Iowa Journal of Literary Studies

Axelrod, Alan

English

John Ruskin: The Aesthete as Oracle

Bukoski, Anthony

The Lady in the Swing
Anthony Bukoski
Herman was in love with Annie, For three 
weeks after their marriage, he went hungry. To 
see her laughing while she crammed eskimo pies into 
her mouth was all that mattered to him. Day after 
day, when he wasn't busy, he was cooking for her, 
Annie getting fatter by the moment, sitting in bed 
all morning, three pillows behind her head and the 
sheets littered with Powerhouse candy bars and 
empty bottles of Nehi. But if his cooking kept her 
happy, he didn't mind.
In the mess upstairs she lay like a queen. 
Rarely was she without a smile, the grinning half- 
moon face reflecting again and again in her chins
38 — IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES
and in the wrinkles of her throat. To cover herself 
she wore a modest cotton dress, over the front of 
which hung a bib, stained usually with the berries 
of seme fruit pie or another. Hugging her feet were 
the enormous sky-blue slippers that were a little 
dirty around the edges like all the rest of her.
But no matter, Herman was in love...
Then something occurred, something to which at 
first he paid little attention. He thought what he 
had been seeing outside was more the work of 
the wind or the rain, till he remembered how dry it 
had been without wind enough to turn the weather 
cock on the bam. When he looked around, sure 
enough he found marks rutting the dirt of the hill­
side —  right up to the living room window. Every­
where they climbed the hill, running off in all 
directions at the top.
When he brought up the subject with Annie, she 
giggled and hid her face in the pillow. Still, this 
deep in the country there was no telling who might 
be around. During the day there was hardly even a 
swirl of dust let alone a trespasser on the hill­
side. But about the nights he was uncertain. Who­
ever it was must be coming at night, thought 
Herman.
To get Annie to the roof, Herman rented a
IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES — 39
heavy-duty winch by which he could lower a leather 
seat to the window of their bedroom. Each after­
noon he wound the cable much as he would a fishing 
line and hoisted Annie up and onto the rooftop 
mattress to lay for awhile in the sun. When she 
was done and down, she went to bed again, and he 
brought her a supper of macaroni, then went to bed 
himself.
Of late he had been sleeping outside. It was 
better that way. Annie, who did not seem to mind 
the heat upstairs, could use the extra room. What 
worried him was that seme night she might suddenly 
need him. She was so heavy, so thoroughly fleshly 
and her legs bothered her so, that she was just 
about confined to bed once they parted for the 
evening. He would never be able to hear her if she 
started whimpering, for crane sundown he was out 
cold, usually not blinking his eyes again till he 
heard the rooster's call in the morning. But since 
the wedding, she had been sleeping well enough, so 
maybe she will be okay, Herman thought.
When at last he found just how little she had 
actually been abed all those nights, he cursed 
Annie and the God who made her. In the morning he 
rambled distracted. Everywhere he looked, wheel­
barrow prints were digging up the valleyside. They
40 — IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES
crossed and turned and zig-zagged about as if they 
would confound him. Then he thought it was the sun 
playing tricks, or that last night he had been 
moonsick. Fat as she was, who could possibly want 
her he wondered.
All that day he was active in the barnyard, 
cleaning, sweeping up. But again and again the 
pictures returned: of Annie with the enormous chins, 
Annie rasping a spoon thoughtlessly, senselessly, 
across the bottom of a saucepan, Annie waving to 
him from the bed and giggling. Seven times he fed 
her —  popcorn, melons, meatballs, soda water, 
dumplings, a doughnut or two. Counting the trips 
he made bringing the new Boston Store catalogue to 
her bedside, he had been up and down twenty times, 
each time pampering her, wiping her forehead, push­
ing the chocolates closer to her bed. No matter, 
his heart was not in it. When he dressed her for 
bed that night, he could not even find it in him­
self to kiss her lightly on the cheek...
Outside he closed his eyes. It was hopeless. 
There were too many things wrong. Where had he 
gotten with her he wondered. Was this how it 
would end, with Annie giggling like a pig in the 
middle of the night and filling the leather cinch 
with her behind for someone else? When he
IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES — 41
remembered how she cursed him once for burning a 
ham, he thought he could go upstairs right then and 
take her throat between his fingers. How easy to 
stifle her with a handful of hay.
Past midnight he sat beneath the plum tree.
When the whippoorwills ceased their cry, he still 
sat there. He stayed till the moon went away and 
all that was left were the stars. And still no one 
came, the valley without sound. Even the crickets 
had gone to rest, and Herman could hear his pocket 
watch drurrrning. Once he dozed off, caning as quick­
ly to his senses. But there was nobody. And he 
began to think that he had seen nothing either and 
that he had made up the entire thing about the 
wheelbarrow.
