Читать книгу The Terrible Twos - Ishmael Reed - Страница 18

Vixen was lying next to Flinch Savvage, staring at the ceiling, sobbing. The polar-bear rug was soft under their skin. They’d just taken a bath in Vixen’s black marbled sunken tub. Two glasses of red wine sat next to them.

“I’m just supposed to lie there and just let you hump up and down on me, is that what you want me to do?”

“I’m sorry, Vixen, but I can’t seem to find it. It’s as if your finger is being swallowed by an artichoke or something.”

“You’re just like all the rest of them. Nobody exists but you.”

“I wasn’t up to it. I had a bad day today.”

“When I brought you home from the ski lodge, you were so considerate, so attracted to me. I guess you’ve gotten used to me.”

He raised up on his elbows, reached over, and sipped from a glass of red wine.

She faced him. Ran her hand across his back. “What’s wrong, Flinch?”

“Something happened today. Trouble. They tried to pull the old chief away from the tree. Old guy. Harmless fellow. But they went out there with shotguns after I failed to persuade him to move.”

“O, I’m sorry, Flinch.”

“He just looked at me. He said that the tree was alive. The chief reminded me of my grandfather, whose face was so full of lines it was hard to read. And those Gussucks in there, smirking, just itching for some trouble. Everywhere you Americans go, you bring death. The rivers die, the animals flee from you as they would from a fire. They know. American angels of death. Can you blame these people? Can you blame them for wanting to return to their original customs?”

“Flinch, I’ve had a hectic day. I’m not in the mood for politics tonight. I have a lot of planning to do. The company is preparing to move to the North Pole. Oswald Zumwalt is constructing a domed city there. Christmas Land. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. It’s been on television every night.”

“I don’t watch television, unless maybe the ballet or something cultural like that is on. Besides, what about us? I can’t leave here unless Washington tells me.”

“I don’t know about us, Flinch. If Big North moves, that means I have to move. An article appeared in the Wall Street Journal that mentioned speculation that I might be given a vice-presidency. I can’t pass up an opportunity like that. I have to look out for myself. All of my life I’ve depended upon men. That hasn’t worked out.”

“Company woman.”

“Flinch,” she said, putting on a blue kimono on which was sewn a white dragon, “if you’re going to be rude, you can leave. You’ve been up here in Alaska too long. Too much missionary school. I do what I want with my life, and I’m not going to have a man offend me with his silly value judgments.” A figure appeared in the doorway. Flinch covered himself with a terrycloth robe. It was one of the little servants that the company used to aid Santa Claus. Word had it that Santa and his helpers were quite fond of each other, sometimes hitting all the bars in town during the off-season. Next to their chores with Santa, they had to work a shift at the chocolate vats, stirring boiling chocolate, and once in a while one of the little men toppled into the chocolate. Nobody missed them. Their working conditions were terrible. Now that Santa had gone to New York, his favorite helper Blitz had been assigned to help Vixen with her big apartment. He mixed drinks, answered the door, and talked on the telephone. He was a badly mangled fellow who suffered from hormone growth deficiency and didn’t quite have all of his chromosomes. He wore an elf’s cap and baggy pants, with a rope tied about the waist. He owned a small white beard. He had overcome his defects. He could even drive a car.

Vixen looked up. “Blitz, what do you want?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but your car is back from the garage.”

“Just as well. Would you like to go to the ski lodge for a drink, Flinch?”

“Suits me fine,” said Flinch. At that, Blitz turned his back and left the room. He didn’t want to be caught rudely smirking.

Flinch put on his briefs, pants, socks, and shirt in silence. He put on a heavy coat. Vixen got into a long lynx coat, over her sweater and pants. Outside, Blitz helped Vixen into the back seat of the wolf-fur-seated Lincoln. Blitz looked Flinch up and down as he held the front door for him.