After Claude Read Online Free Page B

be required to apply for a cabaret license in order to live with you. For instance, I’d like to ask you something right now. Why are you looking at me as though red ants are crawling out of my mouth?”
    “Don’t be disgusting.”
    “Okay, black ants. And what is this new development that everything I say is nauseating or disgusting?”
    Claude’s face went soft with suffering. He became the handsome young priest trying to coax the suicidal maniac off the ledge of the thirty-seventh floor.
    “You’re right, Harriet. I know I’m being hard on you, but that’s because there’s something I want to talk to you about and I’m finding it difficult.”
    “Take your time,” I said playfully, “just don’t take as long as that fag took to die.”
    “Stop calling him a fag,” Claude shouted, his sallow skin suddenly flushed. “You make me sick.”
    “Thank you,” I shouted back, because there’s a limit to even the most understanding woman’s capacity for abuse.
    “I make you sick? Some skinny guy schlepping a hunk of wood that weighs a ton up a steep hill for the express purpose of getting nailed to it, that was beautiful? But I make you sick?”
    “We won’t discuss the movie,” he announced for the millionth time, though it seemed to me he was the one who kept bringing it up. He spread his hands flat on the table and stared at his fingers, waiting no doubt for a larger crowd to gather.
    He spoke slowly. “Harriet, we can’t go on living together.”
    “Because of a lousy movie?” I exclaimed in disbelief.
    “Forget the movie. The movie is typical. If anything gives me pleasure, you automatically hate it.”
    “Not true. You’re wrong. It’s crazy to twist my opinions into personal attacks, Claude. I swear, I genuinely hated it. Excuse me for not being the Marquis de Sade, but my idea of entertainment is not to watch someone bleed to death, even if he is God.”
    His voice got soft and mean. “Has anyone ever told you what a terrible bore you are?”
    “Me a bore?” I laughed, amazed that the rat would resort to such a bizarre accusation. I have since learned never to be amazed at what men will resort to when cornered by a woman’s Intelligence.
    “When you get an idea in your head, when you have an opinion, which is always, you’ve got to make a speech about it, not once, but ten times. If anyone manages to break in, you bury them; you grind them into little pieces with your big mouth. I’ve had it, Harriet. I want you out.”
    “Out? Out where? What are you talking about?” In my alarm I plunged the mustard knife into the heart of the macaroni. “Okay, I get a bit carried away. Maybe I’m too insistent, too eager to communicate. But that just runs in my blood. It’s very American to share experiences.”
    I felt myself babbling to gain time, to find a foothold, because the alarming depths of Claude’s anger made me feel like the innocent wife who has stopped to admire a sunset and is about to be pushed off the cliff by her homicidal husband.
    “Like hell. You don’t communicate. You trample over other people’s feelings. You don’t even listen to what anyone else says, except to tell them how stupid they are. Anyway, I don’t wish to share your experiences any more.” His voice was shaking with fury.
    “Not true, not true. You’re misinterpreting my enthusiasm. It’s in my nature to have strong opinions. But your reactions are much more important to me than good sense. For all I know, it was a wonderful movie.”
    “I am not simply talking about your boring opinions but about the disgusting way you go berserk when I’m not in total agreement with you. I must like what you like, and hate what you hate, which is everything, or I get no peace. Harriet, this battle between us must end.” He slammed his beer can on the table.
    I looked at him in stupefied silence, unable to speak, because in order to perform that function, it is necessary to swallow. My protest stayed lodged in