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hand on the cold tap. His eyes were glistening slits. He turned off the water
and I somehow got to my knees. 1 knew I was going to be sick. I didn't care. I
was a tamed, whimpering animal ready to die. I retched.
Sluggsy laughed. He leaned over and patted my behind. "Go ahead, baby. First
thing after a beat-up, everyone vomits. Then clean yourself up nice and put on
a nice new outfit and come on over. Those eggs got spoiled with you running
off like that. No tricks!
Though I guess you ain't got stomach for any more. I'll be watching the cabin
from the back door. Now don't take on, baby. No blood. Hardly a bruise.
Horror's got a nice touch with the dames. You're sure lucky. He's a hippy guy.
If he'd of been real mad, we'd be digging a hole for you right now. Count your
blessings, baby. Be seein' ya."
I heard the door of the cabin bang shut, and then my body took over.
It took me half an hour to get myself into some kind of shape, and again and
again I just wanted to throw myself on my bed and let the tears go on coming
until the men arrived with their guns to finish me off. But the will to live
came back into me with the familiar movements of doing my hair and of getting
my body, sore and aching and weak with the memory of much greater pain, to do
what I
wanted, and slowly into the back of my mind there crept the possibility that I
might have been through the worst. If not, why was I
still alive? For some reason these men wanted me there and not out of the way.
Sluggsy was so good with his gun that he could surely have killed me when I
made a run for it. His bullets had come close, but hadn't they been just to
frighten, to make me stop?
I put on my white overalls. Heaven knew they were impersonal enough, and I put
my money into one of the pockets just in case.
Just in case of what? There would be no more escapes. And then, feeling sore
and weak as a kitten, I dragged myself over to the lobby.
It was eleven o'clock. The rain was still holding off and a three-quarter moon
sailed through fast, scudding clouds, making the forest blink intermittently
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with white light. Sluggsy was framed in the yellow entrance, leaning against
the door, chewing at his toothpick. As I came up, he made way for me. "That's
my baby. Fresh as paint. A little sore here and there, mebbe. Have to sleep on
your back later, huh? But that's just what'll suit us, won't it, honey?"
When I didn't answer, he reached out and caught my arm. "Hey, hey! Where your
manners, bimbo? You like some treatment on the other side, mebbe? That also
can be arranged." He made a threatening gesture with his free hand.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything."
"Okay, okay." He let me go. "Now just get on back there and make with the pots
and pans. An' don't go getting my gauge up. Or my friend Horror's. Look what
you done to that handsome kisser of his."
The thin man was sitting at his old table. The first-aid box from the
reception desk was open in front of him and he had a big square of adhesive
across his right temple. I gave him a quick frightened glance and went behind
the serving counter. Sluggsy went over to him and sat down, and they began
talking together in low voices, occasionally glancing across at me.
Making the eggs and coffee made me feel hungry. I couldn't understand it. Ever
since the two men had got in through that door, I
had been so tense and frightened I couldn't have swallowed even a cup of
coffee. Of course I was empty from being sick, but in a curious and, I felt,
rather shameful way the beating I had been given had in some mysterious
fashion relaxed me. The pain, being so much greater than the tension of
waiting for it, had unraveled my nerves, and there was a curious center of
warmth and peace in my body. I was frightened still, of course terrified, but
in a docile, fatalistic way. At the same time my body said it was hungry; it
wanted to get back its strength, it wanted to live.
So I made scrambled eggs and coffee and hot buttered toast for myself as well,
and, after I had taken theirs over, I sat down out of sight of them behind the
counter and ate mine and then, almost calmly, lit a cigarette. I knew the
moment I lit it that it was a foolish thing to do. It called attention to me.
Worse, it showed I had recovered, that I was worth baiting again. But the food
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