Alice Munros Best

limp on the couch, laughing, the cushion flung on the floor.
    “What did you think I was doing?” she said. “Didn’t you know I was kidding?”
    “I was thirsty,” Edith said.
    “You just drank a whole glass of iced coffee.”
    “I was thirsty for water.”
    “Can’t have any fun with you.” Sabitha sat up. “If you’re so thirsty why don’t you drink it?”
    They sat in a moody silence until Sabitha said, in a conciliatory but disappointed tone, “Aren’t we going to write Johanna another letter? Let’s write her a lovey-dovey letter.”
    Edith had lost a good deal of her interest in the letters, but she was gratified to see that Sabitha had not. Some sense of having power over Sabitha returned, in spite of Lake Simcoe and the breasts. Sighing, as if reluctantly, she got up and took the cover off the typewriter.
    “My darlingest Johanna –” said Sabitha.
    “No. That’s too sickening.”
    “She won’t think so.”
    “She will so,” said Edith.
    She wondered whether she should tell Sabitha about the danger of congested organs. She decided not to. For one thing, that information fell into a category of warnings she had received from her mother and never known whether to wholly trust or distrust. It had not fallen as low, in credibility, as the belief that wearing foot-rubbers in the house would ruin your eyesight, but there was no telling – someday it might.
    And for another thing Sabitha would just laugh. She laughed at warnings – she would laugh even if you told her that chocolate eclairs would make her fat.
    “Your last letter made me so happy –”
    “Your last letter filled me with rap-ture –” said Sabitha.
    “– made me so happy to think I did have a true friend in the world, which is you –”
    “I could not sleep all night because I was longing to crush you in my arms –” Sabitha wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth.
    “No.
Often I have felt so lonely in spite of a gregarious life and not known where to turn –”
    “What does that mean – ‘gregarious’? She won’t know what it means.”
    “She
will.”
    That shut Sabitha up and perhaps hurt her feelings. So at the end Edith read out, “‘I must say good-bye and the only way I can do it is to imagine you reading this and blushing –’ Is that more what you want?”
    “Reading it in bed with your nightgown on,” said Sabitha, always quickly restored, “and thinking how I would crush you in my arms and I would suck your titties –”
    My Dear Johanna,
    Your last letter made me so happy to think I have a true friend in the world, which is you. Often I have felt so lonely in spite of a gregarious life and not known where to turn.
    Well, I have told Sabitha in my letter about my good fortune and how I am going into the hotel business. I did not tell her actually how sick I was last winter because I did not want to worry her. I do not want to worry you, either, dear Johanna, only to tell you that I thought of you so often and longed to see your dear sweet face. When I was feverish I thought that I really did see it bending over me and I heard your voice telling me I would soon be better and I felt the ministrations of your kind hands. I was in the boardinghouse and when I came to out of my fever there was a lot of teasing going on as to, who is this Johanna? But I was sad as could be to wake and find you were not there. I really wondered if you could have flown through the air and been with me, even though I knew that could not have happened. Believe me, believe me, the most beautiful movie star could not have been as welcome to me as you. I don’t know if I should tell you the other things you were saying to me because they were very sweet and intimate but they might embarrass you. I hate to end this letter because it feels now as if I have my arms around you and I am talking to you quietly in the dark privacy of our room, but I must say good-bye and the only way I can do it is to imagine you reading this and blushing. It would be wonderful if you were reading it in bed with your nightgown on and thinking how I would like to crush you in my arms.
    L-v-, Ken Boudreau.
    Somewhat surprisingly, there was no reply to this letter. When Sabitha had written her half-page, Johanna put it in the envelope and addressed it and that was that.
    WHEN JOHANNA GOT off the train there was nobody to meet her. She did not let herself worry about that – she had been thinking that her letter might not,