Hunger and Thirst

by Richard Matheson

  “Hooray!” cried the drunk, waving his bottle still, “Hooray! It’s over!”

  Erick tightened again. He could have chopped the man’s head off with delight. He yearned to kill someone, to wreak violence on someone. He shook with the crushing desire for revenge. He almost felt that if he let himself go at all, he would vault into the audience with an insane scream and bite and kick and tear at anyone who happened to be in his way. He never felt as close to insanity as then with all those white raucous faces mocking his work. He felt his lips trembling and then he almost cried as he fought to stop the trembling and then he almost cried as he fought to stop the trembling. A sob filled his throat which no one heard because of the noise.

  “And now,” Lynn said, still poised, still detached, “While you wipe the tears of laughter from your bloodshot eyes, Gloria Leads will do a popular blues number from the play. Play Bill,” he finished up with an airy wave of the hand.

  Bill stated to play. Erick could hardly hear it. Bill played louder. The tinny resonance of the piano annoyed Erick. One of the notes didn’t play. The dead thudding irritated him more.

  Gloria stood in front of the microphone in a low cut evening gown. The men howled. One of them whistled shrilly with two wet fingers shoved in his mouth.

  “Sing to me baby!” yelled the young man with the bottle, “Sing me a lullaby.”

  “Oh, you kid!”

  Her thin voice was lost in the noise.

  Suddenly Erick found himself lurching forward in a blind rage. He stepped off the stage not caring who saw him. He hoped almost desperately that someone would try to stop him. He yearned to commit violence. He pushed rudely through the seated ranks. He stepped on someone’s hand and felt pleasure in the “Watch it for Christ’s sake!” that exploded in his ears.

  “Drop dead!” he snarled over his shoulder and heard Gloria’s voice barely coming through the microphone.

  Sally looked up as he leaned over stiffly.

  “I’m going,” he said tensely, “You can come with me or stay.”

  She looked surprised. Her eyes studied him curiously. He straightened up and turned away quickly and pushed through the crowd. He didn’t look back at her, at anyone. He wanted to get away, to escape. He jumped up the steep narrow staircase furiously.

  The cool evening air bathed over him as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He stood by the curb staring at the street and breathing deeply, trying to get rid of the tight feeling of hate. His chest heaved and jerked with uncontrolled breaths.

  Then she stood beside him.

  They started to walk. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t speak, she didn’t touch him.

  “Lousy air in there!” he said bitterly.

  She made a slight undefinable sound. He kept looking ahead, still breathing heavily.

  “You didn’t have to leave,” he said angrily to her.

  “I wouldn’t stay without you,” she said quietly. It made him angry. She’s weak! he thought. It was only a little after that he realized that nothing would have please him them, agreement or disagreement.

  They walked a block without speaking, Erick moving in choppy erratic strides, constantly looking around, up, down, as if searching for an avenue of escape which would lead him to freedom from all dismay.

  Finally he felt her hand take his arm and he looked at her.

  She was staring at him as if she couldn’t understand him at all. It was the same look he’d seen on her face the first time he’d met her.

  “Don’t be angry with me,” she said.

  He twisted. “I’m not angry with you! For Christ’s sake you know that! It’s that stupid bunch of idiots down there! By Christ it may be wrong to say I’m superior to anyone but by Christ, I am superior to them!”

  His teeth clenched. He almost hissed the words, spit them out, “Their stupidity, their moronic shouts and grunts. I could have killed them all! By God I could have killed every stupid son of a bitch in the pile!”

  “I love you,” she said.

  He felt as if he’d been struck. He stopped suddenly, stared at her, dumbfounded.

  His face was blank. Everything vicious and twisted and bitter drained from it in a bewildering instant. He stared at her, unable to believe his ears, unable to appraise the sense of complete cleansing he felt at her simple words.

  Then he sighed.

  “Oh, Sally,” he said and his smile was a hopeless one.

