Mary And The Giant

Mary Anne came pattering into the kitchen. "Can I ride along?" she begged. "I want to go along with you."

"Better wipe the paint off your face," Schilling said.

She blushed and began searching for a damp rag. "You don't mind, do you? It's so lonely here ... no furniture, and everything messy and confused. Nothing finished."

"Glad to have you," Schilling murmured, still a little upset by Nitz's behavior.

She cleaned the paint from her face, and he helped her into her jacket. Then she followed the two men out the door of the apartment; together they descended the stairs to the dark street. The drive took only a few moments.

"Looks like a fair crowd," Schilling said as the fat red doors of the Wren were pushed aside to admit a couple. It was the first time he had seen this place, the girl's old hangout. Suddenly he said to her: "Want to go in for a while?"

"Not like we are."

"Who cares?" Nitz said, stepping from the car onto the pavement.

"No," she decided, with a glance at Schilling. "Some other time; I want to get back. There's too much to do."

"It'll keep," Nitz said, halting by the car. "Take it easy, Mary."

"I'm taking it easy."

"You can't do everything in one day, baby doll."

"That's easy enough for you to say," Mary Anne said. She moved closer to Schilling, and he was grateful. "You don't have to sleep there."

Nitz said: "Neither do you."

"I-want to sleep there."

"Be careful where you sleep," Nitz said, and Schilling leaned forward because he could see what was coming. But he heard it now; Nitz was saying it already. "It's no good. I'm sorry, Mary. I wish to hell it was. He's just too old."

"Good night, Paul." She didn't look at him. "I've got to say."

"It is good," she said tightly.

"What's good about it? Well, a lot of things, maybe. But not enough. Go ahead and hate me."

"I don't hate you." Her voice was faint, aloof. She seemed to be watching something a long way off. Nitz reached out to tweak her nose, but she pulled away.

"We can talk about it some other time," Schilling said.

"We're all tired. This isn't the best time."

"Not the best time," Nitz agreed. "Nothing's best. Nothing's as good as you think, Mary. Or want."

Schilling started up the motor. "Leave her alone."

"Sorry," Nitz said. "I really am sorry. You suppose I enjoy this?"

"But you have your duty," Schilling said. He let out the clutch and the car moved forward. Reaching past Mary Anne, he slammed the door. She made no motion, no protest. Behind them, on the sidewalk, Nitz stood clutching the brown paper bag. Then he turned and vanished inside the bar.

After a time, Schilling said: "Some of the nicest people in the world strung Jesus up on the cross."

Mary Anne murmured: "What does that mean?"

"I mean, Nitz is a nice guy, but he has certain preconceptions and ideas. And he wants certain things like everybody else does. He isn't outside, looking down. He has deep feelings toward you, deep personal feelings."

"Good," she said. "I'm glad to hear it."

He was aware that talking was a mistake. She was in no shape to listen, to be rational, to decide. But he couldn't help himself. "I'm sorry," he began.

"About what?"

"That we had that run-in."

"Yes." She nodded. She gazed out the window.

As they drove along the dark street he said suddenly: "Are you really sure you want to do this?"

"Do what? Yes, I want to. I'm sure."

"You heard what he said. And you trust him. What about your roommate? Can she find somebody else? Will she be able to handle the rent on your old place?"

"Don't worry about her," Mary Anne said with a gesture of dismissal. "She's got plenty of loot."

"This all happened so fast. There wasn't time to plan." She shrugged. "So?"

"You should have more time, Mary." Nitz had forced him to say it. "You should be absolutely certain what you're getting into. He has a point. I don't want you to be-well, involved in something.

"Don't be silly. I love the apartment. I intend to get prints and mats to fill it up. You can drive me around and help me pick everything out. And clothes ..." Her eyes shone as ideas and schemes passed through her mind. "I want to get clothes I can wear, so when we go to another-"

"Maybe that was a mistake, too," he said. "Maybe I shouldn't have taken you up there." Although it was a little late to think of that.

"Oh-" She shoved against him. "You're talking like a moron."

"Thanks," he said.

Mary Anne leaned around, cutting off his view of the street ahead. "Are you mad at me?"

"No," he said, "but get back so I can see."

"See what?" She waved her hands in front of his face.

"Phooey-run over somebody. Wreck us-see if I care." In a burst of taunting nihilism she grabbed the steering wheel and spun it back and forth. The heavy car wandered from side to side, until Schilling pried her hand loose.

Slowing the car, he demanded: "Do you want to walk?"

"Don't threaten me."

Goaded by fatigue, he said: "Somebody ought to paddle you.

With a leather strap."

"You sound like my parents."

"They're right."