“Thinking doesn’t count. What a person thinks doesn’t make any difference.”
“On the contrary, it makes a great deal of difference. As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he. That’s in the Bible.”
“Really? Well, even if it is, it’s a terrible thing to believe. If we really believed something like that, where would we all be?”
“I don’t know. Just where we are whether we believe it or not, I guess.”
“Wouldn’t you like to see me?”
“Yes, I would like very much to see you.”
“Will you come, then?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“If I came and saw you, I would have to start all over again getting used to not seeing you, and that is something I want to avoid.”
“Perhaps I’ll die after all, even if you don’t think so.”
“You won’t die. You’ll have another martini instead.”
“If I were to die, would you be sorry?”
“Goodbye, Jolly.”
“Really? Really goodbye?”
“Really.”
“All right. Goodbye, then.”
Her voice sounded very small and sad. I hung up and lay back across the bed and wanted to cry. It was hot in the room. It was a very hot July. Third week in July. I tried thinking about goliards in general and about the goliard I was trying to write a novel about in particular, but goliards seemed very dull, whether in general or in particular, even with a sexy duchess thrown in, and after a while I sat up and reached for the phone and called Jolly back.
“Are you dying or having a martini?” I said.
“Right now I’m having a martini,” she said, “but later I may die.”
“Dying is sticky business. You are wise to settle for a martini, and I’ve decided that I would like to have one too.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not at all sure that I still want you.”
“Well, do you or don’t you?”
“I do.”
“In that case, I’ll be right over.”
I hung up again and got off the bed and went downstairs to my Chevvie. The Chevvie was old and tired, and sometimes it ran, and sometimes it didn’t. This time it did, and I drove to Jolly’s in it.
Read more of The Brass Bed
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Copyright © 1967 by Fletcher Flora
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-3987-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3987-9
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