  He put his arm around her shoulders gently.

  “I’m sorry I spoiled your party,” he said, “The party, everything. I’m sorry.”

  He felt absolutely contrite for the first time he could remember in years.

  “I understand,” she said.

  He wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to talk, to explain.

  “I’m afraid you do,” he said, “That’s why I can’t understand you loving me.”

  “I do,” she said.

  “How can you? How can you?”

  “I understand you.”

  He shook his head and they walked in silence a while. Then they stopped in the drugstore for some coffee.

  “I know how you feel, Erick,” she said, “I felt it too. I was so angry they paid no attention. But you can’t blame them entirely. It wasn’t the type of entertainment for a place like that. Especially for a crowd like that. All they want this late on a Saturday night is beer and jazz.”

  “You’re right,” he said wearily. Then he chuckled slightly. “Beer and jazz. You hit it, Sal.”

  “You’re too sensitive, Erick.”

  “I’m too something.”

  Then he patted her hand. “And I don’t envy you for loving me,” he said.

  She smiled. “I’m happy as long as you are,” she said, “As long as you don’t hate me.”

  He gripped her hand tightly. “I could never hate you, Sally.”

  In the cab he held her tightly against himself.

  “I think I love you,” he said.

  She started and her eyes were frightened and searching in the darkness. Then she leaned back against him. Not pressing, just leaning.

  “Don’t say it, Erick,” she said, “You don’t have to. Just because you’re grateful.”

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Do you believe it, Erick?” she asked.

  He thought. Then after a moment he said, “I don’t know.”

  They were silent the rest of the way to her house.

  * * * *

  One Sunday near the end of the term she invited him to dinner at her house.

  The lawns of the houses along Main Street were covered with a closely cropped layer of grass. The deep blue sky was spotted with puffy white clouds. A warm breeze spurted through the fingers of the day, flooding through the open bus windows as he rode out, bathing him with hits rushing fragrance.

  Sally was sitting on the porch in a canvas chair. Erick walked up the path and flipped open an imaginary suitcase.

  “I have here,” he said, “A tasty little line of brushes for any and all occasions. You say you have teeth? I have a brush for them. Your back? I have long brush with a crooked handle. Brush your chestnut locks? Madame, I have the brush!”

  She smiled as he bent over and kissed her on the mouth.

  “Mmm,” he said.

  “Mmmm?”

  “Mmmm” “Taste good?” “Tastes like more.”

  She put her hands on his shoulders as he kissed her again. As they parted she said, “Love me?” “Yup.”

  “Liar,” she said. “Madame.”

  “Put away your suitcase and sit down,” she said, getting up. “Where will you sit?” “At your feet.”

  He eased himself down into the chair, sighed and stretched out his long legs. She sat down and rested her elbows on his knees. He yawned and sniffed the air. Then he looked down at her.

  “Well,” he said, “What mischief have you been into since last we met. Last night I believe it was.” “That’s right.” “What mischief?” “None.”

 
; “Oh, come now.”

  “You know there’s no mischief in me.” “As there is no water in the ocean.” “None.”

  “There must be.” “Not a drop.” “Bless you.”

  “What have you been doing, darling?”

  “Studying for finals. Dying. Five of them, count them, five.”

  “You have circles around your eyes.”

  “I’ll have squares before long.”

  “Don’t study too hard,” she said. She put her chin on his knee and looked up at him with an adoring smile. As though, loving him, she were climbing a sun-drenched hill, breathless and blind, but happy. “Isn’t it beautiful today?” she said.

  “It is,” he said, “It’s living weather. Trees bursting with color and life. Grass. Warm air. Makes you feel more alive than you even are.” She shivered. “Yes! Just like that.” “Nonsense my dear. I have a king size lap.”

  She got up and sat down on his lap, sliding her warm arms around his neck. The chair groaned. “Steady Bessie,” he said. “Am I too heavy?” “Nope. If only the chair can stand it.” “I hope so.”

