![]() ![]() “Who are you calling?” my Aunt Gladys asked. She caught the bottom of her suit between thumb and index finger and flicked what flesh had been showing back where it belonged. She extended a hand for her glasses but did not put them on until she turned and headed away. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes watery though not from the water. The rose glided dry to the edge and then it was beside me. She dove beautifully, and a moment later she was swimming back to the side of the pool, her head of short-clipped auburn hair held up, straight ahead of her, as though it were a rose on a long stem. Then she stepped out to the edge of the diving board and looked foggily into the pool it could have been drained, myopic Brenda would never have known it. The first time I saw Brenda she asked me to hold her glasses. Philip Roth Issue 20, Autumn-Winter 1958-1959 ![]()
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