by Неизвестный
—He’s worthy of love,—she concluded.—A woman who isn’t carried away by him doesn’t have her senses in the right place. That’s my frank opinion.
—Not: bad advertising,—joked Marcelle. And then:—Don’t you think that all this would awaken suspicions about him? Or are you prepared for it?
—You’ve had the chance to get to know him a bit by now. The car was now crossing a bridge which spanned a broad and shallow river. Through its crystalline waters the rocks could be seen scattered along the bottom. Kraft turned to the back seat to announce that they were off to the mountains, not to visit tourist attractions, but to go wherever the road led them.
At about four o’clock, Kraft stopped in front of an inn in a quiet mountain village whose streets were empty. Dogs dozed in the shade cast by the low houses, their trembling tongues wagging from side to side. They drank some bad coffee and had a light snack. The innkeeper, in his shirtsleeves, was armed with a sharply pointed moustache and a curl on his chin on which remained a single long strand of beard, for coquetry perhaps. A spotted cat, basking in the peaceful day, sprawled across one of the solid brown tables.
—It seems as if the world is purged of all annoyance and noise. Suddenly you can hear the sound of your own voice, without a filter,—Barth said as he put a roll filled with butter, tomato, and cheese into his mouth.
—Not every man wants to hear himself,—Kraft pointed out.—Most run to the clamor.
After a while they returned to the car and rolled up and down, stopping on one village and then in another, and when evening fell, they turned home, filled with the lowing of strange animals and intoxicated by the smells of a simple, innocent existence, old as the earth and ceaselessly regenerating until infinity.
1
The jukebox spilled muffled jazz into the darkened hall. A few couples swirled casually. A red gas pump stood tall in front of the café, which opened on to the highway. Cars flew past intermittently, their headlights blinding. From the nearby railroad station, behind the gardens which spread from the street, there rolled from time to time the clear and rhythmic sound of signal whistles, soon after which a train, heaving and huffing, would send a shriek into the hush of night.
They sat in the back garden, which bordered the long hall used for dancing. Moths and mosquitoes hovered around the bare light bulbs that hung between the eucalyptus branches. Red-and-white checked tablecloths covered the big, round, liquor tables.
Cici rose and entered the hall to feed the jukebox a fifty-centime piece. He returned to his place to the accompaniment of a hoarse and lazy waltz. He wanted to dance again. Gina declined on the pretext of fatigue. She drank the remainder of her liquor and continued to draw at her cigarette with short and frequent puffs.
—Is Mr. Barth coming here to meet you?
—We didn’t plan it.
—And you didn’t visit her?
—Yes. This evening.
—Her sickness isn’t critical, I hope.
—It’s hard to say. Spitting blood. But she is better. Her fever is down.
—Too bad. Such a charming girl. She doesn’t look after herself. Swimming in the sea certainly doesn’t help.
—It seems so. She’ll have to stay away from a few things. Her lungs can’t bear abuse.
—But then…on your trip with the German. She was all right then.
—She didn’t fall ill until six days ago.
—The beach isn’t the same without her. She brought a carefree and playful spirit.—After a moment, he continued in a voice trembling with a touch of sadness not befitting his athletic bearing:—The summer, you know, I look forward to it eagerly. Sometimes a visitor you may like happens to drop in.
A female visitor, you mean?
—No, even a male. Simple enough. Winter is terribly boring here. As soon as I finish work I change my clothes and go to Nice. Almost every evening. To play cards and drink Pernod, I don’t care.—He smiled toward the third table and a group of two men and three women, beside which an enormously heavy dog, spotted white and orange, panted.—
—Sunday, Cici lowered his voice,—I was with them at Bouche-de-Loup. They needed a third, for the governess. After all, they have to keep her busy while they fuss with their guys. The tall one, see, the fat one, she’s the mother. A widow. Worse than the daughter. The young one’s husband works in Nice. He only comes every few days, appears in the evening, and is gone by morning. And here the merrymaking continues. After all, they’re not ugly, neither the first nor the second. And the guys are brothers, partners to a mother and daughter. Sometimes their father joins them.
—They can often be seen at the beach, with a boy of about four.
—The boy sleeps, as children do. And they make love.
—And you took the nanny yourself.
