Mary And The Giant

"Drop dead," she said, unruffled, but subdued. "Would you hurt me? You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"No," he said, driving carefully.

"Maybe you would ... it's possible. All kinds of things are possible. Nothing and everything." She slid down on the seat and meditated. "Do you feel like stopping and having something to eat?"

"Not really."

Neither do I. I don't know what I want-what do I want?"

"Nobody can tell you that."

"Do you believe in anything?"

"Of course," he said.

"Why?"

They had reached her new apartment. Upstairs on the second floor, lights blazed out into the darkness. The newly painted ceilings could be seen, glittering and sparkling, still moist.

Looking up, Mary Anne shivered. "It's so barren. No curtains, no anything."

"I'll help you get your things unpacked," he said. "Whatever you need for tonight."

"That means we're not going to do any more painting."

"Go to bed and get some sleep. You'll feel better tomorrow."

"I can't stay here," she said, with a mixture of loathing and fear. "Not half-finished, this way."

"But your things-"

"No," she said. "It's absolutely out. Please, Joseph; honest to God, I can't stand it like this. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

"Certainly."

"You don't."

"I do," he said, "but it's awkward. Your stuff is up there-clothes, everything. Where else can you stay? You can't go back to your old place."

"No," she agreed.

"Do you want to go to a hotel?"

"No, not a hotel." She pondered. "Jesus, what a mess. We shouldn't have started painting. We should have just moved the stuff." Wearily she hunched over and covered her face with the palms of her hands. "It's my own fault."

"Do you want to stay at my place?" he asked. It was something he would not normally have suggested; the idea was created by fatigue and the need of rest, and this blank wall at which they had arrived. He could not cope with it; he was too tired. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

"Could I? Would it bring on a lot of trouble?"

"Not that I know of." He started up the car. "You're sure it's okay?"

"I'll take you over there and then come back here for your things."

"You're sweet," she said dully, leaning against him.

He drove her to his own apartment, parked the car, and led the girl inside.

Sighing, Mary Anne dropped into a deep chair and sat staring at the rug. "It's peaceful here."

"I'm sorry we didn't' finish your place."

"That's okay. We'll finish it tomorrow night." She had nothing to say as Schilling removed his coat and then came over to receive her red jacket.

"What would cheer you up?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Something to eat?"

Irritably, she shook her head. "No, nothing to eat. Christ, I'm just tired."

"Then it's time for bed."

"You're going back there now?"

"It won't take long. What are the essential items?" He searched for a pencil and paper, then gave up. "I can remember, if you tell me."

"Pajamas," she murmured. "Toothbrush, soap ... oh, the hell with it. I'll go over with you." Rising to her feet, she started toward the door. Schilling stopped her; she stood leaning against him, saying nothing, doing nothing, simply resting there.

"Come along," he said. His arm around her, he led her into the bedroom and showed her his big double bed. "Climb in and go to sleep. I'll be back in half an hour. What I forget I can pick up for you tomorrow morning, before work."

"Yes," she agreed. "That's so." Mechanically, she began to unfasten her belt. Schilling paused at the door, concerned. She was stepping out of her shoes; without a word she grasped hold of her paint-streaked T-shirt and tugged it over her head. At that point despair overwhelmed her; she stood mutely in the center of the bedroom in her bra and jeans, making no progress in any direction.

"Mary Anne," he began.

"Oh, what?" she demanded. "Leave me alone, will you?"

Tossing her T-shirt on the bed, she unbuttoned her jeans and dragged them off. Then, paying no attention to the man at the door, she finished undressing, padded naked to the bed, and climbed in.

"Turn out the light, please," she said.

He did so. There was no comment from the darkness. He lingered, not wanting to leave. "I'll lock you in," he said finally.

From the darkness stirring sounds were audible. She turned over, adjusted the covers, tried to make herself comfortable. "Whatever you want," her voice came.

Schilling crossed the darkened room to the bed. "Can I sit?" he asked.

"Go ahead."

He did so, on the very edge of the bed. "I feel guilty. About not finishing." And more, too. Much more.

"It's my own fault," she murmured, staring up at the ceiling. "We'll collect some help, maybe not Nitz. And finish up, perhaps around the middle of the week." When she didn't respond, he went on: "You can stay here until then. How's that?"

Presently she nodded. "Fine."

He drew a little away. In the bed beside him, Mary Anne seemed already to have drifted into sleep. He watched, but he couldn't be sure.

"I'm not asleep," she stated.

"Go ahead."

"I will. This is a nice bed. It's wide."

"Very wide."