This was not mere mens' talk. Hulda, (why not Hilda I never asked) was a pleasant, red-haired, sun-freckled farmer herself, and she was present at these conversations. The Laveers didn't have the usual restraints about talk of sexual acts, so long as you discussed it in farming or breeding terms. They viewed human breeding as a science and art in the way they viewed breeding stock. However, if you said fuck or screw, they'd take offense at the language as an "offense to God."
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She comes out of the bathroom naked, her feet padding on thevacuumed hotel wall-to-wall. He puts down the phone and stares at her,openly, as he did years ago: her whole long skinny body, her freckledshoulders and damp dirty-blonde hair, her left breast hanging slightly lowerthan her right one, the stretch-marks shining on her abdomen like paleribbons. She isn't surprised when he gets up and begins to rub the backof her neck, all the while making the little mewing sounds that are hissignal, his pathetic and annoyingly cloying signal, that he's horny.That he wants a little down-home loving. A little reassuring roll in the haywith his sweetheart. In, out, in, out, until that final little burst ofapplause, and his body limp, over or under hers. Clearly, the man isn'ta mind reader, but what man is? Even Jim, Jesus: he did things to her whethershe wanted him to or not. But that was different. This good Jewish girl, thisloving mother with her beautiful large colorful canvases and beautifulchildren, screwing so hard that she forgot who or what she was. Now she turnsto her husband and says, "What do you mean it was nothing? Itwasn't fucking nothing. We almost died, David, was got thisclose"--an inch-sign, made with thumb and forefinger--"and you sayit was nothing?" 2ff7e9595c
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