I Hear You're Rich by Diane Williams

Author:Diane Williams [Williams, Diane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Soho Press

FLING

This is snug enough and the warm day allows for sitting outside, and she holds a flower stalk, a featherbell, and has tried forever not to be an ass, tried.

What about him? He’s got a slip of paper in his hand while birds go by demonstrating all manner of flying styles—provoking, sweeping wings, or agitated.

“That goose is in pain too!” the old woman says. “It must hurt it to fly like that and it sounds as if it’s sick. It’s hoarse!”

The old man’s limbs don’t hurt that much. Hers hurt. Her left foot, both knees. It’s the heel of her left foot. Her left hand is at issue, naturally, under these circumstances, yes, and typically.

And it is not to her advantage that she often sleeps with her hands held up above her head, positioned as if for the Highland Fling.

The panicle on her lap—it’s finished—has flattened.

And the elderly man and woman will yield to a superior force too—but in a good way?—sometime soon.

For now, they budge a bit—and the woman thinks, I am going to go inside and set the oven at four hundred and fifty and start the carrots.

The sparrow near the bent toe of her shoe takes off toward a tree as she rises from her lawn chair, and she wonders aloud, “How does he know I can’t chase up there after him?”

And the old man?—he has had a wise idea too—which for him provides an intermission of sorts, and so . . . but as it happens he is napping when a small boy approaches and causes the woman to feel childish fear. “What did you say?” she asks the child.

“I want to show you something!” the little boy keeps saying. “I want to show you show you something!” and the boy is supposed to turn up in the nick of time and be much more intelligible, but this old woman just can’t make him out.

In the meantime, we can look around at where they all are, where centuries ago, executions and floggings took place.

But this is also where this mister and the missus once stood and danced together—walk, walk, walk, and step hold—and there are the starry, late-blooming flowers, and the shadblow and a birch, and a shrubbery garden border.

The little boy has unknown ambitions and has just departed and the old woman cranks her head sideways, skyward.

And she doesn’t wonder to what or to whom she says—Bring down a big owl or Let me see a hawk down here so I can scare the hell out of him too!

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