and petted Zola. “Hi, sweetie.” She kissed Zola.
Willis gave Sophie a winning smile. “I was going to come over here yesterday.”
“What for?”
He ignored that. “But I had to work on the brakes and I had trouble again this morning.”
“You sure did,” Brenda said.
“Well, I was just driving by. I guess you’re busy.”
“Mmm,” Sophie said.
“What’d you have for supper Friday night?”
“What’d you have?”
“I forget. Pizza, probably.”
“We had steak, french fries and strawberry shortcake. Fresh California strawberries and whipped cream.”
“Sounds good.”
“It was.”
There was a short silence. “I was thinking about giving the car to you,” he said.
“What?”
“Don’t take it,” Brenda said. “It sounds like a crooked deal.”
“I don’t need a car,” he said to Sophie. “I run.”
“You run everywhere?” Brenda said.
He wanted to strangle her. “I’m trying to get my legs back in shape, Sophie. You get too dependent on a car and you lose your running legs.”
“You want Sophie to lose her running legs?” Brenda said.
“You want to come for a ride,” he said to Sophie.
“Sophie hasn’t got the time,” Brenda said.
“How about you, Brenda? I’d like to take you for a ride.”
“I’m a mother. I can’t afford to risk my life.”
Sophie was laughing. Having Brenda there was making everything impossible. “Brenda,” Willis said, “you mind if I talk to Sophie?”
Brenda glanced at Sophie.
They must have been talking about him. What had they said about him? What had Sophie told Brenda? What had Brenda told Sophie? Willis gunned the engine and swung around the parking lot.
“What’s that smoking out your rear end?” Brenda yelled.
He came back to Sophie. “Come on, Soph, we can’t talk here. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you want.”
After a moment, she got in and put Zol
a in her lap.
He drove out, wondering why it was so hard all the time. Were they always going to be fighting? Everything he said to her started a fight, and she didn’t forget anything.
“I thought country girls were easygoing,” he said.
“I thought city boys had brains.”
Maybe there was something so wrong between them that nothing would ever make it right. That was such a lousy thought that he just pushed it away. He drove around a while longer. Neither of them said anything.
He parked by the concrete water tower up in the hilly part of town. He put an arm across the back of the seat and tried to kiss her.
She avoided him, bent down and fussed with Zola’s collar. “You’ve got this on too tight. You’ll choke her.”
He reached down to loosen it.
“I can do that,” she said.
He sat back, looking gloomily out the window. The water tower was covered with school graffiti. EAST HIGH GOES FOR IT!… BRAD, KEVIN AND ED, THE RAGING ONES … JULIE AND JERRY FOREVER.
“Should we put our names up there?” he said. “Sophie and Willis?”
“What for?”
“Tell the world.”
“Who’s going to believe it?”
He looked at her, then looked away.
Sophie held Zola in her lap.
“Zola, the lady over there,” Willis said. “See if you can talk to her. See if you can make her like me.”
Sophie bent down and whispered something in Zola’s ear.
“What did she say to you, Zola? Was it something about me? How mean I am? She likes you, but she doesn’t like me. Just because I’m not perfect.”
That got a snort out of Sophie.
“Zola, tell her she’s made plenty of mistakes herself. You, too, Zola. I don’t get mad at you because you chew my sneakers. Maybe I yell at you a little, but that’s all. Because I know how you are. You like to chew on things.”
He reached over and scratched Zola behind the ears. Sophie was stroking her, too. In ecstasy, Zola rolled her eyes from one to the other.