“Jesus,” she said. “Don’t press on my bladder.”

In spite of everything, she crossed one of her legs over mine and started twisting my T-shirt in a funny kind of way.

“I would like to say that I am happy to be here with you, and that if possible I would like us to stay together.”

She said this in the most normal voice imaginable, as if she were commenting on the color of her shoes, or the paint chipping off the ceiling. I took it lightly.

“Well, yeah, I think it might be possible to work something out like that. Let’s see: I’m not married, no kids. My life isn’t too complicated-l have a house and a job that’s not too tiring. I’d say that in the end I’m a pretty good deal.”

She flattened herself against me a little more and in no time we were drenched from head to foot. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant, even in the heat. She bit my ear and growled.

“I have faith,” she said. “We’re still young, you and me. We’ll make out okay.”

I didn’t understand what she meant. We kissed for a long time. Try to understand everything that goes on in a girl’s head and you’ll never see the end of it. I didn’t want any explanation. All I wanted was to keep kissing her in the dark-stroking her behind as long as her bladder held out.

2

For several days we floated through a sort of Technicolor dream. We were never more than an inch away from each other. Life seemed amazingly simple. I had a few jobs-a kitchen sink, a haywire toilet tank, a stove with multisized burners-but nothing very serious. Betty gave me a hand, picking up the dead branches and litter and emptying the garbage cans in the alleys.