		    ORPHIA VALENTINE

	(c) Copyright 1993 by Franchot Lewis

	 O broke wind softly, coughing, billowing, to cover over
     the offending sound. "Good Morning, Mister Rawlings, the clouds
     are rolling out. It's going to be a golden day of bright
     sunshine."
	 Rawlings pulled down his back window, and drew the curtains.
	 "Damn, that horrible man," O said in a quiet whisper. She
     eased herself into a squat, and started pulling weeds again.
     "Blight. Too much blight."
	 O's husband woke, swearing,  and calling for O.
	 "That bitch," he said. "In that damn garden again, all
     weekend in that damn garden, trying to plant something, the
     dumb bitch."
	 O's husband opened a back window and yelled for O.
	 "Where are you, O?" he yelled.
	 O stopped, massaged her fingers as though she was rubbing
     out aches and pains she received from pulling weeds, then
     she began to pull more weeds. Her husband yelled again,
     "O!"
	 O mumbled, "My God, he's worse."
	 "O!"
	 O said,  "Behind the house."
	 "Where?"
	 "Put your glasses on, I'm in my garden."
	 "Garden? Dirt patch, you mean," O's husband shouted as he
     went to the dresser and got his glasses.
	 "It's my garden, " O said, looking at her husband whose
     head was out the window as he shouted down at her.
	 "Quit that and come up here and do something better."
	 "What's the problem?" O asked.
	 "The problem," her husband replied, simmering, "is that
     I want you up here right now."
	 "Later, I'm a little behind in my work."
	 "No, I want your little behind up here, that will work."
	 "Dear -"
	 "No, and get out of that dirt. You're getting dirty in
     that dreadful dirt. You get up and get out of bed, and you do
     that on purpose, you get down in that dirt. You know when I
     wake up I want your little behind up here."
	 O thought that he was making his complaint sound so
     dirty. She gave a half shrug in case the neighbors were
     watching.  "Is it that important?" she asked. She pretended
     to think for a moment.  "I think I shall be there in fifteen
     minutes," she said.
	 O's husband grumbled, "Fifteen minutes."
	 "Yes, dear."
	 "I won't need you in fifteen minutes," he said. He
     jabbed his finger down toward her.
	 "Then do without me, " O mumbled. "Isn't that what you're
     always telling me you can do?"
	 O's husband cursed, "Damn bitch," and he closed the
     window.

	 A few minutes later, as if she was waiting for O's husband
     to go away, a tall woman, whose house was on the right side of
     O's came to the fence.
	 She said, "Some guys wake up hard ... heads. Oh, excuse,
     that's the beer in me talking."
	 O smiled.
	 "I've been watching you all morning," the tall woman said,
     striking a purposely helpfully sounding tone as she permitted her
     mouth to form a derisive grin. "What you need is a weeder.
     Doing it the way you're doing it will take all day. You need a
     weeder, then the right seeds and some Miracle Grow, and you'll
     have a nice garden."
	 "Like yours?" O sighed.
	 "I know, I'm butting in," the tall woman said. "I'll lend
     you my weeder."
	  "I have my own way of doing things," O replied. "I like
     to pull weeds this way."
	 "How many have you pulled that way?"
	 "I don't know - somewhere around a thousand."
	 "Geez." the tall woman laughed. "You're not new at this
     then?" She made a crooked grin. "I would have sworn ... You're
     a strange sort of a fish."
	 O nodded and returned to her work, that of pulling weeds.
     With one eye brow raised, the tall woman watched for a minute
     before she stopped. She muttered something under her breath
     and left.

	 A hour later, O has changed her clothes, showered and has
     fixed breakfast. O placed a plate of eggs on the table and
     called to her husband.
	 "Jesus!" he screeched as he nearly tripped over O's cat.
     The cat screeched too, and ran for O.
	 "Swine," O mumbled under her breath. Gently, O lifted the
     cat, rubbed its back and cooed as though she was patting a
     small child. O's husband said, "You love that cat as much as
     you love anybody in the world." O kind of nodded, as she rocked,
     from side to side, hugging the cat.
	 "Thank you very much." O's husband's bad mood sounded worse.
     "You ought to train it not to run in my path," he said. "You
     ought to potty-train it too."
	 "She is," O replied.
	 "Oh, yeah," her husband answered, scoffing. "If you would
     clean the house more often, you would find the evidence that
     cat lacks -"
	  "Hush, you're scaring her." O cooed again and patted
     the cat more as she rested higher on O's shoulder to move
     away from O's husband.
	 "Do you have to do that?"
	 "Do what?"
	 "Holding that cat like that? Why don't you dress it in
     Pampers?"
	 "Sorry, this is my cat," O said.
	 "Can't you see, this is not a proper obsession?"
	 O muttered, "Yes, I'm merely the cat's foster mother. I
     haven't become a real mother."
	 "We can easily change that," O's husband smiled.
	 O shook her head. "Pregnancy would be difficult."
	 "Why?" O's husband asked. "Because, as you put it, it's
     boring?"
	 O replied, "I hate boring."
	 O's husband shook his fists in the air. "So, be a bitch."

