'I took care of an aunt,' she said, 'in St Leonhard. But I've another aunt in Waidhofen, and she owns a Gasthof. She's giving me wages and a room of my own.'
'Did the other aunt die?' said Siggy.
'We were just leaving for Waidhofen,' I said.
'We were just having a nap, Graff,' said Siggy.
But the girl came back a little. She came kneeing her laundry bag in front of her, keeping her face down - her eyes under lashes and under the shadow of her hair. Her face seemed to catch a blush-color from her braid. She looked at the motorcycle.
'There's no room for me on that,' she said. 'Where would I be?'
'Between us,' I told her.
'Who drives?' she asked.
'I do,' said Siggy. 'And Graff would lovingly hold you on.'
'You could wear my helmet,' I told her.
'Could I?' she said. 'You wouldn't mind?'
'You'd have to leave your braid out,' said Siggy. 'Wouldn't she, Graff?'
But I scurried him back to pick up the fishing stuff; we cooled off the pan in the stream. The girl was tying the laundry bag drawstrings round her waist, letting the bag hang down in front of her.
'Can I just sit this on my lap?' she asked.
'Oh yes, yes,' I said. And Siggy gouged the panhandle into my belly.
'She's just a skinny baby one, Graff. She can't possibly give you much of a ride.'
'Oh, turn it off, Sig,' I whispered. 'Just turn it off a bit.'
'Fate waits,' he mumbled. 'Great Bear, Big Dipper, how you can wait!'
What All of Us Were Waiting For
'NEVER DONE THIS before,' she said.
And when she was on behind Siggy, I squeezed up behind her - sliding our rucksack back on the fender so I could hang a bit of my rear over the seat.
'I don't need to be held,' she said. 'I'm in here tight enough.'
Then Siggy bucked the ditch up out of the orchard; he raised the front wheel off the ground and brought it down again so gently that it seemed to kiss the road. The rear wheel went mushing out of the soft.
'Hold,' said the girl; she was tossed back against me a moment and her braid hung to my lap. I caught her between my knees and pinched her to the seat. 'Better,' she said. 'That's enough.' And we came down the pitch into the switchbacks; the road was so worn and such a leathery color, it looked like a razor strop. The trees seemed bent by the sky, but we were the crooked ones - leaned-over through the switchbacks, and barely out of one before we were leaning into another.
'Hold,' the girl said. 'More.' But I had no place to put my feet; the girl hooked her sandal heels over my foot pedals, and I held my feet up so they wouldn't be burned on the exhaust pipes. I put my hands on her hips and touched my thumbs together at her spine. 'That's better,' she said. 'That's enough.'
The wind took the tassel end of her braid and lashed it upward at my chin, but the weight of her hair hung against my chest in a wine-colored goblet-shape - coming down loose and full from the helmet to her first braid knot. I leaned a bit forward and pressed her braid against my chest; and she pressed forward to Siggy.
Oh, girl, I thought, what lovely taut tendons hold your ankle to your calf!
It was her laundry bag keeping her skirt in her lap, and
her elbows pinched her skirt to her thighs; she had her hands tucked in the famous vent-pocket of Siggy's duckjacket, as if she were using it as a muff against the wind.
Her hair was sweeter than the mow-smells, richer than the honeydrip hung from the bee boxes' little screen doors.