He did not hear the giggling till along toward 
itoming. He thought it could be just about any­
thing else, a creaking door hinge, a mouse in the 
bam. Then he heard the man. His voice was coming 
from the roof. TJhen Herman peered around the 
comer of the house, all he could see obliterating 
the light of the stars was a jumble of flesh in 
mid-air, a shapeless cargo descending frcm the end 
of a cable, twisting one way, then the other. On 
the roof he heard the voice again. It was his 
neighbor. It was the man from Bluebird Farm, and
42 — IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES
all along he had been taking him for a friend, buy­
ing his oats and com only to find the neighbor 
stealing his wife frcm under his very eyes. When 
Annie touched down with a plop, was settled in the 
wheelbarrow, Herman heard him on the rooftop. "Just 
wait, honey, and we'll go riding," he was saying.
The man must have jumped clear to the ground, 
for before Herman noticed, he was pushing the 
wheelbarrow away and up the hill, Annie giggling 
with each bump it took. Herman stood transfixed.
He could not believe his eyes. There was sane 
mistake, he thought, running into the house, wiping 
his face. It was hot in there, and he burst up the 
stairs and into her room. He ran his hands over 
the damp sheets. All that was left were a few 
crumbs from her Powerhouse. "Annie!" he called.
He came upon them hurrying across the valley, 
Annie's hair done up in pigtails, her head cocked 
back, her sky-blue slippers dangling over either 
side of the wheelbarrcw. Pushing this freight in 
dusty circles was Jug, his simple face dotted with 
sweat. He must have been carting her off like this 
for days, thought Herman. When Jug spotted his 
rival, he speeded up, Annie leaning her head into 
the wind and gripping the sides of the wheelbarrow. 
Round and round they went, kicking up such a fury
IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES — 43
of dust that Herman nearly lost his way. Time after 
time they circled past, Jug staying just far enough 
out of his neighbor's reach, till finally in one 
vain effort and when Herman least thought he would 
ever see his wife again for the dust, he managed a 
piece of shirt tail and held on for dear life.
"I oughta kill you," he hollered, lunging at 
his neighbor, Jug landing on the seat of his pants. 
In the wheelbarrow Annie exploded with a sneeze. 
Fanning the dusty air, she shook her head, setting 
the loose flesh of her chins to jiggling as Herman, 
reaching for a boulder at his toe, eyed his man in 
the dirt. "I am going to kill you," Herman said.
For a moment, however, his eyes were drawn 
frcm Jug to where Annie sat. She wasn't watching, 
her chubby fingers toying with seine bauble instead. 
She does not even care, thought Herman, as he sized 
up the wheelbarrow and scratched his head. He 
kicked the wheels and gripped the handles. Flexing 
his muscles, he tried to lift her.
In the dirt Jug hugged his shins and sniffled. 
But Herman, investigating the wonderful possibili­
ties of Annie and the wheelbarrow, was no longer 
aware of him. It is sure strong and the wheels are 
good, he thought. He took a better grip. With an 
upward jerk, he lifted her once, twice, the lady
44 -  IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES
inside beginning to giggle.
"Hey, now. That's a work implement, Herman.
The only thing with wheels I got left in the world. 
You can't go off with ray wheely-barrow! HERMAN III'*
It was getting to be a considerably fine day, 
thought Herman, starting up across the alkaline 
powder of the valley top. The sky was brightening 
a riotous shade of orange. Breaking into a trot, 
he did not even turn around to witness his neighbor's 
futile semaphor, guiding his treasure heme across 
the field instead, Annie waving one fat arm. This 
was sure enough better than murder, he thought. 
"Whoo-ee, what's he gonna dream of next?"
As he rolled along, the sun was piercing over 
the valley, over the walls of Annie's new prison.
Cine last plunge and he was down the hill. He 
fastened his lady in the leather cinch. The ladder 
shaking, up he went three steps at a time. With 
Annie twisting fron side to side, he felt as if he 
had hooked the weight of the Ages, but in spite of 
the difficulty, up she came, his cargo bobbing in 
the leather cinch.
Each time he tired he spit on his palms and, 
turning to the cable with renewed vigor, raised it 
another few inches until, when it was in mid-air, 
he halted her entirely. Mopping his brow, he
IOWA JOURNAL OF LITERARY STUDIES -  45
squeezed in through the bedroom window. The walls 
were plastered with photos, on the floor a vase of 
withered flowers. Peeking here and there —  in 
closets, in drawers —  Herman came up with a crust 
of bread and seme left-over cheese. Nibbling a 
sandwich, he sat on the bed. Outside Annie was 
giggling. He plucked her a daisy. He rummaged in 
the closet for an eyeshade. She was the picture of 
contentment hanging like that, wearing the eyeshade, 
a flower in her hair. And best of all, trapped in 
mid-air, she was going nowhere, thought Herman, as 
he pulled back the covers and fluffed up the 
pillows. Looking happily about him, he enjoyed a 
satisfied yawn and, closing his eyes on the rising 
sun, settled deep into the oversized bed for a 
good day's sleep in the heat.



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