	 The door bell rang. O went to the front door, still
     carrying the cat. O could see through the picture window a
     mail truck parked in front of the house. "The package is here
     for you," O said to her cat.
	 The package was C.O.D., fifteen dollars. O called for
     her husband. "Will you pay the man fifteen dollars? " O asked
     her husband. O's husband took two bills from his wallet. He
     threw the bills toward the open door, at O and the cat; the
     money fell at the delivery man's feet. O, with a heavy sigh,
     picked up the money, and after making certain that the bills
     total fifteen dollars, paid the delivery man.
	 "Have a nice day," the delivery man said and left, ignoring
     O's husband's grumbles.

	 "I have something further to discuss with you," O's
     husband said.
	 "Honey, your eggs are getting cold," O replied.
	 "Damn, the eggs. This matter is urgent," O's husband
     cursed.
	 O began to open the package. "Darling, your matters
     are always urgent," she said.
	 "You best wake up before it's too late," O's husband
     mumbled.
	 "I am awake," O said. She has completely opened the package.
    "Look,"  O showed the cat, "A nice toy!"
	 "Maybe I need to wake up," O's husband said.
	 O sat the cat and the toy on the rug.
	 "You want me to leave?" O's husband asked.
	 "No, I don't," O replied.
	 "You don't want me anymore? Tell me? Just let me know."
	 O smiled. "You are my husband."
	 "Yeah."
	 "I want you. Now, let me get some house work done."

	 That night, O's husband held a pillow over his face,
     muttering into it, "Might as well have sex with this."
	 "Say something, hun?" O asked. She was sitting up in
     bed, reading.
	 "This fabric is cold like your silky cold tail," O's
     husband replied.   He asked softer, "Do you know, O? You're
     giving me a headache?"
	 "Hush," O answered. "I am not ready, not yet, " she said.
	 "Reading," he said.
	 "Yes. It's all about weed killing herbicides."
	 "You're not reading, you're avoiding me."
	 O tossed her pillow at her husband.
	 "What the hell?" he tossed her pillow back.
	 "Fifteen minutes more," O replied, turning the page of the
     book and running her eyes down through the type like this
     page has particularly informative passages. "You'd have a more
     respectable performance if you would wait for me a little more,
     you know."
	 "I work too damn hard for this shit." O's husband put his
     pillow down and punched it. "O, I'm not waiting another minute.
     I'm climbing up on you, and I don't care how nice you make it.
     This is it, O!"
	 There was a loud bump just outside the bedroom door, followed
     by a loud meow.  "Go away!" O's husband shouted, threw his
     pillow outside the door at the cat; it screeched. O screeched
     too. O got up, tossing her book down and started to go toward
     her cat. O's husband grabbed her. "Let that dumb cat be; she's
     always knocking things down," he said. He pulled O down hard
     onto the bed and shoved the other pillow under O's behind.
     "I'm ready," he said.
	 "You're not going to - " replied O.
	 "That cat, that stupid dumb cat, you're playing me for a
     sucker because of some dumb cat."
	 "You're a dork," O whispered into her husband's ear; then
     she stopped struggling. "You can do anything with me that you
     want. I can't fight you. But, you won't have me anymore. Should
     you want to, you should wait until I am ready. Take me now and
     I shall not please you, and you will never get a chance to have
     me again -"
	 "Shit stinks," O's husband shook his head.
	 "I am shit?"
	 "That's me!"
	 "Are you saying I'm shit?"
	 "That's right.  That's you."
	 "So are you."

	 Fast. Quick. Hurried - Before O changed her mind and
     started to struggle again, O's husband lifted O's legs and
     stripped her naked from the waist down. Then, he took off O's
     night top. He put himself into O, as hard as he could before O
     could complete a groan. He groaned into O's ear that, he wanted
     her so much; wanted her to know that he wanted her so much, and
     he had waited too long. He smashed himself into O, as he did,
     he whispered, he wanted her to know that in her was where he
     belonged. He said he would glue himself to her; she and he would
     be glued together. For a long half minute, he held himself
     stilled. " O's mine, " his eyes seemed to shout his triumph,
     he whispered, "I love you, I love you," kissing her as he did.
     O lay cold and still.
	 He did not let O up, he took O a second time. This
     second time was like the first, and so were the third, and
     the fourth and the fifth. During the night, he took O five
     times, spaced between brief rest periods.