—She’s no less than they, is she? Neither less pretty nor less young. Anyway, it was only during that trip. What do you want? A man gets bored, and feels sorry for someone, too.—He continued:—Do you think I couldn’t have had them, too? Anyone I want! But this one is more appealing to me. Her position doesn’t affect me either way. By the way, I was invited to their house for dinner, but I didn’t go.
Gina eyed the third table from time to time, her wondering but disinterested glance going from one face to another in the group, portions of whose loud conversation reached her. She was extremely bored. Several times this evening she had asked herself what demon had made her to agree to join him at the café. She ordered another drink and emptied the glass in a single gulp.
—Are you planning to leave already?—cried Cici when he saw her reach for her handbag.
—One call still walk for a while, slipped from Gina’s lips. She regretted it as she spoke.
Cici wouldn’t let her pay. She would offend him by doing so. It was customary for the cavaliers to pay, not the ladies. Furthermore, it was he who had invited her. She had to concede to his will; it seemed of such importance to him. His face was already flushed with the sense of injustice.
He suggested a different route, partly on the highway but mostly through garden paths. The evening percolated through one as a light and aromatic beverage. The lungs expanded. The half-moon appeared and disappeared periodically behind the bank of trees to their right, sometimes hanging motionlessly for a moment from an upper branch, casting its cool and peaceful light on the empty street glowing subdued, and on the gardens and vineyards which spread out to their left. There were no houses here, or they were hidden in deep gardens, invisible and far removed from the street. And from there, from the depths of the garden, an angry bark would burst occasionally, in response to their muffled footsteps. Treading casually, silently, sometimes together, sometimes apart, each was given to his own thoughts. The spaces between passing cars lengthened. There were no passersby.
They turned onto the path, dark and narrow, the hedges on each side scratching their legs. Cici put his arm through hers. A slight tremor passed through her at the touch of his arm, but she let him do it. They continued in silence. Only Cici’s breath could be heard, heavy and urgent. Gina was uncomfortable. His visible excitement, transmitted to her, started little by little to conquer her being. What was happening to her suddenly? A strange languor had come over her limbs; paralysis. Walking became difficult for her. An animal stupor coated her insides and cast a fog upon her mind like the numbness following a strong drink. The pressure of a muscular arm was vaguely felt, as though distant from the limits of her existence. She saw, and didn’t see, the winding path strewn with rocks. She was walking like a sleepwalker.
They reached a small clearing. The narrow stream nearby sent its timid rush into the stillness. In a remote corner of Gina’s soul, a feeling that she had always walked this path, and would continue along it until the end of her days, came upon her, mingled with the fragile rush of the stream, the fragrant night, and even the strange man. As if all her past life and the possibility for future life had been pumped out of her.
Unknowingly, she sank
to the slope of the riverbank, with Cici outstretched at her feet, whispering with boiling breath, incoherent words. No, Gina didn’t understand a thing. She only sensed her body burning, as if touched by fever. And Cici’s scalding, biting kisses on her hands, on her bare arms, on her neck, on her face. In these kisses was the stomping of a mad, murderous animal. Had she wanted to protest, she would not have been able. And had he wanted to kill her, she would not have protested. She had no control of herself whatsoever. Indistinctly, she felt something happening in her body, which was terrible and caused killing pleasure—but all as if in a nightmare, a decree which cannot be changed and against which one cannot rebel.
Later, they found themselves walking again between the hedge and bramble along the narrow path. Gina hung on Cici’s arm, one hand cupped between his broad, calloused palms. From time to time he bent and touched his ardent lips to the back of this hand, slender and smooth as velvet, with piety, as if it were a holy object. He would give his life for her, for the precious creature who was walking beside him. He had never wished for such joy, nor could he even have imagined it in a dream. How could he prove to her that his life was given to her, and that it was hers to do with as she pleased? A fleeting thought flashed through his mind, whether he should not throw himself into the water in front of her.
