Martutene

by Ramón Saizarbitoria

  “Gizajoa,” says Lynn, poor man, using Harri’s intonation, emphasising the first syllable and almost whispering the other three.

  Julia felt sorry for him, too, and to make him feel better, she told him that the woman couldn’t have been that bright and that it was incomprehensible that she could have taken him to be one of those men who go up to women on the street. She told him he was right again and again. She must have been a bit of a goody-goody, as well, because when it came down to it, it was ten o’ clock in the morning, they were in the middle of town and surrounded by people—there wasn’t any reason for her to be frightened. He should just forget about it. But he wasn’t prepared to do that, he carried on criticizing her, because he was hurt—how could such an ordinary-looking woman think that he, the seduction king, who had more difficulty than anybody else steering clear of all the women who were after him, could possibly want to ensnare her in his net? He kept on grumbling, walking around and around, until she, fed up, told him what she really thought: he, too, should have been more careful and understanding, because at the end of the day, that anodyne woman was in an unfamiliar city, and in addition to that, he had to admit that his question, which was suspicious at best, put her in an unusual situation. He flew into a rage, accused her of always being very understanding with people who insult him and never being on his side.

  “Gizajoa,” Lynn said again.

  Julia can’t think of an equivalent expression in Spanish to one does the harm, and another bears the blame. Pagar justos por pecadores, maybe—the innocent pay for the sinners. She can’t think of an equivalent in Basque, either. The closest thing she can come up with is ardien hutsak pagatu behar bildotsak—the lambs have to make up for the sheep’s mistakes. Lynn says that sometimes women are unfair to men, and Julia, on the other hand, says she thinks Lynn is fairly critical of women and very understanding with men. She says it as she thinks it, and Lynn bursts out laughing. Julia doesn’t understand what she’s laughing so much about. She says she’s glad Lynn’s in such a good mood. She sounds as if she may be annoyed. Be that as it may, Lynn becomes serious. “Not all that good a mood, believe me,” she says, and when Julia asks her what’s wrong, is she unwell, Lynn answers vaguely.

  Nothing serious, just “disorders,” she says, wanting to avoid the subject. Julia thinks that by “disorders” she means the ones some women have before their periods, and she is just about to tell her that if that’s the case, she’s in good hands, but in the end, she keeps the pleasantry to herself.

