The Woman Who Married a Cloud: The Collected Short Stories Read Free Page A

“Oo, do you think he’s beautiful? Really? I think he’s kind of funny-looking, to tell the truth. I love him as a friend, but—” she looked guiltily at the door—“I’d never want to go out with him or anything.”
    But I did, so we did. After the first few dates I would have gone and hunted rats with him in the South Bronx if that’s what he liked. I was, as expected, completely gone for him. The line of a man’s neck can change your life. The way he digs in his pockets for change can make the heart squawk and hands grow cold. How he touches your elbow or the button that is not closed on the cuff of his shirt are demons he’s loosed without ever knowing it. They own us immediately. He was a thoroughly compelling man. I wanted to rise to the occasion of his presence in my life and become something more than I’d previously thought myself capable of.
    I think he began to love me too, but he didn’t say things like that. Only that he was happy, or that he wanted to share things he’d held in reserve all his life.
    Because he knew sooner or later he’d have to go away ( where he never said, and I stopped asking), he seemed to have thrown all caution to the wind. But before him, I had never thrown anything away, caution included. I’d been a careful reader of timetables, made the bed tight and straight first thing every morning, and hated dishes in the sink. My life at forty was comfortably narrow and ordered. Going haywire or off the deep end wasn’t in my repertoire, and normally people who did made me squint.
    I realized I was in love and haywire the day I taught him to play racquetball. After we’d batted it around an hour, we were sitting in the gallery drinking Coke. He flicked sweat from his forehead with two fingers. A hot, intimate drop fell on my wrist. I put my hand over it quickly and rubbed it into my skin. He didn’t see. I knew then I’d have to learn to put whatever expectations I had aside and just live purely in his jet-stream, no matter where it took me. That day I realized I’d sacrifice anything for him and for a few hours I went around feeling like some kind of holy person, a zealot, love made flesh.
    “Why does Michael let you stay there?”
    He took a cigarette from my pack. He began smoking a week before and loved it. Almost as much as he liked to drink, he said. The perfect Irishman.
    “Don’t forget he was the one who left Lenna, not vice-versa. When he came back he was pretty much on his knees to her. He had to be. There wasn’t a lot he could say about me being there. Especially after he found out who I was. Do you have any plum stones around?”
    “Question two—why in God’s name do you eat those things?”
    “That’s easy: because plums are Lenna’s favourite fruit. When she was a little girl, she’d have tea parties for just us two. Scott Joplin music, imaginary tea and real plums. She’d eat the fruit then put the stone on my plate to eat. Makes perfect sense.”
    I ran my fingers through his red hair, loving the way my fingers got caught in all the thick curls. “That’s disgusting. It’s like slavery! Why am I getting to the point where I don’t like my best friend so much any more?”
    “If you like me, you should like her, Juliet—she made me.”
    I kissed his fingers. “ That part I like. Would you ever consider moving in with me?”
    He kissed my hand. “I would love to consider that, but I have to tell you I don’t think I’ll be around very much longer. But if you’d like, I’ll stay with you until I, uh, have to go.”
    I sat up. “What are you talking about?”
    He put his hand close to my face. “Look hard and you’ll see.”
    It took a moment but then there it was; from certain angles I could see right through the hand. It had become vaguely transparent.
    “Lenna’s happy again. It’s the old story—when she’s down she needs me and calls.” He shrugged. “When she’s happy again, I’m not needed, so she sends me away. Not