  “You mean you haven’t tried it out before.” “What do you mean?”

  “You mean you never sat in another man’s lap on this chair?” “No.”

  “Not even the football team?”

  She pressed her face against his. “Please don’t tease me,” she asked quietly. He tightened his arms around her.

  “Sal,” he said, “You know what a mistake you’re making.” She sighed. “I know.”

  “All right.” He felt relief again to see the exit sign polished off again. “Don’t you want to know what I’m making you for dinner?” she asked. “Yeah!”

  “That reminds me, I’d better go in and look at the chops.”

  “Chops, chops?”

  “I’m broiling some lamb chops.”

  “Darling, I love you.”

  “The way to a man’s heart.”

  “You think me callous?”

  “Honey,” she said seriously, “If I thought lamb chops would win you, I’d broil you a mountain of lamb chops.”

  “That is the sweetest thing anyone ever said to me.” They smiled at each other. Then she put her lips against his and pressed close. A car rushed by in the street and Erick wondered if the people in it were watching them kiss. He hoped they were. Their lips parted.

  “Let’s eat each other for supper,” he said.

  “Cannibal.”

  “Just imaginative.”

  She smiled and tried to get up. He wouldn’t let go. He kissed her neck fiercely. “No stop, stop,” she laughed, squirming in his tight embrace. “Do you want those lamb chops to burn?” “I fiddle while the lamb chops burn.”

  “Oh! After that I refuse to admit I know you.”

  She got up and he followed her into the kitchen. He watched her open the oven door.

  “See?” she said.

  He peeked in. A blast of hot air jumped out on him. He stepped back with a stage shriek. Then he licked his lips at the sight of the two large brown chops oozing fat on the grill.

  “Mmm, those are magnificent, beautiful, superb, grandiose.”

  “And I have french fries and peas and biscuits and pie and coffee.”

  “I love you.”

  “Sometimes I suspect you have no soul,” she said.

  “I sold it for a broiled lamb chop.”

  “I thought so.”

  She took some peeled potatoes out of a pan in the sink. She started cutting them up. He went behind her. She had on a light cotton dress with a low-cut neck. He pulled aside her hair.

  “Now stop th …” she started. Then she writhed in breathless silence as he kissed the back of her neck.

  “St … op.”

  He put his arms around her and squeezed. Her knife dropped to the floor.

  “Don’t you want to eat?”

  “Want to eat you.”

  “No, I have lamb chops.”

  “Want to eat you.” He nuzzled her throat.

  “Don’t hon. Not in fun.”

  “Who’s doing it in fun?”

  “No.”

  She reached up and took his hands off her breasts. He put them back. She took them away. Then she twisted around in his arms. She pressed forcibly against his body and molded her lips on his. She moved her head from side to side. She opened her mouth and he felt her hot breath in him.

  Then she pulled away and rested her cheek against his.

  “Now for God’s sake go read the funny papers,” she said.

  “Yes, dear,” he said. He kissed her cheek. Then he picked up the knife and handed it to her and left the kitchen. He went into the front room and sat on the couch.

  “Would you rather have milk?”

  “Yes,” he said, “It’s so warm.” “Okay.”

  She came out with an apron over her dress. “Honey, will you tie this?”

  “Got fat on your hands?” “Mmmm”

  “Delighted.” He tied the strings as she stood in front of him. Then he stood up and kissed her neck. “Not again?”

  “You resent my attentions, ma’am?”

  “I don’t resent them, suh. I just have to make dinner that’s all. You make me forget about making dinner.” “What do I make you think about?”

  She looked into his eyes and smiled, tongue in cheek. For some reason she looked sly to him. He felt the suggestion of a shudder. “You expect me to answer that?” she asked. “As you would answer the Lord.” His voice was unnatural. She pressed against him. He shuddered again. Then her warmth flowed into him and his breathing grew faster. He hugged her. “I’ll get fat on you,” she said. “No, you won’t.” “Stop it.”