  Lynn asks if she knows what she was just laughing about. With an air of confidentiality, she lowers her voice and moves toward Julia until their knees touch between their two chairs, and she says that she’s had these “disorders” for a long time, they’re not serious, just pretty uncomfortable, and she doesn’t pay much attention to them, but since she has a health insurance plan now that’s much better than the one she had in the States, she decided to go to the doctor’s last week. She was told that one of the places that accepts her insurance company is the San Luis Clinic, and she won’t deny that finding that out did to an extent influence her decision to go ahead and make an appointment for a general checkup. Smiling, she looks at Julia inquisitively to check that she’s understanding her—“¿Me entiendes?” Julia says that she understands, even though she isn’t wholly sure, and Lynn asks her if she thinks it’s wrong, unhealthy. Without waiting for an answer, she adds that she’s incredibly curious to see what Abaitua’s wife is like and that when she stepped into the clinic’s reception area and saw her name on the directory board, she almost fainted. “Pilar—a harsh name.” Doesn’t Julia agree? She doesn’t have an opinion about the name, but she doesn’t have to say anything, because Lynn carries on talking without letting her answer. Lynn was convinced that if his wife saw her, she would guess she was her husband’s lover, and while she was getting all her tests done, many of which really weren’t necessary, her only worry—a mixed feeling of fear and hope—was that his wife would suddenly appear. While she sat naked under her little gown on the examination table, she fantasized that Pilar would come in, covered from head to toe in surgeon’s clothes without saying a word, and she, Lynn, would only know who she was because of the name on her smock. Later, when the tests were over and she scanned the directory board again, she decided to go up to the floor where her office is, just to see her name on the door, nothing more, and she was about to reach the landing when she bumped into her. She looked younger than she had expected her to, and above all, more beautiful. “Oso ederra da?”—Isn’t she beautiful? So she is. Lynn thought her very elegant in her violet-colored scrubs. She took her cap off and shook her hair loose; she had some gray in her black hair, but she looked young and strong. She was with another female doctor, who was wearing a white smock, but Lynn had no doubt that she was the one who’d just taken her cap off. She wanted to make sure, put her glasses on, and stepped closer to her to try to see her name. Lynn says she found her attitude peculiar. When she went up to her, Pilar looked at her and asked in a very particular voice—cocking her head to one side in a gesture of displeasure, with a “confoundedly” soft but firm voice—if she needed help. She asked it with the informal rather than the formal Spanish conjugation: “¿Necesitas ayuda?” She didn’t have her name embroidered on her chest in the end, but Lynn was sure it was her. She answered that she didn’t need anything. Luckily, the elevator was just a step away. She pressed the button and thought that Pilar must be thinking, since they were on the first floor, that she didn’t lead a very healthy lifestyle. Pilar turned her back on her. She said that she was inundated with work, as if trying to get rid of the other doctor, and in farewell, she said to her colleague, “And don’t you pay any attention to men.” Remembering that was what made her laugh when Julia claimed she was too understanding with men. She’d said, “Don’t you pay any attention to men,” and she’d laughed—one of those clear, crystal laughs—before closing the door behind her. She envied that laugh. When the overweight, ordinary-looking woman who she wished would have been the one to have Pilar Goytisolo embroidered on her smock walked by, Lynn had only to stretch her neck out to see for sure that the sign on the office door had Pilar’s name on it. She looked elegant and beautiful, had a soft voice and a happy laugh. “I felt terrible.” Lynn looks at Julia with her funny, happy smile. “What do you think of that?”

  Julia is about to say “I think you’re a bit crazy” when they hear Martin’s pacing out in the hallway. Julia thinks he drags his feet more and more and wonders whether he’ll join them in the living room or stop at the bathroom. The latter happens. He slams the door closed, as if to let them know that he’s still angry.

  Lynn points at the book by Noll on the table and asks Julia if she’s enjoying it. So she wants to change the subject. Julia says she is, more than when she first started reading it. There’s a lot in it about Frisch. She’s marking the pages with quotes on them for Martin, so that he doesn’t have to read the whole book. There are some funny observations in it. For instance, on page 97: “As long as [Frisch] has problems with women, he won’t die.” And on page 110: “Literary history would be making a serious mistake if it didn’t see him as a thinker.” And on the same page: “Frisch’s work leads us to the mistaken belief that his literature, in terms of content and theme, is in some way connected with the writer’s life and, in fact, that it is a description of it. It is often thought that Frisch’s themes are personal: his own identity, his relationships with women, his problems with himself and with other people. In fact, he stays quite a lot further away from his own descriptions than the descriptions themselves might lead one to believe.” Julia thinks it’s an interesting observation, coming as it does from somebody who knew him. And she finds it moving to see how much Frisch enjoyed his relationship with his dying friend. On page 189: “Most visits make me think I’m fulfilling an obligation. Of course, it’s not like that with Frisch, because he, too, finds our conversations interesting
.” And then there was his kindness in taking Noll to Egypt when he was really ill. It was a tough journey for both of them, for the sick man and for his friend, too, and the Swiss Air Force had to repatriate them. Frisch was as generous as ever. Lynn’s eyes shine. She asks Julia to lend it to her when she finishes.

