“What’s the problem? Two can’t live as miserable as one? Can’t she get a job?”

              “She can temp right away teaching French. If she dumbs her French down enough for community college kids. She’ll get 2 classes. Six thousand a semester, twelve thousand a year, eight after taxes. Add my after-tax twenty. Subtract five hundred a month for my detestable curly head. It could be done. Am I allowed to think, what is it? Can we afford a two bedroom apartment? Day care? A six year old car, instead of my creaky old Camry? Does the kid grow up talking whatever language Rose cries in? Will I like that, since it’s only unlearnable Walachian gobble? Will her husband be able to understand my own kid better than me?”

              “This stuff is important to you? Or her?”

              “She’s saying it, in bed, half in and half out of English, when we lay around what-if and then-whenning. She says they never talk English except when Americans can hear. I say every time we made love she phoned him and said she burned the sheet in English. She laughs, she says that must be how he knew she was in bed with me. They’re married. They tell each other things they don’t know they’re telling. What will she be without him?”

              “Ooh, I want to, aah, thank you.”

              Razzberry squats down in front of me and blows a razzberry. I say to Candy: “Rose says she loves me. Do I even know what she means by that?”

              Razzberry spits a juicer razzberry.

              “Sorry Hon, he’s got women probs. He doesn’t want to get thanked.”

              “Well uhn fuck him then, and ooo-weee his women probs. And fuck you too.”

              “Wait Hon, this is serious. How do I know you love me?”

              “Because I uhn hate you, uhn you ugly uhn no-teeth uhn frecklebody skinny bitch!”

              She clips me on the chin with her crotch and dances away.

28

  

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