"Don't worry about the kids," the boy says. "Kids are beautiful, man. And they know much more than grownups think they know. Kids are just perfect people until grownups get their hands on them. The kids were just fine. Kids are always just fine."
"You have kids?" Garp can't help but mutter; until now Garp has felt great patience toward the young man, but Garp isn't patient on the subject of children. He accepts no other authority there. "Good-bye," Garp tells the boy. "And don't come back." He shoves him, but lightly, out the open door.
"Don't push me!" the kid shouts, but Garp ducks under the punch and comes up with his arms locked around the kid's waist; to Garp it feels that the kid weighs seventy-five, maybe eighty pounds, though of course he's heavier than that. He bear-hugs the boy and pins his arms behind his back; then he carries him out to the sidewalk. When the kid stops struggling, Garp puts him down.
"You know where to go?" Garp asks him. "Do you need any directions?" The kid breathes deeply, feels his ribs. "And don't tell your friends where they can come sniffing around after it," Garp says. "Don't even use the phone."
"I don't even know her name, man," the kid whines.
"And don't call me 'man' again," says Garp.
"Okay, man," the kid says. Garp feels a pleasant dryness in his throat, which he recognizes as his readiness to touch someone, but he lets the feeling pass.
"Please walk away from here," Garp says.
A block away, the boy calls, "Good-bye, man!" Garp knows how quickly he could run him down; anticipation of such a comedy appeals to him, but it would be disappointing if the boy weren't scared and Garp feels no pressing need to hurt him. Garp waves good-bye. The boy raises his middle finger and walks away, his silly robe dragging--an early Christian lost in the suburbs.
Look out for the lions, kid, Garp thinks, sending a blessing of protection after the boy. In a few years, he knows, Duncan will be that age; Garp can only hope that he'll find it easier to communicate with Duncan.
Back inside, Mrs. Ralph is crying. Garp hears her talking to the dog. "Oh, Bill," she sobs. "I'm sorry I abuse you, Bill. You're so nice."
"Good-bye!" Garp calls up the stairs. "Your friend's gone, and I'm going too."
"Chickenshit!" yells Mrs. Ralph. "How can you leave me like this?" Her wailing grows louder; soon, Garp thinks, the dog will start to bay.
"What can I do?" Garp calls up the stairs.
"You could at least stay and talk to me!" Mrs. Ralph shouts. "You goody-goody chickenshit wingding!"
What's a wingding? Garp wonders, navigating the stairs.
"You probably think this happens to me all the time," says Mrs. Ralph, in utter rumplement upon the water bed. She sits with her legs crossed, her kimono tight around her, Bill's large head in her lap.
Garp, in fact, does think so, but he shakes his head.
"I don't get my rocks off by humiliating myself, you know," Mrs. Ralph says. "For God's sake, sit down." She pulls Garp to the rocking bed. "There's not enough water in the damn thing," Mrs. Ralph explains. "My husband used to fill it all the time, because it leaks."
"I'm sorry," Garp says. The marriage-counsel man.
"I hope you never walk out on your wife," Mrs. Ralph tells Garp. She takes his hand and holds it in her lap; the dog licks his fingers. "It's the shittiest thing a man can do," says Mrs. Ralph. "He just told me he'd been faking his interest in me, 'for years'! he said. And then he said that almost any other woman, young or old, looked better to him than I did. That's not very nice, is it?" Mrs. Ralph asks Garp.
"No, it isn't," Garp agrees.
"Please believe me, I never messed around with anyone until he left me," Mrs. Ralph tells him.
"I believe you," Garp says.
"It's very hard on a woman's confidence," Mrs. Ralph says. "Why shouldn't I try to have some fun?"
"You should," Garp says.
"But I'm so bad at it!" Mrs. Ralph confesses, holding her hands to her eyes, rocking on the bed. The dog tries to lick her face but Garp pushes him away; the dog thinks Garp is playing with him and lunges across Mrs. Ralph's lap. Garp whacks the dog's nose--too hard--and the poor beast whines and slinks away. "Don't you hurt Bill!" Mrs. Ralph shouts.
"I was just trying to help you," Garp says.
"You don't help me by hurting Bill," Mrs. Ralph says. "Jesus, is everyone bananas?"
Garp slumps back on the water bed, eyes shut tight; the bed rolls like a small sea, and Garp groans. "I don't know how to help you," he confesses. "I'm very sorry about your troubles, but there's really nothing I can do, is there? If you want to tell me anything, go ahead," he says, his eyes still shut tight, "but nobody can help the way you feel."