  Harri on the phone—she can’t get the iron gate to open and can somebody come out to open it for her. She complains, by way of greeting, about the rain, even though it’s long since cleared up. There are puddles everywhere, and she’d been wanting to wear some wonderful new sandals for the first time. She says hello to Lynn in the same way. It’s still too early to go to the hospital, but she feels nervous waiting at home, and she would have ended up buying more clothes if she’d continued walking around town. Julia says she doesn’t have anything to complain about and she’ll soon enough regret saying such silly things. To which Harri replies that the only thing making her nervous is the prospect of Abaitua seeing her practically naked like that, whiter than white as she is. As always, it’s not clear whether she’s trying to make them laugh or not. Then she asks about the boy, and Julia, in order to keep her happy, says that he’s been working for a while now. Julia also tells her about the bad experience he had that morning, and as expected, Harri comes out in his defense. The woman was real idiot, no doubt about it. The insulted man comes into the living room, like Diogenes emerging from his barrel, just in time to hear the last comment, and he takes advantage of the presence of an ally to accuse Julia of always siding with his enemies. “And somebody once said you were loyal.” It’s a comment neither Harri nor Lynn can understand, but they do understand that it’s undoubtedly connected with some private thought of his, and an awkward silence descends. Until Harri complains once more that the bad weather has prevented her from wearing her new sandals for the first time, and Lynn recites: “Mal tiempo dicen los veraneantes . . . ¡Ay qué buen tiempo sin tiempo digo yo!”—summer vacationers say the weather’s bad this season . . . I say it’s unseasonably good! Julia is amused by Lynn making use of Celaya, as if she were a Donostian taking foreigners’ complaints about the weather as personal insults. Martin asks her where she got that from, jealous, apparently, that somebody else has told her about Rapsodia Euskara, and Lynn tells him that Kepa usually says that when it rains. “Con boina y con gabardina recorro el Paseo Nuevo”—I walk along the Paseo Nuevo in a beret and a raincoat. She knows the whole poem by heart. She tries to explain herself: she prefers intermittent rain and mild temperatures to sweating in the shade in ninety-five-degree heat. A typical Donostian’s statement. In any case, says the writer, it doesn’t rain like it used to. He means it doesn’t rain like it used to back when he wrote Beti euria ari du. In Julia’s memory, too, the rain then would bring mist with it and last for weeks once it started. Back then, trying to find shelter until it cleared up was pointless.

  They talk about climate change.

  “Anyway,” says Harri, imitating Lynn. She says that the rain having prevented her from wearing her fine Italian sandals for the first time means that she won’t be able to show off the part of her body she has most reason to be proud of. She stretches her legs out and uses her toes to take her shoes off and holds her feet up in the air. Julia is astonished to see that she’s gone to the trouble of painting her toenails purple just to go to the doctor’s. Otherwise, her feet are quite normal—they do have rather large bunions, but they aren’t damaged and are very well looked after. What do they think of them, she says, holding them up in the air. It’s obvious she’s nervous, and she confirms it when she says there’s still an hour to go. “What’s there still an hour to go for?” The writer’s forgotten that she has an appointment with Abaitua and that Julia’s agreed to go with her. Harri makes great signs of disappointment. Is that what you would expect from a friend? How could he forget that she’s got an appointment to get the carcinoma in her chest looked at? She puts on quite a performance about it all, until Lynn tells her to stop talking about tumors and that she’ll feel better when the appointment’s over. Martin, too, says he’s sure that she’ll feel better when it’s over, but there’s a hidden meaning to his words. And to make it clear, he adds that it seems the doctor has good hands—“Badirudi doktoreak oso esku ona duela”—and gives a pathetic, rabbit-like laugh. He isn’t sure if Lynn understands him or not. Julia pretends not to have heard, and Harri does the same. Martin quickly tries to cover up for the fact that he’s just carelessly mentioned Abaitua in Basque by saying that Abaitua recommended a nurse for his father and that his mother and sister are already unhappy. Martin’s sure he’s a good doctor, but apparently his nurses are prettier than they are competent, he says, completely seriously, to which first Lynn and then Julia laugh. They start laughing out loud, and Harri and Martin look on at them uncomprehendingly. Martin seems to be the more put out of the two. Lynn asks him to forgive her as soon as she can, tears in her eyes, saying she just remembered something else. Julia can think of nothing better than to say that she found Lynn’s laughter contagious and suggests tea, so that she can get away to the kitchen.

