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I took a minute more of panting to compose myself, then asked casually, 'Are you going to Iowa City?'
They gaped at me for a long time, but I was too proud and too weary to unwrap my bundle and dress myself.
Then Harry said, 'God, are you going to Iowa City?'
'They won't let you into Iowa City like that,' said Eddy, still holding the gory duck.
Dressing in the road beside their truck, I noticed that my condom was still attached. But if I'd removed it, it would have been too much like admitting to these hunters that I really did wear such a thing. I dressed right over it, simply ignoring it.
Then we all got in the truck, amid much changing of seats and bickering about who'd drive. Eddy finally took the wheel and said, 'Jesus. We saw your little friend go by.'
'If she was your friend ...' Harry said to me. But wedged in between them I didn't answer. I could feel my feet warming and bleeding in my boots beside the bloody ducks.
Cautious Harry kept the guns between the door and his knee, putting them far from my reach, understandably not trusting a run-around nudist and madman.
'Jesus,' said Eddy, as if still trying to convince himself. 'She was just batting like hell down that old road ...'
'She almost swiped you,' said Harry.
'Well, Christ, I was staring so hard,' Eddy told him, leaning across my lap, 'I almost forgot to get out of her way.' He paused, then added, 'Holy shit, she had such a nice little pair on her, sitting right up there, behind the wheel. It was almost like she was driving with them ...'
'Well, God; I was up here in the cab,' Harry said. 'I could see her whole thing. Shit! I was looking right down in her lap!' He paused, then added, '... such a nice little bush ...'
Envious Eddy said defensively, 'Well, I saw her pair, anyway. I got a good look.'
I almost entered the conversation then; I wanted to say, 'I got a pretty good look myself.' But I looked down at the floor a
t a duck's slack neck and upturned, downy belly; the feathers near the neat slit, the careful gash, were soaked with the blood.
Then, loud beside me Eddy said, 'Sweet Jesus, here she is again!' All of us stared at the sea-green Edsel parked at the side of the road ahead.
'Slow down,' Harry said, but I thought, Please don't slow down too much.
Slowly we cruised past her, three gawking faces turning to look her over. Harry and I turned around and watched the Edsel shrink behind us while Eddy used the mirror, swearing softly, 'Shit shit shit, oh, shit ...'
'Oh, shit,' echoed Harry.
But I was relieved to see Lydia Kindle dressing behind the wheel, applying the finishing touches, buttoning up under our gapes; it showed me she was somewhat sane again.
And how sane she looked! There was such a cold, unrecognizing look in her face - unsurprised to see me in the truck, or not even noticing; or poised enough, in an awful adult way, to pretend, with frightening composure, not to notice any of us.
The violation was complete; Lydia Kindle was defiled more perfectly than any pervert could have planned it.
I shifted my throbbing feet, Eddy farted and Harry answered him. Inches from my boot, the viscous eye of the duck was drying up, the shine dulled.
'Jesus,' I said.
'Yeah, shit,' said Eddy.
'Yeah, Jesus,' Harry said.
Grief shared; we were a threesome of disappointment.
On Interstate 80, the sea-green Edsel hurtled past us. Eddy honked his horn and Harry cried, 'Go, you little honey!'
And I thought: Lydia Kindle will probably transfer to another section of freshman German language lab.
Eddy took the Clinton Street exit, bringing us in by City Park. As we crossed the river, Harry began to pluck a duck, savagely seizing great clumps of down in his fist and stuffing the feathers out of the side-vent window. But half the feathers blew back inside, and his sloppy speed tore the duck's oily skin. Harry didn't seem to mind; fiercely intent, he ravaged on. A feather stuck to Eddy's lip; he spat and rolled down his window, creating a cross gale. Suddenly the cab was awhirl with feathers. Harry hooted and threw a handful of them at Eddy, who swerved on to the shoulder of the road and swiped at mad Harry's throttled bird, reaching across my lap and clucking like a loon.
