Jimmy Mathis knew his girl had a fine ass. He let her know it by grabbing her left cheek and squeezing it every chance he got. Coming out of the shower he grabbed it, walking into the movie theater he grabbed it, and when she bent over to clear the front seat of his black Olds’ 88 he grabbed it. Ada loved the attention. She giggled and blushed and coyly brushed his hand away, and gave him a “not here Jimmy” every time, but Jimmy knew better. Jimmy was an optimist. He knew all the dark secrets of her body and could name them in the dark one by one. He counted them like a litany in which her body answered back with a series of lurid calls.
Ada grew up Amish, but it didn’t take. She left the farm when Jimmy rolled up to the house asking for directions after a wrong turn out of Silver Creek that took him down that long dirt stretch of Hardscrabble road to Ada.
There was Ada in her bonnet and best dress and Jimmy all “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir” and “North?” When Jimmy spied her, watching shyly from the porch, he knew what she was all about, he saw right past every inch of affectation and custom to the pure thing that pulsed under all that cotton and wool, and he knew he would be the one to conjure it out, to bring it forth into the world of men.
And it was that look, that moment of exchanged glances that broke the Ordnung and cast Ada out from the Garden of Eden into the bright world of Jimmy. The doors were shut on her, her name forbidden from speech. When she left all the trees on the farm gave up their leaves and bowed down their branches, and her mother wailed and her father spat, and that was that; Ada became the name that was not named.
After the wedding Jimmy carried Ada across the threshold into his mothers’ basement, and Ada said it was good, that it would do and she smiled and she kissed Jimmy and Jimmy kissed her. They lay together for three days and the house moaned and Jimmy’s mother left on account of all the noise, the neighbors stopped up their ears, and dogs barked and barked and fornicated without end until everyone had had enough and they slept. Outside it began to rain, and it rained and rained. Inside Jimmy and Ada purred and sang, held hands and spoke without speaking.
Ada got a job in the deli at the Quality Market, while Jimmy did body work for Mr. Bellamy. After work Ada would wash Jimmy in the tub and Jimmy would rub Ada’s feet, and they talked and laughed and Jimmy made dinner for Ada and Ada played the piano. At night they lay together coupling and uncoupling, writhing in the pleasure of their bodies, until the sky grew red and dawn peaked into the basement window.
Ada gave birth to twins, and Jimmy saw that it was good, and he was happy. One girl named Rebecca and one boy named Amos. Ada suckled them at her breasts while Jimmy sat and smiled and thought how wonderful life is, he stroked Ada’s hair and Ada laughed and blushed and the children grew. Ada Jimmy Rebecca and Amos moved into a house in the middle of nowhere and Jimmy taught Ada to drive in the fertile fields behind the house, while Rebecca and Amos rode the bus to school, holding hands even though the other children laughed at them.
Ada planted a garden and Jimmy walked behind her pouring water over the sown seeds and occasionally slapping Ada on the ass while Rebecca and Amos played in the apple trees. The garden grew and grew and Ada expanded it still. Greens and roots, flowers and vegetables, fruit trees and flowering trees; which grew tall and surrounded the house until the house disappeared into the foliage and the scent of rhododendron, dogwood, and hawthorn.
When it came time for Rebecca and Amos to go off into the world Ada and Jimmy threw them an enormous party that the whole town attended. Jimmy made toasts to Rebecca and Amos, and to Ada and to his love for all three. There was dancing and drinking and a feast that lasted three days, and when it was over Rebecca and Amos climbed into a carriage and rode off into the world holding hands just as they had done as children, and Ada and Jimmy smiled and waved and stayed at the end of the road until the carriage passed over the horizon, and they stayed a bit longer, until Jimmy squeezed Ada’s ass and Ada giggled and blushed, and Jimmy thought “this is good” and then he said it, and Ada agreed, and they kissed until the moon came up and until the moon went down. The stars shown brightly down on Ada and Jimmy who were like two shadows in the night becoming one, and the stars saw that it was good and they smiled back.
They went back into the house and grew fat with age, and the house sagged as did Ada, but Jimmy didn’t mind as he sagged too, and he still lovingly grabbed her ass. The grass and trees grew and the house disappeared behind them, and soon the town forgot all about Ada and Jimmy. Amos and Rebecca grew old too and disappeared into the world, still holding hands. And Ada and Jimmy lay together; Ada forever saying “here, Jimmy, here.”