  To show that he’s still put out, Martin uncouthly pours the milk in on top of the tea. Harri usually says thank you in French. Merçi. Lynn points it out to her, and they say that it’s a custom in the Donostia area. It’s a result of historical contact with French polite customs. People of modest means didn’t use to say thank you in Basque or Spanish and started imitating the French. That’s what Julia thinks. It’s a relevant subject—today is August 31. That night, the burning of the city will be commemorated on the street named after the day, Abuztuaren 31 Kalea. Lights are switched off and candles are set out on all the balconies.

  Something incredible: Martin suggests going to have dinner at Kokotxa, because from one of the restaurant windows you can see Abuztuaren 31 Kalea. It’s incredible, because he hasn’t left the house at night for a long time. It seems he regrets having been rude to Lynn, and in a way, it’s a direct invitation to her. But she can’t make it. She blushes and says she’s expecting a call and can’t make a new commitment. Martin pours milk into his tea again. It doesn’t take much to make him feel insulted. Lynn, wanting to change the subject, tells Julia that the time has come for big decisions. “The big decision.” Julia merely nods. Lynn then asks her how she’s getting on with the translation. Julia doesn’t want to talk about going back to work, but even less about how the translation’s going with Martin there. She just says it’s going well and, to stop her from asking any more questions, passes the baton onto Harri—how’s her search for the man from the airport going? It’s also incredible that Harri, for once, doesn’t feel like talking about the dratted story she usually forces them all to take an interest in. She tells them not to tease her, she knows they don’t believe her at all, and she pulls a face like a sulking child. However, there’s no doubt whatsoever that she’s completely serious when she reproaches them for not taking any interest in things that happen outside of novels. It’s a reprimand for Martin, because he’s never been inspired to use her stories in a book. She holds onto his sleeve and looks him in the face—“Tell me, what are you writing about right now, something more interesting than my story?”

  The scene going on is quite pathetic, and that’s probably why Lynn now literally flees. She’s got the washing machine going. It sounds like an excuse. She gives all three of them two kisses—Julia envies her being able to give the annoyed writer a kiss on each cheek, too—and longer ones to Harri, wishing her luck. It’s all going to go well.

  As soon as Lynn leaves, Harri starts in on Martin for the way he’s been treating Lynn like a wretched little girl recently. And don’t think she hasn’t noticed his way of serving the tea, either. “How could you?” Like Julia’s mother, she shakes her head slowly. The writer defends himself like a child having a tantrum—she doesn’t know how Lynn spoils his evenings. He talks about her lovemaking again and about how her cries can be heard all over the house. Isn’t that right? Now he want
s Julia to side with him. She could say to him that perhaps he wouldn’t hear them if he weren’t listening out for them, running up to the bedroom as soon as he hears Abaitua’s footsteps on the gravel. “Isn’t that right?” he insists. Really frightening cries, cries that drown out the noise from the trains, cries that must scandalize the nuns at the convent next door, he says, now trying to resort to comedy to help his cause. It makes Julia want to say that the calm murmur of voices and their happy laughter usually make her feel envious. Even though, at first, the cries made her a bit nervous, they don’t any more; once, she almost sat down and started playing Ravel’s Bolero on the piano, and she even ventured—she has no idea how she worked up the courage—to tell Lynn that, and Lynn found it funny, she laughed at the idea, and the memory of it makes Julia herself laugh now, right as Martin is talking about how he once caught Lynn with a jar of oil lubricating the hinges on the tower door for the sole purpose of making her secret lover’s arrival more discreet. Julia had seen that, too, and she’d found it moving. In fact, she’d been envious. She gets jealous when she hears Lynn listening to Dylan’s most sentimental songs and realizes she’s waiting for him.