Terri said the man she lived with before she lived with Mel loved her so much he tried to kill her. Then Terri said, "He beat me up one night. He dragged me around the living room by my ankles. He kept saying, "I love you, I love you, you bitch." He went on dragging me around the living room. My head kept knocking on things." Terri looked around the table. "What do you do with love like that?"
"My God, don't be silly. That's not love, and you know it," Mel said. "I don't' know what you'd call it, but I sure know you wouldn't call it love."
"Say what you want to, but I know it was," Terri said. "It may sound crazy to you, but it's true just the same. People are different, Mel. Sure, sometimes he may have acted crazy. Okay. But he loved me. In his own way maybe, but he loved me. There was love there, Mel. Don't say there wasn't."
Raymond Carver, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
Skyler draped an old tarp over Sonia's body and hefted it into a wheelbarrow that had a squeaky wheel. Then he carted her away to RhyDin Memorial Cemetery under the light of the moon.
The boy reached the cemetery gates and found them locked. He clenched his pale hands around the black bars and rattled them violently. Raspy squeals of rusty metal filled the night. Finally the undertaker emerged from the gatehouse. He was a tall, gaunt man dressed in black. The undertaker had little personality and barely spoke more than one or two words at a time, but Skyler convinced the man to admit him. The undertaker even assisted with the burial.
The graveyard was foggy. It was a knee-high fog, puffy and clingy, and it lit their path by reflecting the moonlight. Skyler was emaciated and weak. Bent at the back, he pushed the cart laboriously. The undertaker loped along behind him, bored and emotionless. All was quiet but for the wheelbarrow's squeaky wheel. They found a lonely plot on the northern border, near some trees. Sonia would have liked to be laid to rest near trees.
It was a chilly night and the ground was hard, but the two of them managed to dig a hole six feet deep. Skyler slid his slender arms under the spider and lifted her from the wheelbarrow, cradling her like a groom would cradle a bride. She was very light. The boy stepped down into the hole, Sonia's arms and legs dangling limply from the bottom of the tarp.
He reemerged shortly thereafter, clawing his fingers into the dirt of the edge of the grave to haul himself up. The undertaker grabbed him by the arm and assisted. Then they both stood gazing expressionlessly down into the black hole as their breath misted in front of their faces.
Skyler had no words. Nor did the undertaker.
The boy grabbed his shovel and set about filling the hole. The tall man followed suit. The shovelfuls of dirt made a rhythmic clop, clop, clop sound as they hit the tarp below. Eventually the grave became a mound of earth, and their work was done.
The undertaker silently turned and lumbered away, leaving Skyler alone at the grave. The boy stared at the ground, his long dirty black hair dangling down his chest, his slender shoulders rising and falling with steady breaths. His voice issued forth in a sickly, defeated tone. "You may have acted crazy. Okay. But you loved me. In your own way maybe, but you loved me. There was love there, Sonia. I won't say there wasn't."
Skyler lifted his countenance to the sky. The light of the moon touched his withered face and made his pale skin glow like a silvery skull. "But what do you do with a love like that?" he whispered. As he studied the darkened heavens, his eyes burned with guilt and anger.
A few minutes later he began to limp back the way he had come, using his shovel as a crutch. He left the grave unmarked.
"My God, don't be silly. That's not love, and you know it," Mel said. "I don't' know what you'd call it, but I sure know you wouldn't call it love."
"Say what you want to, but I know it was," Terri said. "It may sound crazy to you, but it's true just the same. People are different, Mel. Sure, sometimes he may have acted crazy. Okay. But he loved me. In his own way maybe, but he loved me. There was love there, Mel. Don't say there wasn't."
Raymond Carver, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
Skyler draped an old tarp over Sonia's body and hefted it into a wheelbarrow that had a squeaky wheel. Then he carted her away to RhyDin Memorial Cemetery under the light of the moon.
The boy reached the cemetery gates and found them locked. He clenched his pale hands around the black bars and rattled them violently. Raspy squeals of rusty metal filled the night. Finally the undertaker emerged from the gatehouse. He was a tall, gaunt man dressed in black. The undertaker had little personality and barely spoke more than one or two words at a time, but Skyler convinced the man to admit him. The undertaker even assisted with the burial.
The graveyard was foggy. It was a knee-high fog, puffy and clingy, and it lit their path by reflecting the moonlight. Skyler was emaciated and weak. Bent at the back, he pushed the cart laboriously. The undertaker loped along behind him, bored and emotionless. All was quiet but for the wheelbarrow's squeaky wheel. They found a lonely plot on the northern border, near some trees. Sonia would have liked to be laid to rest near trees.
It was a chilly night and the ground was hard, but the two of them managed to dig a hole six feet deep. Skyler slid his slender arms under the spider and lifted her from the wheelbarrow, cradling her like a groom would cradle a bride. She was very light. The boy stepped down into the hole, Sonia's arms and legs dangling limply from the bottom of the tarp.
He reemerged shortly thereafter, clawing his fingers into the dirt of the edge of the grave to haul himself up. The undertaker grabbed him by the arm and assisted. Then they both stood gazing expressionlessly down into the black hole as their breath misted in front of their faces.
Skyler had no words. Nor did the undertaker.
The boy grabbed his shovel and set about filling the hole. The tall man followed suit. The shovelfuls of dirt made a rhythmic clop, clop, clop sound as they hit the tarp below. Eventually the grave became a mound of earth, and their work was done.
The undertaker silently turned and lumbered away, leaving Skyler alone at the grave. The boy stared at the ground, his long dirty black hair dangling down his chest, his slender shoulders rising and falling with steady breaths. His voice issued forth in a sickly, defeated tone. "You may have acted crazy. Okay. But you loved me. In your own way maybe, but you loved me. There was love there, Sonia. I won't say there wasn't."
Skyler lifted his countenance to the sky. The light of the moon touched his withered face and made his pale skin glow like a silvery skull. "But what do you do with a love like that?" he whispered. As he studied the darkened heavens, his eyes burned with guilt and anger.
A few minutes later he began to limp back the way he had come, using his shovel as a crutch. He left the grave unmarked.