“No.”
“You can interfere with this one,” he looked at the cook. “He likes it.”
The cook looked away from him holding his lips tight together.
“He puts lemon juice on his hands,” the man said. “He wouldn’t get them in dishwater for anything. Look how white they are.”
One of the whores laughed out loud. She was the biggest whore I ever saw in my life and the biggest woman. And she had on one of those silk dresses that change colors. There were two other whores that were nearly as big but the big one must have weighed three hundred and fifty pounds. You couldn’t believe she was real when you looked at her. All three had those changeable silk dresses. They sat side by side on the bench. They were huge. The other two were just ordinary looking whores, peroxide blondes.
“Look at his hands,” the man said and nodded his head at the cook. The whore laughed again and shook all over.
The cook turned and said to her quickly, “You big disgusting mountain of flesh.”
She just keep on laughing and shaking.
“Oh, my Christ,” she said. She had a nice voice. “Oh, my sweet Christ.”
The two other whores, the big ones, acted very quiet and placid as though they didn’t have much sense, but they were big, nearly as big as the biggest one. They’d have both gone well over two hundred and fifty pounds. The other two were dignified.
Of the men, besides the cook and the one who talked, there were two other lumberjacks, one that listened, interested but bashful, and the other that seemed getting ready to say something, and two Swedes. Two Indians were sitting down at the end of the bench and one standing up against the wall.
The man who was getting ready to say something spoke to me very low, “Must be like getting on top of a hay mow.”
