“I remember.”
“That was a long time ago. So many things have happened since then.”
Barbara nodded a little. “Yes.”
Verne’s fingers tightened against her neck. She was rigid and tense. He could feel her taut muscles under the skin. Like steel cables. “Relax. You’re all would up.”
She relaxed a little.
“That’s better. Don’t be wound up. Is there anything wrong?”
“I guess not.”
He rubbed her neck slowly, around and around. She leaned back, closing her eyes.
“Fine. Do you mind if I do this? You don’t mind, do you? It’s good for you.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. Physical therapy. Doctor’s recommend it. It’s considered very soothing.”
Barbara nodded. “Yes. It’s soothing.”
“Good. Then you don’t mind?”
For a long time she did not answer. Verne watched her. The girl’s eyes were still shut. She seemed to be a long way off. Far away from him. What was she thinking about? There was no way to tell by looking at her. He did not say anything. Her flesh felt good under his fingers. Warm and full. He touched her hair. Hard, dry hair. It was good, too. His fingers pressed against her muscles and tendons, into the warm flesh.
Barbara sighed.
“All right?” Verne said. He moved closer to her. The room was still. Neither of them spoke.
“Verne.”
“What?”
“When you found out how young I was you should have let me go. It was wrong. I was too young.”
“For God’s sake! Can’t you forget that ever?”
“Why didn’t you let me go? Why did you go ahead with it? You knew and yet you went ahead.”
“It didn’t hurt you any. Did it?” He looked into her face. “It didn’t hurt you. Not too much. How long ago that was. It seems strange to be sitting here talking about it. Another world. Another time stream. You were so mixed up in those days. A girl playing at being an adult. You were so scared of men. I could see that. You were shaking with fear. And it made you gruff. You chased men off by being gruff and harsh.”
“Why did you come near me?”
“You were pretty. You looked very nice. You still do, Barbara.” His fingers pressed against her neck, suddenly unmoving. “You still look very nice. That hasn’t changed at all. Perhaps some things have changed. But not that. You’re a grown woman, now. You’re not a little girl playing games. Now you’re grown up. You’ve come into bloom. Your hair. I can see it in your hair. Your eyes. Your whole face. Your body. It’s there, everywhere in you. Do you know it? Do you realize it?”
She nodded.
“It’s strange to see that come into existence since we were together before. It was there, in a way. Not like now. Not full, like this. Perhaps only the first trace. I saw a little of it, then. Traces here and there. But not what I see now. Not this.”
He touched her cheek. Her shoulder. She moved under his touch. He drew his fingers along the sleeve of her pale jacket. The fabric was sheer and strange, still cold from the closet. He pressed it against her arm. Through the fabric he could feel the warmth of her arm, through the coldness of the cloth. Warmth. He leaned toward her, looking into her face. Her eyes were still shut, closed tightly together. She breathed slowly, evenly, her mouth open.
He touched her throat, running his fingers over her bare flesh, where the folds of the jacket came together. She quivered, tensing under his fingers, the muscles moving.
“It’s all right,” Verne said.
She did not answer. He watched her silently. She said nothing. Presently he kissed her, tasting her hard mouth. She did not stir. He kissed again, feeling her lips, cold and hard, against his own. Her teeth.
“Barbara?”
She moved a little. He put his hands on her warm shoulders, drawing back a little. After a time she opened her eyes. “Yes?”
“How—how do you feel?”
She shook her head.
“I wish you’d say something.” He waited. His hands pressed into her shoulders. He ran his fingers over her arms, over the pale fabric. Still she did not speak. He could feel her breasts against his arms, below his wrists. He moved his hands from her arms, covering her breasts with his fingers. Under his fingers her breasts rose and fell, again and again. Her heart. He could feel her heart beating, beneath the full cups of her breasts. His hands moved upward again, toward her neck. He pulled her toward him.
“Barbara—”
“Yes?”
“Isn’t this all right? Is there anything wrong with this?”
He kissed her again, on the cheek. She looked up at him as he pulled away. Her eyes were bright In the half-darkness of the room they gleamed, sparkling and dancing.
“Your eyes are so bright.”
“Are they?”
Again he pressed his fingers into her neck, where her hair ended, above the collar of her jacket. Neither of them spoke. Time passed. Barbara sighed once, shifting a little on the bed.
“I wish I knew how you felt,” Verne murmured.
“Don’t you know?”
“No.”
“It’s strange that you don’t know. I thought you knew so much about women.”
“Well, not everything. How do you feel? Don’t you want to tell me?”
“You’ve known so many. Done so much. It’s very strange that you don’t know. Yes, it’s nice here, Verne. I worked a long time on this room. I’m glad you enjoy it.”
Verne waited a while, watching the girl beside him. Barbara’s face was expressionless. He could not read anything there. She stared ahead of her, into the distance. He could see her nostrils flare a little as she breathed. Under her long pale jacket her chest rose and fell.
“Real nice,” he murmured.
Barbara stirred a little, reaching out to stub the remains of her cigarette against the side of the ashtray. She leaned forward, bending over her purse. Her warm neck slipped from between his fingers. Verne lowered his arm slowly.
Barbara lit a new cigarette, shifting on the bed and leaning back. She blew smoke past him, folding her arms. Verne reached out his hand toward her.
She shook her head. “No.”
“No?”
“Don’t.”
Verne let the air out of his lungs. He said nothing. Beside him the girl smoked quietly to herself, so close to him that he could see the pores of her skin, the faint lines around her nose, the chipped edge of her thumb nail where her hand rested against her lip, against the white of her cigarette.
There was no sound. Outside the building a feeble wind rustled the trees, stirring the branches together. The room was cooling off. What heat there was had already begun to drain away, drifting out through the cracks in the walls, under the door, past the windows, out into the night. The night was full of fog. He had seen it as he made his way from the men’s dorm. Wet fog, masses of it everywhere, over everything. Fog outside, silent fog.
Barbara looked at her wristwatch. “Time for bed.”
“So soon?”
“Afraid so.” Barbara stood up.
Verne got to his feet. “I guess it’s time to go, then.”
Barbara, her cigarette between her lips, bent over the bed, throwing the covers back. She smoothed down the sheets with her hand. The last wrinkle disappeared. The bed was smooth and even.
“I’ll see you,” Verne murmured. He wandered over to the door.
“All right.” Barbara started to unfasten her long flowing jacket. But then she stopped.