- Don't be sick. Here, come with mc. Wait, I'll get you some water.

She was concentrating on breathing evenly.

- You'd better lie down for a bit, he said.

- No, I'm all right.

- Come.

He led her, in her short skirt and blouse, to a room to one side of the front door and made her sit on the bed. She was taking slow breaths.

- Susanna.

- Yes.

- I need you.

She more or less heard him. Her head was thrown back like that of a woman longing for G.o.d.

- I shouldn't have drunk so much, she murmured.

He began to unb.u.t.ton her blouse.

- No, she said, trying to reb.u.t.ton it.

He was unfastening her bra.s.siere. Her gorgeous b.r.e.a.s.t.s emerged. He could not take his eyes from them. He kissed them pa.s.sionately. She felt herself moved to the side as he pulled down the cover of the white sheets. She tried to speak again, but he put his hand over her mouth and pushed her down. He devoured her, shuddering as if in fright at the end and holding her to him tightly. They fell into a profound sleep.

IN EARLIEST MORNING, light was clear and intensely bright. The house, standing in its path, became even whiter. It stood out from its neighbors, more pure and serene. The shadow of a tall elm beside it was traced on it as finely as if drawn by a pencil. The pale curtains hung unmoving. Nothing stirred within. In back was the wide lawn across which Susanna had been idly strolling as part of a garden tour on the day he had first seen her, shapely and tall. It was a vision he had not been able to erase, though the rest had started later, when she came to redo the garden with Marit.

They sat at the table drinking coffee. They were complicit, not long risen, and not regarding one another too closely. Walter was admiring her, however. Without makeup she was even more appealing. Her long hair was not combed. She seemed very approachable. There were calls that would have to be made, but he was not thinking of them. It was still too early. He was thinking past this day. Mornings to come. At first he hardly heard the sound behind him. It was a footstep and then, slowly, another-Susanna turned white-as Marit came unsteadily down the stairs. The makeup on her face was stale, and her dark lipstick showed fissures. He stared in disbelief.

- Something went wrong, she said.

- Are you all right? he asked foolishly.

- No, you must have done it wrong.

- Oh, G.o.d, Walter murmured.

She sat weakly on the bottom step. She did not seem to notice Susanna.

- I thought you were going to help me, she said, and began to cry.

- I can't understand it, he said.

- It's all wrong, Marit was repeating. Then, to Susanna, You're still here?

- I was just leaving, Susanna said.

- I don't understand, Walter said again.

- I have to do it all over, Marit sobbed.

- I'm sorry, he said. I'm so sorry.

He could think of nothing more to say. Susanna had gone to get her clothes. She left by the front door.

That was how she and Walter came to part, upon being discovered by his wife. They met two or three times afterward, at his insistence, but to no avail. Whatever holds people together was gone. She told him she could not help it. That was just the way it was.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

With grat.i.tude especially to Rust Hills, long the literary editor at Esquire, for his help and cherished friendship, and also to Terry McDonell. I am deeply indebted as well to Frank Conroy for the generosity and affection that provided me the chance to read some of these stories at the Writers' Workshop in Iowa.

Also by James Salter.

FICTION.

Dusk and Other Stories.

Solo Faces.

Light Years

A Sport and a Pastime

Ca.s.sada (previously published as The Arm of Flesh).

The Hunters.

NONFICTION.

G.o.ds of Tin.

Burning the Days.