But Gina walked silently beside him, lurching as if sick with wine. Something strange and terrible had pierced her life, something irreversible that would now remain in her forever. Everything else from this point on would lose significance relative to it. But could anyone be responsible for it but herself ? It was nothing but a hidden side of her being, hidden even to herself, that all of a sudden was revealed by external circumstances. It wasn’t merely the event that was important here, for it would be possible to erase it or cancel it by forgetting. But the fact that she was capable of this for no reason, simply because the evening was beautiful, the path quiet, and a man had chanced to be beside her. It was enough to drive one mad. And she didn’t even have the right to be upset with the man next to her, and vent her anger. Why? Why should he have let this opportunity slip? After all, he did love her! No, there was no one to blame but herself ! What foolishness on her part, what stupidity, and how purposeless! She could spit into her own face!
She freed herself with such suddenness from his arm that he stopped in his path and turned his wondering face to her. They were approaching the shore now, and the first houses of the village, with the darkness thinning. They weren’t far away from the pension. In a tone that gave absolutely no leeway, she ordered:—Now leave me! I’m going alone from here. Hurriedly, she pulled her hand away as he bent to kiss her. She left him stunned, and disappeared with rapid footsteps, as if running away, without turning her head back.
Barth was already home, preparing for sleep. It was clear he had come in only a few minutes before her. It was about half-past twelve. The hoarse strains of the gramophone still burst from Stephano’s roof, and occasionally a loud, licentious laugh, which Gina recognized as Latzi’s. She was surprised, though, since only a moment ago, as she was passing Stephano’s house, she had no sense of the music or the clamor of his guests. But it really didn’t matter to her. She took off her dress and slip and stood over the basin by the door to wash herself with cold water. She rubbed her sun-browned body with a large rust-colored sponge. The outline of her bathing suit marked her body like a pale white tattoo. She rubbed with a certain anger, as though to scour some unseen stain. She didn’t say a word. Barth undressed while smoking a cigarette. Then, cautiously, he climbed on the bed, stood to his full height, and slapped the wall where it joined the ceiling. Damn! he said to himself. Got away! Lean, erect, he stood on the bed and scanned the emptiness of the room. No, the mosquito had slipped away! After the lights were turned out, on the verge of sleep, then the shrill, vengeful whine would be heard very near to the ear, the bite jarring him abruptly into angry wakefulness. There was no choice but resignation. He climbed down from the bed and approached Gina as she was drying herself. He put his arm around her waist.
—Why so quiet, little Gin?
Gina didn’t answer. After a moment:—How is she?
—Her fever went up again. I stopped by the cafe,—he added.—I thought I’d find you there.
—I went earlier, but got bored and went for a walk. Were you there all along?
—Of course not. I left at ten and wandered around the streets.
—And why didn’t you come earlier to the cafe?—she added with concealed anger.
—Earlier? I didn’t want to interrupt,—he joked,—as you were in the company of a cavalier.
Gina slid her blue nightgown over her head. Not without a hint of contempt, she thought bitterly to herself: Yes, yes, my friend, in the company of a cavalier. As she came up to the bed she said:—It would have been better if you had disturbed us.
And she lay down.
Her unusual tone of voice escaped Barth. He poured himself a glass of water and emptied it in a single gulp. He asked if she wanted to read a bit. No, she didn’t want to read. He turned out the light and opened the door to the balcony. The sound of voices and laughter rushed into the room at once, louder, clearer, as if from the balcony itself. Through the sounds could be heard the tail end of Jejette’s shrill laugh. Truncated, grating, in which there was an annoyingly immature impudence. In front of Gina there her image suddenly flashed, full bosomed, and an unpleasant sensation rose in her. She lay on her back, close to the wall, her two hands away from her body, this body which seemed strange to her, and to which her intimate attachment was cut. This body of hers was different now, incomprehensible, not the same as yesterday. It aroused fear and nausea in her. An alien and despicable element had just been revealed. Always unknown to her, it had been dormant, but ready to subjugate her at any time. She lay motionless, afraid to move lest she touch this body, silent and heavy. If only she could vomit. Simply. Maybe then she could relieve her disgust. She was grateful to Barth for lingering on the balcony. He stood leaning against the railing, his head turned toward Stephano’s roof. She could make out his dark silhouette. If only he would remain standing like this forever! She could not bear his closeness now, his touch, as she could not bear her own. Ah! You son of a bitch! Ha, ha, ha! Stephano’s drunken roar could be heard, exultant. It was followed by a moment of silence during which a straining ear could distinguish the delicate lapping of the sea as it rhythmically slapped the shore. Gina’s body burned feverishly. She pushed away the sheet that covered her. If only it were possible to sleep, and forget everything for a few hours! But there was no hope that she would soon fall asleep.
