Free The Indiscretion by Judith Ivory Page A

crouching
to do the same, the two of them within a yard of each other on a slope of
ground that kept the physics right, their feet dry. After a moment, Lydia let out a
giddy laugh. Their sounds set her off. Her stream was different from his,
quieter for the shorter distance and less of it. When his activity slowed,
becoming fits and bursts, Lydia felt silly,
giddy again, to have this information. Above her, his silhouette's back and
shoulders lifted, a man fixing the front of his trousers.
    Then he turned around and hunkered down right there in front of
her, his face close enough to dimly recognize features. "You're giggling
again."
    "I am," she said. "I'm sorry. It just comes over
me, and I don't know what to do about it." She shook her head. Almost
finished herself with her little personal task, she realized there was nothing
with which to dry herself. A question came to her all of a sudden. "So
what do you do?" she asked.
    "Do?"
    "Yes. Isn't your – well – you know, um, wet when you're
finished? What do you do?"
    "My 'you know'?"
    She huffed. "Your penis." There. The word was out. More
giddiness. And, now that the subject was broached, she had a few questions.
Since they seemed to be on such intimate terms and since, as soon as they
rescued themselves and were on their way, she would never see him again.
    In the dark, his shadow let out a disbelieving snort. "We're
talking about my penis again?"
    "What do you mean, again?"
    There was a pause. "Nothing. What do I do?" he repeated.
More pondering silence, then he said, "I shake the wetness off. Anything
else you want to know?" He laughed. Nervously, she thought. Though, she'd
say, she had his attention.
    As a matter of fact, there was. "My friend Rose is very upset
about the whole honeymoon idea. Were you looking forward to yours?"
    Another, longer pause. "Yes, I was." Then he asked,
"What about yours? Did you like it?" Then, "Why haven't you
talked to your husband about these things?"
    Ah. A small box-up. The fictitious husband. And, more unsettling,
the way he asked, something in his tone, gave Lydia the oddest
feeling, as if he knew she was lying. She couldn't think for a minute, then
answered with the first explanation that came to mind. "He's deaf."
    Mr. Cody burst into laughter and stood up. "Oh, that's
good," he said.
    "Well, he is." She defended her ploy irritably. This
wasn't what she wanted to talk about.
    "I don't doubt it. Deaf. Blind. Dumb—"
    "There's no need to make fun—"
    Good-naturedly he told her, "No, no, never think I'm making
fun. I understand perfectly."
    Again she felt uneasy, as if he truly did understand perfectly,
which wasn't exactly the degree to which she wanted to be understood.
    He started to retreat.
    "Don't leave!" she said quickly. "Turn around, yes,
but please stay. Please wait."
    He did. He halted, his shape outlined largely again by the eerily
starless sky, near-black against black.
    She bounced a little, trying to "shake" off. It didn't
work exactly, but it was the best she could do. She stood, pulling her drawers
up with her, feeling derailed, stupid. How on God's green earth did a woman
find out anything about men without having to marry one? It seemed like an
unfair extreme just to satisfy curiosity.
    When she stood – perhaps it was the shift of the direction of the
meek light – she suddenly couldn't find Mr. Cody's outline. She was rational
one moment, then the next coping with a kind of terror that spiraled up from
nowhere so quickly that, when she called out his name, it sounded shrill.
"Mr. Cody? Sam? Sam? Where are you?"
    She jumped, giving a little shriek, when a warm hand took hold of
her arm from behind. Then relief. He turned her, pulling her to him. Her
forehead found his shoulder, and she let her head drop there. "Oh, my
God," she muttered into his chest, "I'm such a mess. I'm terrified of
the dark, and that's all there is here. I feel so helpless."
    "You aren't. You take real good care of yourself, Liddy ."
    She