away. She saw that the hairs on his arms had been bleached white. His ring finger was naked and there was coal-black dirt edged up under his nails and she couldn't remember if his hands had always been like that when he had driven down from the college in those evenings, freshly showered and shaved. She couldn't remember rightly how his hands looked then when he touched her, because it had always been dark when they bedded down in the back of the truck, or even in the cab when it was too cold to crawl into the back. Too dark to see what was what.
What's for eating? he said.
Rice and chicken.
Well, I'll eat that, he said and nodded.
Damn right, she said and he looked at her then and stepped to her side at the sink and began to slowly lather his hands with her white bar soap, all the while looking at her.
Not that soap, she said. She hunted under the sink with one hand and found a brown soap with chip granules. She handed it to him.
What's wrong with that other one?
That's for me. You touch animals' rear ends all day.
I don't hardly do that at all, he said. And that's what soap's for.
Not that soap. This soap. He looked into her eyes, first one and then the other, and looked at the soap and then took the soap and washed his hands and shook his head, but said nothing. When he was done, he held his hands up before her with one eyebrow cocked just barely, but she was already turning away and said over her shoulder, Let's eat.
She'd set the table in the afternoon as she did each day, waiting for him. He sat down and she served them both. They ate.
Orren took two bites and then he said, Goddamn, Aloma.
What?
This rice tastes like a house on fire.
Orren!
What? His hands up before him, palms out. It does.
Aloma pushed her plate away from her suddenly so that peas and peppers spilled off one side and the peas rolled like pocked green marbles to the center of the table.
What are you so ornery for? he said.
I cooked that for you.
You cooked it for you too.
She said nothing and he folded his arms over his chest and lowered his head fractionally as if he were peering at her over glasses. What, it's only food, he said.
Well, I don't know how to do it, she said. And I think I've done pretty good considering.
Yes, he said.
I'd like some respect, she said.
Well, he said, get you some.
She did not smile. He shook his head then and though he did not smile, he looked like he might and he reached over and poked her hand once with the tines of his fork. She snatched her hand away. He said, They Lord. What is it you want, Aloma?
Whether it was the dirt still under his nails after the washing or the prick of his fork, she wasn't sure, but her tongue loosed itself and she said suddenly, I want you to marry me.
He dropped his fork down and it caught the edge of the plate where it clattered. He stared at her. I intend to marry you, he said. I ain't asked you to come here to … His mouth twisted.
In an instant, the fight went out of her. Well, I know. I was just sort of picking, she said lamely.
He watched her quietly. No. You're ill with me, he said.
No.
You're ill because I dragged you out here and not married you first. His hand curled up on the table, dark and dry like a tanned leather.
It's just how things happened. Her voice was soft, womanish.
That's right, he said. Don't attach nothing to it. You want me to marry you in a real church wedding, right? Ain't that right?
Well, she said and shrugged.
Well, don't you?
Oh hell, Orren, I don't care, she said.
Well, I care, he said and stood up and his chair squawked against the floor as it was forced back. He walked out of the room, not so much angry as purposeful, as if he'd suddenly remembered he had somewhere more important to be. She followed quick in his footsteps until she saw he wasn't leaving the house, only standing at the door with his back to the room, and she fiddled with the dishes in the sink, casting a glance over her shoulder as he removed his cigarettes from his pocket and peered out into the backyard. But she could not be patient long. Her nerves rattled within her when she didn't know his mind, and that was more and more these days. She walked up behind him.
Now you're ill with me, she said in a low voice.
No, not with you, he said, lighting his cigarette and facing out the door where the long day wound out and down. No, I just can't see how I can … His voice drifted and again he did not finish his sentence. Aloma bit her lip and sighed, not able to see past the block of his shoulder to the land. But she did not mind, the land only looked like grief to her.
Well, you're not mad at the farm, she said grudgingly, though it took some effort not to call it the soil, the dirt, the dust that you feel unholy bound to and that's keeping us suckled up to the tit of the mountains. But her voice was even, balanced between her want for him and her distaste for all of this that he was holding in his eyes with tenderness just now like it was a newborn.
You figure it's not right to you, he said, without turning around. A tiny wisp of smoke spun around the side of his face and touched her nostril momentarily.
Don't worry yourself about that, she said.
I got a debt to pay by which he meant the bank loans, but she didn't know that and she said, Well, God, Orren, you could mind to pay me some attention. He turned around and looked down at her then and she grinned and took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it out the door.
She waited until he was sweaty and spent, having made his bereaved sound against her hair, before she pushed up against his chest and said, Just about now's when I'd like to play some piano. Still half on top of her, he said nothing, but breathed heavily on her for another long moment, his belly pressing with each breath into hers, before he rolled over onto his back and sighed and righted himself. Then he cleared his throat and said, easy and even, I won't keep you. It was this new flirtless damper in his voice, devoid of any play, that she did not care for.
Her eyes rolled over to him in the half-light. That piano's a mess, Orren. I can't play on it.
Is that right? he said and he seemed genuinely surprised.
Aloma tugged at the sheet that he had taken with him when he rolled away. He didn't help her, but just lay there and let her pull and pull until she had a ragged corner to cover herself.
Have you looked at that thing? she said. I can't play on it. God knows how long it's been sitting there. It's falling apart.
Well,
