If Death Ever Slept

Jarrell had said she was particular about her dancing partners, and she had a right to be. The rhythm was clear through her, not just from her hips down, and she was right with me in everything we tried. To give her as good as she gave I had to put the mind away entirely and let the body take over, and the result was that when midnight came, and time for champagne, I hadn’t made a single stab at the project I was supposed to be working on. As the waiter was pouring I was thinking. What the hell, a detective has to get the subject feeling intimate before he can expect her to discuss intimate matters, and three more numbers ought to do it. Actually I never did get it started. It just happened that when we returned to the table again and finished the champagne, she lifted her glass with the last thimbleful, said, “To life and death,” and tossed it down. She put the glass on the table and added, “If death ever slept.”

“I’m with you,” I said, putting my empty glass next to hers, “or I guess I am. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. I ought to, since I wrote it myself. It’s from that poem I wrote. The last five lines go:

“Or a rodent kept

High and free on the twig of a tree,

Or a girl who wept

A bitter tear for the death so near,

If death ever slept!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I like the sound of it, but I’m still not sure what it means.”

“Neither am I. That’s why I’m sure it’s a poem. Susan understands it, or says she does. She says there’s one thing wrong with it, that instead of ‘a bitter tear’ it ought to be ‘a welcome tear.’ I don’t like it. Do you?”

“I like ‘bitter’ better. Is Susan strong on poems?”

“I don’t really know. I don’t understand her any better than I understand that poem. I think she’s strong on Susan, but of course she’s my sister-in-law and her bedroom is bigger than mine, and I’m fond of my brother when I’m not fighting with him, so I probably hate her. I’ll find out when I get analyzed.”

I nodded. “That’ll do it. I noticed last evening the males all gathered around except your father. Apparently he didn’t even see her.”

“He saw her all right. If he doesn’t see a woman it’s because she’s not there. Do you know what a satyr is?”

“More or less.”

“Look it up in the dictionary. I did once. I don’t believe my father is a satyr because half the time his mind is on something else-making more money. He’s just a tomcat. What’s that they’re starting? ‘Mocajuba?’”

It was. I got up and circled the table to pull her chair back.