Setting Free the Bears - Page 28

'I've not seen that Gallon in a while,' I said.

'She's probably in our bathtub, Graff. Waiting for you.'

And the street lamps came on in the town, although the dark was another rusty evening-hour away. The lamplight flecked the water shot over the falls, filtered through it just at the arc where it bent to fall; the river held a million tiny shapes of dress-up colors reflected from the town.

Siggy was saying, 'Unless, of course, she's heard from her auntie that you've no interest in girls.'

'And thanks must go to you for that,' I said. 'I'll have to straighten it out.'

'Ah, Graff. You'll find it's quite a mess, straightening out that sort of thing.'

'She won't believe it anyway,' I said.

And some of the shops blinked their lights across the river; the towers bobbed downstream and toppled over the falls.

'Not hungry?' asked Auntie Tratt.

'I got very full, just sitting here,' I said.

'Ah, Frau Tratt,' said Siggy. 'When you're in love, the other appetites suffer.'

'Well, well,' said Auntie Tratt, and she took our menu away.

'I don't think you need to carry this much farther, Sig.'

'But, Graff! It's sure to put the old madam off your scent.'

'And put us out of her Gasthof too.'

'We can't afford it anyway,' he said. 'And your baby Gallen can't afford it either.'

The Foot of Your Bed

MY GALLEN WAS not in the bathtub, so Siggy thought he'd have a bath.

'If you wouldn't mind,' he said.

'I'd be happy for you,' I told him. I sat on the window ledge while he splashed about and hummed in the tub; he was spanking the water with the flat of his hand, making sharp, beaverlike slaps.

Outside, the courtyard was full of soft yellows and greens; the evenings were taking longer and longer to come on. The falls brought a mist round the castle; I felt the wet of the air on my face.

'Come down here, Graff,' said Gallen.

'Where are you?' I asked into the garden.

'On your motorcycle,' Gallen said, but I could see the motorcycle looking gruff and shaggy l

ike an old bull under the forsythia - lurking surly in the fairytale light of evening - and my Gallen was nowhere around it.

'No you're not,' I said. 'I can see.'

'All right, I'm under your window. I can see your chin.'

'Step out, then,' I said.

'I'm naked all over,' said Gallen. 'I haven't a thing on.'

'You have so,' I said.

Tags: John Irving Fiction
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