  “What do I make you think about?” “I’m not talking.”

  “You must tell the truth or you must pay the consequence.” “Either way you’ve got me.” She squirmed. “Leggo now.” “For a ransom. A kiss. That’s my ransom.” She kissed him gently. “Another,” he said.

  “You’re cheating,” she said, “You said one.” “I lied.”

  “Darling don’t you want me to get those potatoes nice and brown and crisp?” He kissed her throat. “Don’t you want the peas nice and warm and don’t you, oh, want the … uh … biscuits nice and … warm, oh stop!” “One kiss.”

  She raised her lips. He kissed them. Again. “Now that’s three,” she said, “What is this, bank night?” “More.”

  “No more.” “Later?”

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You got an outside chance, kid,” she said. She turned and he patted her on the buttock as she went out. “Watch that,” she said. “I am,” he replied.

  He sat down and glanced through the Sunday local paper. Then he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. He felt the sounds dying away. It was quiet and warm and Sally was in the kitchen, moving softly, making dinner for him.

  * * * *

  He started as she sat down next to him.

  She had fresh lipstick on. There was a bright yellow ribbon in her hair.

  “Dinner is ready, honey,” she said gently.

  “Have I been asleep long?”

  “About twenty minutes.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Always. You look pretty.” “Thank you.”

  “That’s a new dress. I never saw it.” “Pretty.”

  “Come on now. Wash up and we’ll eat.” “Okay.”

  He sat at the table. Then got up again and helped her into her chair. “Thank you,” she said.

  “This looks good,” he said.

  He didn’t know whether it was the sleepiness or the quiet or what. But he felt different. As if he could say what he meant, what he felt. That he didn’t have to hold back. That Sally was his love and everything was settled.

  “You sound sleepy,” Sally said. “I guess I am a little.” “Go ahead and eat.”

  He took a drink of water, then sipped down the tomato juice. He made a satisfied noise. “Good,” he s
aid. “Good,” she echoed.

  He ate. Everything was delicious. The potatoes were brown and crisp and piping hot. The meat tender and pungently tasty. The peas were bright green, like hot bubbles in his mouth. And when he opened the biscuits, the white insides smoked hotly and the butter melted right into it.

  “Delicious!”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “You’re a good cook, Sal.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  After a moment he noticed her looking across at him and he looked up. She said, “See what you’re missing?”

  He smiled.

  “I’m plugging,” she said.

  “I see,” he said, taking a drink of water to hide the moving of his throat.

  When she took away the plates the dining room was getting dark. Looking out through the front screen door Erick saw the sky bright with red and yellow glow. It gave him a feeling of satisfied peace to sit there in the house, quiet and still except for the pleasantly homey sound of dishes and soft footsteps in the kitchen. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend it was his house.

  She brought in pie and milk.

  “Did you make that too?”

  “I could lie but I won’t. I bought it.”

  “You bought it with your very own hands.”

  She laughed quietly. “Stinker,” she said and went into the kitchen and came back with her pie and milk. She sat down.

  “I like this,” he said.

  “It is good,” she said.

  “I don’t mean the pie, though that’s good too. I mean, oh, just sitting here with you. In this nice house on a lovely spring evening. It’s like … like we were married and living here. It’s nice feeling; like I belong here.”

  She reached across the table and touched his hand.

  “Honey,” she said softly. And, in the dimness, they smiled at each other. And he loved her then.

  But said nothing.

  They went back to their pie. “Good pie,” he said. “Isn’t it,” she agreed.

  He finished eating, stretched long and lazily. “I could sleep ten years.”

  “Why don’t you take a nap?”

  “I’ll help you with the dishes.”

  “Don’t be silly. There are only a few. Go take a nap.”

  “You aren’t making a very good argument for me to help you with the dishes.”

  “I don’t want you to, honey.”