Pinto
chest. And his smile stretched from Pasta/Rice on one side of the aisle all the way to Canned vegetables on the other. For a moment Edna flinched, withdrew deeper into her scarf. She closed her eyes, saw propriety wag a caustic finger at her. But Satchmo reeled out notes that skittered up her calves. Head bent, she allowed Freddy to help her to her feet, where they stood, hearts thumping, breaths catching. Edna found eighteen again. She clung to Freddy with sticky palms, while propriety tugged hard, prying up fingers and holding a mirror to her face. Edna turned away, digging deeper into Freddy's shoulders until half-moons crowned her fingernails. Freddy. ]ust call me Freddy. His hair clung to his head with shiny resolve and his eyes saw in her a yearning for pleasure-pure, egotistical, sensual. "What is your name?" She grinned, flushing with the warmth of his palms against her waist, blushing inside her scarf. What is your name? The question passed from below his modest mustache and edged itself between her teeth, shattering her smile. "Edna," she said finally, biting down on the two syllables, feeling her feet tum to clay. He sensed the embers dying in her eyes and tightened his grip. But she had already slipped away, trolley wheels squeaking before her. EDNA WAS CONFUSED. SHE STACKED HER CANS neatly in the cupboard: tomatoes, soup and sardines on the middle and lower shelves, peaches and Bird's Eye custard on top. She folded her cloth shopping bag carefully and stored it in its drawer. Downing half a glass of water she ran upstairs and flung herself under a hot shower. She scrubbed strenuously, raking the wash cloth across her stomach over and over again, rubbing the pumice stone into her soles. As she sat down to supper that evening, she scolded herself, asking what she could possibly have meant by allowing a strange man to touch her like that-and at her age, too. Of course it was kind of him to help an old woman in distress, but holding on to her once she was on her feet was worse than improper. What might people have thought? She slept early, waking the next morning, her mouth set tightly with thin-lipped reserve. 'Freddy-just call me Freddy,' she scoffed as she made the bed. 'Who ever heard of such a thing?' PooR FREDDY. HE STOOD OUTSIDE LOBLAWS FOR WEEKS, waiting for Edna, a fresh daisy pinned to his lapel every morning. Edna knew, but ignored him, tightening her head scarf about her ears as she walked by. Sometimes, she looked at him secretly, remembering the surprise of being touched, but only for a second. Six and a half decades on her own had taught Edna her 30
FUGUE #30