Mary And The Giant

"Mary A

"Oh, what?" she demanded. "Leave me alone, will you?"

Tossing her T-shirt on the bed, she unbuttoned her jeans and dragged them off. Then, paying no attention to the man at the door, she finished undressing, padded naked to the bed, and climbed in.

"Turn out the light, please," she said.

He did so. There was no comment from the darkness. He lingered, not wanting to leave. "I'll lock you in," he said finally.

From the darkness stirring sounds were audible. She turned over, adjusted the covers, tried to make herself comfortable. "Whatever you want," her voice came.

Schilling crossed the darkened room to the bed. "Can I sit?" he asked.

"Go ahead."

He did so, on the very edge of the bed. "I feel guilty. About not finishing." And more, too. Much more.

"It's my own fault," she murmured, staring up at the ceiling. "We'll collect some help, maybe not Nitz. And finish up, perhaps around the middle of the week." When she didn't respond, he went on: "You can stay here until then. How's that?"

Presently she nodded. "Fine."

He drew a little away. In the bed beside him, Mary A

"I'm not asleep," she stated.

"Go ahead."

"I will. This is a nice bed. It's wide."

"Very wide."

"Do you notice how the rug looks like water? It looks as if the bed's floating. Maybe it's because of the light ... I had to work with it shining in my face. I'm dizzy." She yawned. "Go on and get my things."

He left the room on tiptoe. Closing the front door of the apartment, he tried the knob to be certain it was locked, and then strode off down the front steps.

The lights still burned in Mary A

When he unlocked the front door of his own place there was no response from the darkened bedroom. He laid down his armload and removed his coat. Hesitating, he a

"I've got your stuff."

There was no answer. Probably she was asleep. Or, on the other hand, there was an alternate possibility. Locating a flashlight, he stalked into the bedroom. She was gone, and so was her discarded clothing. His bed, rumpled and recently occupied, was still warm.

In the living room he found a note lying on top of his record cabinet.

"I'm sorry," the note read; it was a carefully prepared pencil scrawl, composed of blunt, direct letters in Mary A

He crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket. Well, better it should happen now than later. He felt a measure of relief, but it was flat and unconvincing.

"Oh, Christ," he said. "Christ!" He had failed; he had let them drag her away.

Anguished, he went back into his bedroom and began smoothing out the empty bed.

19

By the refrigerator, Mrs. Rose Reynolds poised and leaned forward, arms folded, watching her daughter pour herself a bowl of Post Toasties. Mary A

"Dear," Mrs. Reynolds said. "Let's have it."

"Let's have what?" She spooned up her breakfast. "I can't sit around here talking; I have to be down at the record shop by nine."

The woman said steadily: "Tell me who you're sleeping with."

"What makes you think that? Why do you say that?"

"Just so it isn't a jig. I couldn't stand that."

"It isn't."

Mrs. Reynolds pursed her lips. "Then you are sleeping with somebody. Did he throw you out? Is that why you came home?" Her voice dimmed to a monotone. "Your life's your own, of course. You moved out of here to be with him; then he got tired of you. May I ask you something? When did you start? You were living under this roof when you started. I say that because I've noticed you feel yourself, poking around inside your pants. That's been several years at least."

"Shout away," Mary A

"I'd like to discuss it with you," Mrs. Reynolds said. "People, good friends of mine, tell me there's a singer at a bar you've been with. I don't recall the particular name of the bar-it's not important. The singer is colored, isn't he? People have a way of finding out; it's surprising. I was reading in the paper about that jig who killed the white man, the one they arrested. I'm surprised they let him out on bail. They must have a good deal of influence in California, especially down in Los Angeles." Her arms folded, she followed after Mary A

In his leather jacket and work trousers, a lunch pail under his arm, Ed Reynolds appeared in the doorway; he was on his way to the plant. "How's my girl?" he said. "Where have you been the last few months, and let's have a straight answer."

"I have an apartment-you know that." She retreated from her father, turning her back to him.

"Where'd you come from last night?"

"They say she's been bedding down with a colored fellow," Mrs. Reynolds said. "You ask her. I can't get a respectful answer; maybe you can."

"Has she started to swell? Have you looked at her?"

"I didn't have the opportunity last night."

"Keep away from me," Mary A

"Better let me," her mother said. "Or he will; you don't want him to, so for your own good let me." She pushed the door open. "When was the last time?"

"The last time what?" Pretending to ignore her, Mary A

"Your period," Mrs. Reynolds said. "Or can't you remember?"

"No, I don't remember. Last month sometime." Rapidly, nervously, Mary A

"Let go of me!" Mary A

Catching the girl around the waist, Rose Reynolds pulled her underpants down and dug her hand into the girl's hard belly. Mary A

"Get out of here!" Mary A

Sobbing, fumbling with her clothing, she managed to dress. She could hear them outside the closed door, conferring about her. "Shut up!" she wailed, wiping at her face with the back of her hand; and, as she hurried, pla