Free Dusk and Other Stories by James Salter

she’s just a babysitter. He’s here on vacation. I hope he doesn’t break her heart,” Gloria said. “Actually, I’m glad he showed up. It’s better for Christopher. She’s less likely to return the erotic feelings he has for her.”
    “The what?”
    “Believe me, I’m not imagining it.”
    “Oh, come on, Gloria.”
    “There’s something going on. Maybe she doesn’t know it. He’s in her bed all the time.”
    “He’s only five.”
    “They can have erections at five,” Gloria said.
    “Oh, really.”
    “Darling, I’ve seen him with them.”
    “At five?”
    “You’d be surprised,” she said. “They’re born with them. You just don’t remember, that’s all.”
    She did not become lovesick, she did not brood. She was more silent in the weeks that followed but also more settled, not particularly sad. In the flat-heeled shoes which gave her a slightly dumpy appearance she went shopping as usual. The thought even crossed Gloria’s mind that she might be pregnant.
    “Is everything all right?” she asked.
    “Pardon?”
    “Darling, do you feel all right? You know what I mean.”
    There were times when the two of them came back from the beach and Truus patiently brushed the sand from Christopher’s feet that Gloria felt great sympathy for her and understood why she was quiet. How much of fate lay in one’s appearance! Truus’ face seemed empty, without expression, except when she was playing with Christopher and then it brightened. She was so like a child anyway, a bulky child, an unimaginative playmate who in the course of things would be forgotten. And the foolishness of her dreams! She wanted to become a fashion designer, she said one day. She was interested in designing clothes.
    What she actually felt after her boyfriend left, no one knew. She came in carrying the groceries, the screen door banged behind her.She answered the phone, took messages. In the evening she sat on the worn couch with Christopher watching television upstairs. Sometimes they both laughed. The shelves were piled with games, plastic toys, children’s books. Once in a while Christopher was told to bring one down so his mother could read him a story. It was very important that he like books, Gloria said.
    It was a pale blue envelope with Arabic printing in the corner. Truus opened it standing at the kitchen counter and began to read the letter. The handwriting was childish and small. Dear Truus , it said. Thank you for your letter. I was glad to receive it. You don’t have to put so many stamps on letters to Saudi Arabia though. One U.S. airmail is enough. I’m glad to hear you miss me . She looked up. Christopher was banging on something in the doorway.
    “This won’t work,” he said.
    He was dragging a toy car that had to be pumped with air to run.
    “Here, let me see,” she said. He seemed on the verge of tears. “This fits here, doesn’t it?” She attached the small plastic hose. “There, now it will work.”
    “No, it won’t,” he said.
    “No, it won’t,” she mimicked.
    He watched gloomily as she pumped. When the handle grew stiff she put the car on the floor, pointed it, and let it go. It leapt across the room and crashed into the opposite wall. He went over and nudged it with his foot.
    “Do you want to play with it?”
    “No.”
    “Then pick it up and put it away.”
    “He didn’t move.
    “Put … it … away …” she said, in a deep voice, coming toward him one step at a time. He watched from the corner of his eye. Another tottering step. “Or I eat you,” she growled.
    He ran for the stairs shrieking. She continued to chant, shuffling slowly toward the stairs. The dog was barking. Gloria came in the door, reaching down to pull off her shoes and kick them to one side. “Hi, any calls?” she asked.
    Truus abandoned her performance. “No. No one.”
    Gloria had been visiting her mother, which was always tiresome. She looked around. Something was going on, she realized. “Where’s