Falconer+-+John+Cheever

Falconer 145
Farragut had stolen and no one had found the honed typewriter
key. After new uniforms were issued, alterations were in order.
Most of the men wanted their new issue cut and resewn along
sharp lines. It was four days before there was any green thread for
sale, and the supply ran out in an hour, but Bumpo and Tennis,
both of whom could sew, got a spool and a week was spent in
fittings and alterations. “Knock, knock,” said the Cuckold, and
Farragut asked him in although he did not and never had truly
wanted to see his mate. He did want to hear a voice other than TV,
and to feel in his cell the presence of another man, a companion.
The Cuckold was a compromise, but he had no choice. The
Cuckold had had his new issue cut so tight that it must be painful.
The seat of his pants would bark his asshole like the saddle of a
racing bike and the crotch definitely gave him pain, Farragut could
see, because he flinched when he sat down. In spite of all this pain,
thought Farragut uncharitably, there was nothing appetizing to be
seen, but then his thinking about the Cuckold was generally
uncharitable. As his mate sat down and prepared to talk again
about his wife, Farragut thought that the Cuckold had an
inflatable ego. He seemed, preparing to talk, to be in the act of
being pumped up with gas. Farragut had the illusion that this
increase in size was palpable and that the Cuckold, swelling, would
push the copy of Descartes off the table, push the table up against
the bars, uproot the toilet and destroy the cot where he lay. His
story, Farragut knew, would be unsavory, but what Farragut didn’t
know was what importance to give unsavory matters. They existed,
they were invincible, but the light they threw was, he thought,
unequal to their prominence. The Cuckold claimed to have a rich
lode of information, but the facts he possessed only seemed to
reinforce Farragut’s ignorance, suspiciousness and his capacity for
despair. These were all parts of his disposition and might, he
guessed, need cultivation. Haste and impetuous optimism could
be contemptible, and with this in mind he did not protest when
the Cuckold cleared his throat and said, “If you was to ask my
advice about marriage, I would advise you not to put too much
attention on fucking. I guess I married her because she was a great