The Horse is Dead (7 page)

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Fuck off," she ordered, not even looking up at him. Nemiroff fell deeper in love. Nemiroff pulled up a chair beside her. She couldn't have found out he was Jewish already. God, he thought, what was that smell? He leaned closer to the girl. The smell got stronger. So what? he told himself. What's a little smell if you're really in love. You can get used to it, the important thing for now was to win her over. Say something cool.

"You know, you smell," Nemiroff stated. That got her attention. Nemiroff was pleased. Now to keep up the pace. Don't lose your rhythm. Timing man, timing.

"If you don't mind," she said, "I don't feel like company."

"I'm not really company." He studied her. "What are you doing out here?"

The girl hit a chord on the guitar. "I was visiting some friends for the summer."

"What do you mean 'was'?"

"I got tired of them." Another chord. "They're stiff, you know what I mean. They got to do everything by the book."

Nemiroff nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He didn't.

"So I just took off. Been running back and forth to the beach."

Nemiroff looked concerned. "Where you been living?"

"Around." She hummed a little piece of something. Nemiroff stared at the bouncing breast "I don't want to have to follow any rules."

Holy shit, Nemiroff thought, I've stumbled onto it. This could really be something. Maybe blind luck had led him to the right girl. Maybe he didn't have to join the great masses with their asinine traditions, after all. Maybe all you had to do was find someone else who didn't give a shit and start your own little world. Take her home, give her a bath, who knows what she might look like if you cleaned her up.

"My name's Rena," she said, interrupting Nemiroff's thoughts.

"Mine's Nemiroff," he told her.

"Don't you have a first name?"

"Yeah," he started to explain, "but let's just let it go at Nemiroff."

"O.K." She strummed on. "Any way you want it." She watched Nemiroff staring at her. "You like to talk dirty?" she asked.

"What?"

"Do you like to talk dirty?" Rena stopped strumming.

"I guess so," he said.

"Talk dirty to me." She didn't blink an eye.

Nemiroff thought for a moment What kind of a nut was this? Then he thought of her in his own little dream world, just the two of them. "Fuck," he tried.

She screamed with delight. "Some more."

Nemiroff thought again. "Dirty fuck."

She went into hysterics. Nemiroff thought she must be crazy, but he wasn't about to let that break up a beautiful marriage. He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "I want to screw you," he said very slowly. She nearly went out of her mind. Nemiroff was enjoying himself.

"Listen," Nemiroff said, "why don't you come back to my house."

"What for?" Rena asked.

"I talk better there." Nemiroff leaned over to whisper in her ear again. "You can take a bath."

Rena thought about it for a moment "O.K., let's go."

Nemiroff opened the front door of the house and let Rena step through. It was just like they were married. This was perfect

He could try it out and see if it worked. "Hurry up and get in the bathtub," he said, "and leave your guitar."

Rena ran to the bathroom and began to undress. Nemiroff could hear the water running. He thought about maybe rushing in and taking her in the bathtub, but he wanted to make sure she got really clean first. He'd wait until she got out.

Nemiroff listened at the bathroom door. "Fuck," he yelled, and smiled a deep smile of satisfaction when he heard her scream. At least he hadn't lost his touch. This was going to be easy.

Rena came out of the bathroom with a towel draped around her and her guitar slung over one shoulder. Nemiroff stared in amazement. She wasn't bad. He stepped over and smelled her. Clean. She smelled clean.

Rena smiled at Nemiroff. "Let's talk dirty some more."

"Why don't we just go to bed," Nemiroff pleaded.

"No, I want to talk dirty." She began to pout

"Oh, shit," Nemiroff said.

Rena screamed. "That's it. More," she shouted, "more."

"No more fucking around," Nemiroff was angry. "Get in the goddamn bedroom."

"Oh, don't stop," she said.

Nemiroff noticed Rena was starting to breathe heavily. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

"Can't you at least take off that guitar?" he asked.

"The guitar stays," she said.

"You stupid cunt," he exploded.

"More, more," she moaned.

He tried to get into bed with her. The guitar was in the way. Nemiroff was ready to give up. "You no-good fucking whore," he shouted at her.