Barth entered the room and lay down beside her. Quietly she rolled to the wall so as not to arouse his notice. But he moved his body close to her, pressing against her full-length, his lips seeking hers in the darkness.—You’re not sleeping, Gin my dear.
Gina recoiled, then sat up.—Oh, it’s unbearably warm…why don’t we go for a breath of fresh air, or up to Stephano’s?
—Now? At this hour?
—So what! I must…if not I’ll toss awake until morning. I feel it. If you’re too tired, I’ll go alone.
—Perhaps not…try washing with cold water again.
Gina jumped out of bed.
—Of course I won’t let you go alone at this hour.
On Stephano’s roof, it wasn’t yet late at all. Jubilant spirits prevailed. The Japanese fellow and the interpreter stood entangled in each other’s arms between two rows of tables that ran along the length of the roof. Marionette like, they offered each other loud and ringing kisses while Jejette stood by with her two clenched fists planted on her hips, resembling an hourglass. She laughed and followed them with her eyes as a referee on a playing field. Latzi bowed to the Japanese fellow’s girl and struck his fist to his chest, exclaiming in a rusty voice: Me! Believe me, madam, no on else but me! then sank back exhausted onto a chair, covering his face with both hands. Suzi sat in a chair like a shapeless bundle, laughing s
ilently to herself, not looking at anyone.
—Here they are! You son of a bitch! Ha, ha, ha! Stephano greeted them.
—Jejette!
The wrestlers separated and set their stupid eyes on the two guests.
Gina drank cognac, one glass, then another. That beastly event still lurked in a corner of her soul, ready to pounce and ambush her. She ordered another drink.—No, I can’t right now,—she answered the interpreter curtly when he asked her to dance. He turned around, bumping into Jejette, and planted a loud, sucking kiss on her mouth, to everyone’s amusement.
—What? My girl! Son of a…my daughter! A young girl?! I’ll show you!—Stephano cried.
Latzi jumped between them:—Stop! Don’t you understand a joke?! Here, we are your guests!
—Ah, you’re right, ha, ha, ha! Guests! Jejette, shame on you! Two bottles of rosé! Two! It’s on me!
Gina declined the invitation to join the group. She remained seated. The cognac had eased the gnawing in her heart, but a feeling of sadness had settled in her, and a yearning for another place, undefined, different, and far from here. Mechanically she pulled her lipstick and mirror from her handbag and glossed her lips. The moon was hung overhead, suspended as if from nothing. A dull breeze, saturated with the vapors of drunkenness, enveloped this roof, though it seemed incompatible with the purity overhead and the moon’s fragile smile.
Barth sat sullenly, legs crossed, waiting for Gina to rise. He didn’t drink much. He didn’t like to drink on command, without any inner need. What foul spirit had possessed her suddenly? What woman rises at midnight, dresses, and dashes to drink cognac at Stephano’s? And among such drunk and despicable people whom he knows she cannot bear! Who can fathom a woman’s heart? This behavior—one should add it to a list of woman’s deeds which apparently are not defined by the laws of cause and effect and which no logic could analyze…Barth turned and watched Gina sitting motionlessly, staring toward the boisterous group nearby. She didn’t look at them, but rather gazed through them, tight-lipped as though holding back some bit of speech so that it wouldn’t escape. His heart soured. Despite the arrogance of her profile, there was something afflicted in her sitting as she was. It called to mind another night, on a bench, by a streetlight in the city park. They had met only recently, and their relationship had not yet developed the stability born of mutual compatibility, nor had they undergone the necessary pruning and trimming of irregularities of character. It was a tremor straining gingerly inside them, a timid, uncertain joy which flickered like a flame in the wind. Beyond a trellis, the click-clack of the late, empty tram could be heard as it rattled back and forth—an external detail engraved in his memory. After a concert and a stop in a café, they had sat there, in the clear night, on the way to her house. Why was she suddenly given to dark thoughts, strange thoughts, as now, which cast a pall between himself and her? She had remained in this self-imposed imprisonment for several days, without noticeably changing her behavior toward him. He had felt suddenly cast aside, into an empty world, without value.