Gwen, in Green

“Soft living and good food,” Gwen said. George was nude, standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom and examining his waistline with a critical eye. He had saddle­bags.

“You’re too good to me,” he said.

“We could start playing tennis,” she suggested.

“Push-­ups is the thing,” he grinned. “With a living mat underneath me.”

“My husband the sex fiend,” she said.

“Rape, rape,” he said, advancing on her. She squealed in mock fear and struggled, but only briefly.

“Turn off the light,” she said.

“No.”

She closed her eyes. It was still there, deep inside her, that old shame. But then it was buried underneath their matched passions. He laughed, however, when she threw on a robe before walking to the bathroom.

“My wife the prude,” he said.

But it was better. She liked it that way. Theirs was a good, sensuous relationship. She felt so very, very close to him during the sex act, after her initial reluctance was gone. No covers these days; and after the first few moments of unease, she could bear the light. George liked to see.

She was improving with age. At twenty-­seven, her thighs had gained enough muscle and weight almost to close the gap between them. Her hips had spread into a womanly beauty. Her skin was smooth, soft, and taut. Her face had thinned and her features seemed to be coming together. Her nose, once seemingly too long, was now merely a nose of great character, with delicate lines. Her mouth was her good point, along with her arched eyebrows and her brown eyes. She’d taken to wearing her hair in a sophisticated pull-­back.

“For an old broad, you’re pretty sharp,” George would say. Then, when he gained weight during that long, cozy, happy winter, he said, “I’m going to start exercising. I’m not going to go to pot when you’re getting better looking.”

He came home with a big-­wheeled lawn mower. Gwen smote her forehead and said, “My husband the nut. A lawnmower and no grass.”

“This is no lawnmower,” he said, “but a miniature brush hog.”

So George mowed his trees. In the cleared area around the house, squirrels worked endlessly, teasing the dogs and the cat, digging holes, planting acorns, and forgetting them. The natural fall of acorns helped, so that with early spring the small, green oak shoots were prolific. In addition, a fern seemed to have the ability to grow overnight. While Sam and Mandy ran and barked excitedly at the spitting, buzzing lawnmower, Gwen sat on the deck and watched George mow trees. The lawnmower was a powerful one. George, once he had mowed the cleared areas, could move into the nearby brush and take down young trees up to three feet tall and almost half an inch thick. How­ever, the mower complained at this and stray pieces of dead wood made clanking noises and nicked the blades. George attacked the brush in another fashion, with a new ax, cutting the brush below ground level so as not to have stubs sticking up. Gwen helped with the operation, stack­ing cut brush to burn. They had a cold beer over the fire at the end of the afternoon. The new brush, heavy with sap, burned with a crackling hiss. The fire was fed by deadwood piled at the bottom. A thorny vine, which grew with profusion, dangling and climbing into the tallest trees, burned with cracks and snaps almost as loud as small firecrackers.

In pulling down the vines, George stuck thorns into his hands. “Burn, you mothers,” he said, with mock anger. “Serves you right. I hope it does hurt.” He grinned at Gwen. “See that big thorny bastard over there? I’m going to cut it and burn it. Faint with fear, you bastard.”

He was teasing her. She smiled.

“What I thought was, we’d gradually clear out all of the underbrush and some of the smaller trees between here and the marsh,” George said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s a shame to waste the view.”

That long Saturday was filled with the snarl of the chain saw, the popping of the lawn mower, and the sharp, solid sound of the ax biting into wood. The fire was kept going, burning until darkness forced them to halt the great pioneering clearing operation. George, exhausted, came out of the shower after Gwen, mixed a tall one, and fell into a soft old chair with new gold velvet upholstery. Gwen felt good. The exercise had stimulated her. She slept well, at first, when they went to bed.