Rena closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Then she relaxed and looked up at Nemiroff. "Thanks," she said, "that was wonderful" Rena rolled over on the bed and went to sleep.

Nemiroff looked down at the sleeping Rena. A nut, he told himself. A real nut. Nemiroff thought about waking her up and talking dirty to her again, but he just couldn't think of anything to say at the moment Maybe he could call Marshall and get some new dirty words. Maybe there was one secret dirty word, and if he said it to her, she'd actually let him screw her. Nemiroff looked again at the sleeping girl. He wished he felt as tired. Nemiroff decided to go for a drive.

Nemiroff guided the car along the road, all the time thinking of the sleeping girl back at his house. He wondered how long he would let her stay there. Maybe he should go back right now and tell her to get out After all, suppose he never found out the secret dirty word. He couldn't marry her. Not if his sex life with her was going to be like tonight. Suppose she really got horny. Suppose she really had the hots. Think what would happen. He'd be hoarse in just a few short hours. Not only that, but it would be terribly embarrassing. Someone would ask him how come he's always hoarse, and Nemiroff would have to explain he was having too much sex. It just didn't make sense. Maybe throat lozenges. Other guys would carry rubbers in their wallets, and Nemiroff would carry throat lozenges. Or what if he got a case of lockjaw? He'd be impotent. Or suppose he started to stutter? No! There were just too many complications the way things were now. If she didn't shape up, Nemiroff would have to think of some way of getting her out of the house. But not tonight If Nemiroff had kept his mind on his driving, he might have seen the tree in time. Nemiroff thought he had heard the sound of the glass tinkling and the metal crunching long before he actually felt it but it really made very little difference.

The ambulance got there very fast. Too fast for Nemiroff s own good. They lifted him out of the car and placed him on a stretcher, then moved him into the back of the ambulance. There was someone else already in there.

"I'm going to have a baby," the other person said.

Nemiroff turned his head and looked into the crying eyes. "That's wonderful."

The woman let out a blood-curdling scream.

Nemiroff thought she was dying. "Are you all right?" he asked.

The head looked at him. "Oh, it's nothing." She screamed again.

"Look, you want me to do something for you?" He was becoming frightened.

She screamed again. "Oh, no, it's nothing." She looked into Nemiroff's eyes. "What are you in for?" she asked.

"I had a slight accident in my car," Nemiroff answered.

"Does it hurt?" Again the scream.

"Look, are you sure you're all right?" He was very concerned.

"No, it's really nothing." She was staring at him now. "Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" Nemiroff was confused.

"The accident. Doesn't it hurt?" This time she just moaned.

Nemiroff moved his body a little. "No, I feel fine."

"Oh, too bad." She leaned over and patted his hand.

"What do you mean it's too bad?"

"It's nothing," she consoled, "don't give it another thought" This time she let out a scream that nearly tore the roof off the ambulance.

"Wait a minute," he started, "don't give what another thought?"

"Such a nice boy, too." She patted him on the arm again. "What do you think of Stephen?"

"Stephen who?"

"Stephen, the name of my baby." She patted her huge stomach.

"Never mind Stephen," Nemiroff interrupted.

"What do you mean don't give it another thought?"

"I shouldn't have mentioned it," she said.

"No, you shouldn't have, but you did," Nemiroff pressed on.

"It's just a little something I heard about people who die in accidents." This scream reached a new high. "Maybe I should stick with Harold. I had that before I thought of Stephen."

"Who's dying in an accident?" Nemiroff asked, his voice slightly unnerved.

"You are."

"I am not," he said. Nemiroff jumped around a little. "See, look, nothing hurts."

The woman stopped in the middle of a scream. "That's the first sign." She finished the scream. "Look, all I know is that my sister-in-law tells me her nephew who is in medical school tells her that a lot of people who have accidents and think they're not hurt die."

Nemiroff looked at her. "I think my leg hurts." He didn't want to die. "And maybe my arm a little."

The woman looked over at Nemiroff. "Tsk, tsk," she said, "such a nice boy." She turned and yelled to the drivers. "Hurry, I don't want my son should be born next to a corpse."

"Cut it out," Nemiroff screamed.

