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would inhale the musty, dank air of the old house overlooking the bay and would reach out in the middle of the night and realize that the bed was still empty, it was equally inevitable that he would start the new day with the same dreary scenario that reminded him where he had been cast in time and space. |
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For openers, there was Flora to think about. The woman would be scurrying around the kitchen, doing for him what so many women do for so many men, mindlessly yielding to some irrepressible propensity for nesting. The smell of the maple oatmeal permeated the entire room and wafted up and out of the kitchen on the same wings that carried her voice. She never called him until the oatmeal was donealways coffee, oatmeal and crumb cake. Just one more reason, he suspected, why Flora had never married; she had no imagination. He wondered if she made love the same way. Better yet, he should ask, had she ever made love at all? Maybe today would be the day he would ask her. |
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Harry clawed his way out to the edge of the big bed, dangled his legs momentarily over the edge and stood up. His head was a little fuzzy and his vision a little blurred from too much bourbon. Another goddamn rotation! Everybody was going back to the States, rotating back to something better. California. Florida. Hell, at this point, even a duty station in |
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