ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 51
Breakfast
"Who are you?" he suddenly asked. They had awakened minutes
before to the smell of ash and rain which tore apart the easy cliches of the
morning's familiarity. Now all wondering as to what was real or imagined dissolved when the tangerine in the East unpeeled and shot its
juices to drip down the clear glass of the kitchen window.
She turned her gaze toward the window, beyond which shining
automobiles lacerated the breeze, like his words slashed the silence. It was
as ifhe had assembled this combination of words for the pure sake of making
the morning complicated. She was sitting at the table shoving her hair out
of her eyes, they were blinking madly at the sudden assault of sunlight. Her
eyes were of the most intriguing color-a sort of bright aquamarine which
made people trip over themselves when looking into them. Of course they
were merely contact lenses, but she seemed to do things with them as if they
were her own. Whenever he looked into them, he told her once, he remembered a line from a Russian author: "Those innocent eyes slit open my soul
like razors." Perfect.
He unlatched the lock and pushed open the pane, and his words
seemed to fall out the window in a dry dive like a bored suicide, while she sat
preoccupied with the rose at the table's center, opening its eye in an
apocalyptic fit. She did not know how she was expected to answer his
question. What do I say? I am Anna, I am the girl you met a few months ago
at the bank where I work on 17th street, I am the one who's been sleeping in
your bed? All seemed superfluous.
He stood naked by the window watching the Catholic kids play
foursquare in the schoolyard across the street. He watched a pale, sandyhaired boy as he touched the small breast of a hop-scotching girl and a nun
walk briskly over to clap his ears with the palms of her large hands.
"So are you gunna tell me what you're talking about now?" She broke
off a piece of her croissant and put it in her mouth, then washed it down with
a gulp of coffee.
"Do you ever eat anything for breakfast beside coffee and croissants?"
he answered.
"It's continental. It's universal in cultured countries. You know, it's
what the 'French have for breakfast."
"Well goddammit, you're not French. It's the same shit every day, you get
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