	 In the morning, O's husband rosed from the bed before
     O. O lay on the bed aching. O's legs ached, O's back ached,
     O's side ached, O's bones ached, as if someone had kicked O in
     all of these places. O did not want to get up.
	 "Let me make you breakfast?" O's husband asked. "What
     can I get you?"
	 "Sleep," O moaned.
	 "Okay," O's husband nodded thoughtfully. "See what happens
     when you push a man?" O's husband said, "he becomes a maniac."
     O"s husband further attempted to explain his actions to O. "A
     man's male organ has no brain, " he said. "More to the point,
     it can't think itself out of any situation it gets pushed into,
     it makes a man fight, it forces, it's got to have its way."
	  O moaned.
	  "I'll let you rest," O's husband said. He left the bed
     room, kept his back to O, so that she couldn't see the smirk
     on his face. But, O saw her husband's smirk in the reflection
     of his face in her dresser mirror. O cringed as she watched
     her husband's careless exit. All morning O lay on the bed
     aching.

	 At noon, O's husband swaggered into the room. O was still
     in bed and still aching. O closed her eyes. O pretended to be
     asleep. "Come on, Baby," Playfully, O's husband whacked O across
     her bruised butt. "I know you are only faking, you're wasting
     the day, unless you want us to spend the rest of it together
     in bed. Do you want to go another dozen rounds?"
	 "Don't touch me, bitch!" O hissed. O's husband shrugged.
     "Maybe I was a little too rough on you -"
	 "Bitch!" O hissed and turned her head away.
	 "Wait," O's husband crossed hands. "You had it coming."
	 O got up, out from the bed. O was still naked. O's
     husband moved toward O, intending to embrace. O waved him
     off. "Don't touch me, " O grabbed a robe and covered
     herself. "Oooh, Baby," O's husband moaned. O told him to be
     quiet.  "My brainless organ doesn't want to - Oooh," O's
     husband groaned, and winked.
	 O's eyes harden into a glare.
	 "We are married," O's husband said.
	 "Yes," O hissed. "Stay away from me. I'm going to
     shower. Stay away from me."
	 "Okay, baby," O's husband grinned."Until tonight, your
     lithe behind should be ready to repeat."
	 Hurriedly, O left the room. O's husband whistled.
	 O showered. O stayed under the hot water for an hour,
     under the force of a hard cleansing spray.  Then, O combed her
     hair and dressed. O went downstairs. O's husband was watching
     tv. His full attention was on the screen, on a basketball game.
     O's husband heard O's approach and smelled her perfume,
     murmured something about O's sweet, rosy behind, but he did not
     looked behind him. He kept his eyes on the tv.

	 "Aww, shit no, "O's husband cried. He has passed out and
     has come to twice. His back was broken, his head has a fracture
     and was bleeding, his body, including his legs were hurting
     very badly. "Get me help, please, you can't do this," he whined.
     O has whacked him several dozen times and hard, with the bat
     his dad gave him, and that he has used since he was a kid to
     play ball with his friends, the last time only a week before,
     some of his buddies from the job played in a city park against
     their rivals from another company.
	 O decided to stop whacking him. O took a knife and slit his
     throat.  As O was deciding what to do with her husband's body
     her cat began to lick at the blood. "Stop that, bad cat," O
     said. "I'll clean that up." O lifted the cat from the rug and
     placed it on top of the tv. The cat meowed. "Now what is it?"
     O asked. "You complain more than any toddler. I know what I am
     going to do with him. First, cut him into little pieces,
     then ..."  During the next hours, O cut and sliced and tore
     pieces of flesh from her husband's bones, and yelled at the
     cat to keep back. The cat jumped from the tv and kept trying to
     sop up O's husband's blood.

	 Many weeks later, the tall woman who lived on the right
     side of O's house leaned over the fence and admired O's garden.
	 "I wish you would help me with mine, " the neighbor
     said with obvious envy. "I use Miracle Grow and I never get
     results like that. What did you use? Please, you must tell
     me. You have to, you must."
	 O smiled.
	 "Please, pretty please ..."

     [END]
     (c) Copyright 1993 by Franchot Lewis. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

