It was late when he finally arrived, bounding up the three flights to her door,
just come from a Yankee game and tasting, when he’d kissed her, of beer and peanuts. She’d
left her window open and a chill wind billowed the curtains out from behind. In bed, she backed up against
him, pulling his arms tight about her so that his body formed her exoskeleton. “Tell me something
I don’t already know,” she whispered.
“The
higher a cat falls, the better its chance for survival.”
“Another,”
she nudged him with her hips.
“A mouse can fall indefinitely
and not be injured. Their bodies are so light the shock passes straight through them.”
He tugged gently at her hair with his teeth.
She
laughed. “More. I want more.”
“A crab’s shell is actually its skin little girl. It has to crack it to keep growing.”
“You’re
a crab. You move sideways,” she teased.
“Then
I should know.” Hot breath on the back of her neck, his fingers stroking her breasts and stomach.
After a moment she said. “Anything is possible indefinitely.”
He said, “Schmaltz is really chicken fat.”
“That’s
funny. Do you have anymore?”
“In
Tibet,” he said slowly. “They bury people in the sky.”
“What?”
Her ear was pressed against his throat
and she felt the vibration of his voice, like a purr. “They have very little topsoil.
The ground is hard, no timber, not much water, so they have sky funerals. There’s a ritual
where a priest cuts the bodies up into small pieces, and shoots them into the air, up to waiting vultures.”
“Is that true?”
“Always, I tell the truth.”
“Ha,” she laughed. “That’s good. I have one.
I knew a nun once who had jars of insects hidden underneath her habit and she liked to lift up her skirts to reveal
them to us.”
“Not fair,” he said.
“I told you that one.”
“Yes,”
she said. “You told me that one.”
Then
he said into the back of her head. “What will you do when you see me with Donna?”
A great buzzing filled her ears as his words poured into her head like a swarm of bees. She
gripped like a cat for the ledge, but it was too late, all the little and big pieces of her were shattering, not just her
heart, but her toes, fingertips, eyes and ears, all of her flying about the room, moving, shot loose. No
matter what she said or did, she knew she could not catch them before they hit the ground.
After he left, she stood by the window,
trying to get back the moment when he’d bounded up the stairs, his hair glistening like dew. Climbing
onto her bed, he’d told her that coming down into the white bleachers and seeing the green of the diamond, he’d
felt like he was entering a cathedral. Breathing him in, she saw it too, sparkling and pure, the ring of lights illuminating
the field. Then they’d knelt facing each other, an expanse of white sheet separating them, their
hands reaching forward between one another thighs, stroking. And he’d leaned into her and kissed
her for a long time.
Now she knew,
that was prayer.
