Page 37 - WTP VOl. X #3

For once, Olivia kept a secret. Carol later made an offhand reference to Miriam, hoping to dispel any awkwardness. Miriam reassured her and resolved to get the full story from Olivia. When she finally caught her alone, Olivia told the story with uncharacteristic reserve, even embarrassment. ‘Either way,’ Miriam sighed to herself, ‘Olivia’s not as bad as all that.’
V.
10:40 p.m.—quiet panic—bare space; modulated tone. She was listening—every two or three notes— distant, three note descent. Naked fear, growing silence: like mothers lifting cars from their infants: she was still: her hand could rip a door from its hinges. Three steps to the staircase, soft clicks on the wooden floor. She placed her hand on the railing, her foot on the first stair, yet no weight—slow applied, twisting creak, stair flexed. Paused, exhaled a prayer: “let him be gone forever.” Continued. Jason, sweet, pink, and happy, who was already three-fourths turned, a frightened little creature, the sleep scooped from under his eyes, cradle and hoist, for Jason be- fore to be just as Jason after, the worst fear yet—first a murmur, rushing thunder rolling distant, like a dust storm overtaking itself, endless non-approach, and with long pauses intermittent . . . . . . . . . terror! . . . . . . . . . (fwwt)(fwwt) . . . . . . . . . terror! . . . . . . . . .
Voice much thinned, hair, she could stab, stab, let infection, rot-eaten, her hand could rip a door from its hinges, she a fiery whirlwind strip him of hair and sense, a giant balding baby alone and subject to his own gurgles. She would fling him from a win- dow and let others tend his crumpled body as she upstairs held her baby boy, forever in face of all, her baby Jason!
Twisting creak, the last step unflexed. There, a pen- cil; a trophy, with a cornered faux-marble base; a let- ter-opener: that was good. Mute door. Her arm was joined iron, her teeth set diamonds, soon red with blood. Her hand could rip a door from its hinges. She touched the knob.
Now she felt a change. Scales fell from her senses. She exhaled the poisoning vapor. If he had touched Jason—then, no matter. Nothing had ever passed; Andy had done it—and at the same time he had not. Jason was waiting for her, touched and innocent. With a deep breath, kind and calm, overflowing love,
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“Of course, she loved Christmas. But each year the whole
fan-damnily arrived a little earlier and benignly positioned themselves around the house, like spectators at a long-dis- tance race: bang!”
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