Let's Go Play at the Adams'

Swinging out the kitchen door and jogging down the steps, he paused a moment at the bottom

loosely swinging his towel in one band. It was another burning afternoon, summer-humid and

hazy, the kind of day that usually produced thunderstorms in the evening but had not done so

now for over a month. At his feet, brown, hard-shelled insects jumped and buzzed through the

weeds, busy at trying to survive their baked existence. There wasn't a breeze nor the hope of

one. Everything seemed hanging and waiting, but he hardly noticed it.

Tomorrow he might leave Barbara gagged or he might not. She was a dumb person to talk to

anyhow: he preferred her muffled sounds and eye movements to her words by far. In any event

tomorrow he would bargain far more shrewdly. If she wished more freedom, she would really

have to beg for it: if she wished to be ungagged, she would also have to be kissed. And other

76

things. As the interesting details of these adventures to come eased through his mind, John

Randall understood that he was making progress. Progress toward what, however?

John's sex education had been sufficiently liberal and vivid that he knew-in theory at least-

exactly what the act of sexual intercourse involved. When in imagination, he approached

the matter flat-footed, straight out--call it fucking (a word that actually, somewhat

embarrassed him)-his mind imposed a near mythic taboo. He was not exactly afraid, but

the act was something that lay ahead in a not-now time. Moreover he expected that once it

had been done the first time, some cataclysmic change would come over the world and

that nothing would ever be the same again.

To ease the slight pall this thought brought over the otherwise successful afternoon, he

broke into a trot across the field, leaped down the sandy bank, crossed the river beach in

two strides and threw himself out across the water in a shallow surface dive. The brown,

tepid water closed over him and burst back again, cooling but not entirely erasing his mild

foreboding.

Afterward, p1easant1y winded from a short but furious swim, he waded up the beach and

stood toweling off near Paul and Bobby. "Aren't you going in?"

"We've been." "Where's Dianne?" ·

"She's putting the laundry in the dryer. We have to go pretty soon .... "

"Yeah. We'll have to move her again."

"That's easy." Bobby stretched out on his back and looked up at the sky. "She can't get

away anymore, anyhow."

"Yeah." Paul twitched unconsciously. John sat down and was quiet.

After a while, Bobby sighed. "This is boring." "What?"

"This. Her. AH of it," he sat up impatiently.

"I think it's neat." Paul twitched again. "How 77

many kids you know have ever done something like it?"

"What's the point, though? Move her here, move her there, feed her, and do the same

thing over again the next day."

"I think it's fun."

"What's fun? You don't have to sit up half the night every night."

"Well, OK. Not that part maybe." Paul leaned over and began to draw idly in the sand with

his finger. "But what'd be tough would be if we could do all the things you do to real

prisoners."

"Like what?" John said.

"Aw-w-w, like we used to pretend. You know.

Only really. Take off all her clothes ... and whip her and stuff like that." He let his voice trail

off nervously.

"We can't do that," Bobby said. "I don't know why not. Really."

"Yes, you do. We're in enough trouble as it is." "What do you want to do with her? Turn her

loose? Then you'd really find out what trouble was."

"Anyhow, how would you do it?" John said care-

fully.

-

"Easy."

"How?"

"Scissors." For all its pinched and twisted features, Paul's small face took on a look of

angelic radiance. He was imagining things.

"What?" Bobby said.

"Scissors. Dianne has it all figured out." Paul began one of his rapid-paced, squirming

explanations. The angelic expression faded to one of intensity. "When we come in the

morning, she's all spread out and tied up, right? And before we untie her, Dianne just cuts

the things over her shoulder and along the side and ... and ... opens her up." His pupils

seemed to grow tiny and bright.

"Aw, she wears underpants, too. I've seen 'em." "It's the same thing. Two sides."

"Yeah. Maybe." John admired.

78

"Then what? What'd Dianne say?" I

"Nothing. But we could think of the rest."

Bobby, looking at John, became suddenly unhappy. He assumed his father's thoughtful

frown again, more so because John seemed to be entertaining the idea. John seemed silly

and far off.

"But after that," Paul was encouraged by the silence, "we could do all other kinds of cool

stuff to her . . . " He stopped. They had all played together for several years. They knew

what he meant.

"No, you couldn't," Bobby said. "It'd make everything twice as bad as it already is."

"Why not?" All the world of his odd imagination seemed open to Paul at the minute. He saw

things the other two could not.

"Shut up," Bobby said. "Dianne said that-" "Shut up!"

"John?" Paul appealed for help.