"Don't worry about it," she went on. "Just think, you'll die, and right away God will take care of the vacancy with my little David." She patted her belly.

"What happened to Stephen and Harold?"

"David was really my first, first choice."

Nemiroff held his ears while the woman screamed.

He waited until she finished. "I'll be damned if he's taking my place." Nemiroff couldn't get the woman's remarks off his mind. He hardly even noticed her screaming any more. All Nemiroff knew was that he didn't want to die. Nemiroff wished he didn't feel so good.

The ambulance pulled up to the emergency entrance of the hospital. The two men got out and opened the back door. First they lifted out the pregnant woman, then Nemiroff. Nemiroff read the emergency sign upside down as they wheeled him in. They left Nemiroff and the woman lying side by side in the hospital corridor.

"Don't go away," Nemiroff shouted. "Don't leave me to die."

A nurse came running over to Nemiroff. "You'll have to be quiet," she said. "This is a hospital."

"No shit," Nemiroff yelled, "where else would they bring a dying man?"

"You're not dying," the nurse said. "In fact, the men who brought you in said you hardly had a scratch. You're just here for a checkup."

"Check him for death," the pregnant woman said. She leaned over and tapped Nemiroff on the shoulder. "That's what they tell all of them." She winked at Nemiroff and crossed her arms over her gigantic belly.

"Now we'll just need a few facts," the nurse said. "Name, please?"

"Nemiroff." He grabbed the nurse. "Please, I don't want to die."

The pregnant woman started to whistle "Taps."

"Would you please get her the hell out of here," he yelled.

"Now, now, Mr. Nemiroff." She tried to calm him. "Religion?"

"What?" he asked.

"What's your religion?" she repeated.

"I'm dying and you want to know my religion?" So that was it. They'd find out he was Jewish, and they'd let him die.

The pregnant woman leaned over to Nemiroff. "That's so they know what kind of a funeral."

"Get her the hell out of here," Nemiroff shrieked. "She wants me to die. She wants a place for her baby."

The nurse signaled to one of the orderlies
to
come over and take the pregnant woman away. She struggled to get up in a sitting position. Nemiroff watched her disappearing down the hall.

"Such a nice boy, too," she yelled.

"I hope you deliver a nine-pound fart," Nemiroff screamed after her. The nurse pushed him back down on the stretcher. He looked up at her. "I don't want to die."

The nurse wheeled Nemiroff into a nearby examination room. He just kept shaking his head and repeating the same phrase over and over again. "I don't want to die."

The nurse took one last look at Nemiroff before shutting the door. "A doctor will be with you in a minute."

"Wait, wait," he screamed, "don't leave me."

"Everything is all right," the nurse said. "Look, I told you when they brought you in, there's nothing wrong with you. Just let the doctor check you over." She shut the door.

Nemiroff put his head down and stared up at the ceiling. He started counting the holes in acoustical panels, and was up to three thousand and forty-six before the door of the examination room opened again. Nemiroff stopped counting and looked at the man dressed in white.

The doctor picked up the card the nurse had filled out. "Mr. Nemiroff?"

"Hurry, Doctor," Nemiroff pleaded, "before it's too late."

It's strange the way fate plays with the lives of men. Take Dr. Harry Chittleman, for instance. Harry Chittleman had wandered aimlessly through life until the ripe old age of twelve before fate stepped in and guided him to his chosen profession.

It had all started that humid Saturday afternoon when Nancy Weinburger, that precocious eleven-year-old from next door, happened to wander over into Harry Chittleman's yard.

"Hello, Harry," she said.

"What do you want?" Harry snapped. Like most twelve-year-old boys, Harry could well do without any girls.

"Whatcha doing?" Nancy cooed.

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you if you don't get out of here," he threatened.

"Don't you want to play with me?" little Nancy Weinburger asked.

"No." Harry looked at Nancy. "What can you play with a little girl, anyway?"

"We could play doctor," said little Nancy Weinburger's precocious little mouth.

"Doctor?" Harry asked. "How do you play doctor?"

"Boy, are you stupid," Nancy said. "How old are you?"

"None of your business. Twelve." Harry was hurt.