Falconer+-+John+Cheever

Falconer 121
only get into the shower once a week it’s very confusing. You get
dizzy. You don’t know what’s going on. Oh, if I knew, sir, I’d tell
you. If I’d known what was going on I would have hit him, I
would have killed him. That’s the way I am. I’m very high-strung.”
“He stole my Bible,” Chicken screamed, “he stole my limp leather
copy of the Holy Bible. Look, look, the sonofabitch stole my Holy
Bible.”
Chicken was pointing at the Cuckold. The Cuckold was standing
with his knees knocked together in a ludicrous parody of feminine
shyness. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” he said. “I ain’t
stole nothing of his.” He made a broad gesture with his arms to
demonstrate his empty-handedness. Chicken pushed him. The
Bible fell from between his legs and hit the floor. Chicken grabbed
the book. “My Bible, my Holy Bible, it was sent to me by my
cousin Henry, the only member of my family I heard from in three
years. You stole my Holy Bible. You are so low I wouldn’t want to
spit on you.” Then he spat on the Cuckold. “I never heard, I never
dreamed of anybody so low that he would steal from a man in
prison a Holy Bible given to him by his loving cousin.”
“I didn’t want your Goddamned Bible and you know it,” roared
the Cuckold. He had much more volume to his voice than
Chicken and pitched it at a lower register. “You never looked at
your Bible. There was about an inch of dust on it. For years I
heard you talking about how the last thing in the world you
needed was a Bible. For years I’ve been hearing you bad-mouth
your cousin Henry for sending you a Bible. Everybody in the block
is tired of hearing you talk about Henry and the Bible. All I wanted
was the leather to make wrist-watch straps. I wasn’t going to hurt
the Bible. I was going to return the Bible to you without the
leather was all. If you wanted to read the Bible instead of
complaining about how it wasn’t a can of soup, you would have
found the Bible just as readable when I returned it.”