looked down at the floor. Fernblades her hair leaves glued her chest her thighs. The way she had screamed into his mouth. The way her thighs pulled him down and further down beneath vegetable and dirt. She was manikin of daffodil. Beneath the mud she was his wife.
Well maybe we should like lay down some newspaper or something, she said. We’ll get everything all muddy.
He shrugged and turned toward the kitchen. As before. What did it matter? The best-laid plans ran rootless through the fen. He pulled open the refrigerator. Breath of mold and viscid greens. He saw he did have one.
Why can’t you drink alcohol? he said to the cold the buzz of light.
Oh well because of the meds I’m on didn’t you know? He closed the fridge and moved toward the dinette. He cupped the egg in his palm. She said, See while I was up in Seattle the folks paid for me to see this doctor. Shrink. Whatever. Everyone always told me I was crazy you know? But to hear it from a guy who gets paid to know these things, well.
He stood the muddied egg on the table. I thought you wore your madness like a badge.
Yes but god I really was going crazy she said. I mean I had to get out of here didn’t I? She held her arms to the sides. Mud dropped leaves spluttered stuck to the floor. He tried to balance the egg. The egg fell. He raised the egg again. He let go. The egg fell lazy see saw. It was voodoo. A hammer swung and swung and swung and Anyhow I’m on these anti-depressants, she said. Alcohol’s bad news but I couldn’t help myself though I mean seeing you again everything just came rushing back. Cameron.
The egg rolled and bumped across the dinette. The egg clicked against a stack of tile. He said, The egg won’t stand.
That’s because the time for it’s already passed, she said. She watched him from behind her mask. Timepast and time present, what might have been and what has been, the wild thyme and the wild strawberry, laughter in the fen.
So are you still doing your art work? she said.
Sure.
Well I myself just lined up the greatest job I’m going to be working on a yacht. I absolutely love sailing. Pleasure cruises fishing it’s going to be so fucking cool. This guy works out of the San Juans. We’ve taken his ship out a few times. He wants me but he’s too old he’s got a kid anyways he says I’m the most natural born sailor he’s ever seen. She laughed her teeth white against the brown mud. Her body. Mud and yellow leaves. Fallen apples ripe from trees, sunk down apples in the mud. She moved around the bed toward him. She laced her mucked up arm through his arm. Rage and desire Hooves pounded Mud clots kicked up rumbled in his ears.
So are we just going to stand around here doing nothing? she said. I mean, I don’t know about you but I’m not that fond of mudpacks with sticks and what’s this shit? pieces of cornstalk. Why don’t we get cleaned up?
Their bodies wavered in the plastic sheet. He cleared his throat. You know, this is one thing I’ve always loved about you he said. The way you take my arm in yours. The way you hold it. The way you, you hold me. I like the way we used to laugh. He tried to smile. Why did you have to. Go, like that?
Don’t, she said.
Remember how I used to draw you in the afternoons, when the light was best? And we’d only just gotten up from bed?
She let go his arm. Look I’m not going to make any excuses, she said. I told you I had to get away from here.
Her eyes watched him. He could not see himself in her eyes. He was only mud and leaves. Isn’t it hopeless? he said. Wanting someone who’s. Who’s long gone? He turned his face he blinked his eyes I’m sorry, I’m just, I don’t know, I’m just so tired.
She tugged on his arm. Come on. We need to get cleaned up, she said. We need to get clean.
The bathroom where an airbrushed sun shined up in the corner. Brownskinned figures glimpsed through branches of swinging trees the sparks of whiteyellowpink flowers. Daffodils and lily pads scattered patterns over the tiled floor.
Oh my god she said I completely forgot you painted it like this.
All was green and peaceful and right. All was soft and warm with light. As before. What did it matter? Plans could be sent screaming senseless blackened through the fen.
He sat on the lip of the tub. He reached for the hot water tap. He twisted the knurled ring and water sputtered the air hammer racketed the pipes he turned the hot again and he turned the cold.
I love this tub, she said. I love to take bubble baths I love charm baths you know where you put in rose petals and clove oil and cinnamon or lavender or honey and you burn incense and play soft music—
I don’t have any of that stuff, he said. He leaned to wedge the stopper in the drain.
She said Well you just don’t know what you’re missing.
I know what I’m missing, he said. And I know when things can’t be found ever. Water gushed into the pitted enamel of the tub. Flares of rust around the drain. When do you start this job?
Oh I should be starting it now but I decided I needed a little time to myself to relax you know? I’ve had so much stuff to deal with I haven’t had I never have any time for me. Too busy. So before I hit the high seas I thought I’d come down here and see Bill and Pam and the gang. You.
The hammer swung and swung. Mud flew great clots cow flop plop plopping. Spurt and spurt of fearful breath. He filled the tub with mud he trembled breathless bloody from the fen.
You know what I really want to do? she said. Buy a motorcycle and tour the country. I’ve always wanted to see New England and New York I’d love that I’d have to get a big bike though a little one is a waste of time no guts no glory and nothing less than a thousand cc’s.
The tub was full. He turned off the water. He glanced sidelong at her thighs. Cutoffs. There a hole. Despite cornfield and fen the mud had not reached into the hole. Her skin glowed under the muck. Glowed like a star, a ripened moon. It glowed and spun. Skin sung.
His fingers lifted from the water dripped drops Thunder from the tips Mud in the water bled Blossoms cracked open to reveal Sex in petaled silence he reached his bleeding hand that dripped mud
to the blurred tiles
Come here he said
and ran through the fen he slipped he fell in breathless in laughter. He gripped her hips in his hands the shovel dug and dug the mist of blood the smoke of saw the Moon a ragged spinning in the hole in her cutoffs He squeezed the mud he squeezed the flesh He squeezed the hammer in his fists He pulled her goddamned closer
Just let me he said
and his fingers slid over the choked buttons of her cutoffs. He pulled the buttons open she skin White burst she pussy dark and wet Yet how else would it be and his kissed she belly and the hollows of she thighs he brushed he lips across the hair and he kissed her Ah where the moon stood Oh where the unmarred fires lay spinning
Just let me he said
No no don’t she said, and I can’t take that, she said, and You’re going to make me, she said, and he couldn’t help himself he dug his fingers in her ass he pressed he mouth where hammers and shovelblades
