When We Argued All Night
“He had thought about making love to Myra, but brooding on the porch after corn flakes for lunch, he imagined himself hitting her, though not in the uncontrolled, frightening way the policemen in his memory of the Union Square riot still beat women, all but smashing their faces to pulp. In his fantasy, Harold solemnly administered punishment to Myra in a decadent ritual in which she accepted her shame for borrowing a book without permission, and he pronounced sentence, then stepped toward her to... carry it out, wielding a shadowy weapon—perhaps a thin cane—which he applied, not hard but firmly, to her shoulder as she bent her head, to her outstretched hands with their polished fingernails, and finally to her buttocks in its snug skirt, as she turned and bent humbly, her hands on her knees. What he imagined embarrassed and aroused him but made him less angry, and he began to notice the smell of the pine trees. Birds cried and a sound made him think a car was coming again, but it was the wind in the trees.MoreLess
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