Isobel and Emile

by Alan Reed

  Nicolas say: ‘How is it going?’

  Emile does not say anything. He drinks from his glass. He looks into the empty room. He does not say anything. Nicolas does not say anything. He looks at Emile. He waits.

  Emile says: ‘I am not sure.’

  They sit at the bar. There is no one else in the bar. They look into the empty room.

  Emile says: ‘I do not know what it is.’ He drinks from his glass. He says: ‘I do not know if there is anything to it.’

  He does not say anything more. Nicolas nods his head.

  Emile is still wearing his jacket. Nicolas is wearing a white shirt. It is open at the collar. The sleeves are rolled up. His shoes were carefully polished. He worked all night. They are not as carefully polished now.

  They finish their drinks.

  Nicolas says: ‘I need to finish mopping.’

  Emile nods his head.

  They stand up. Emile takes the two empty glasses behind the bar. He washes them. Nicolas mops the floor.

  When Nicolas is done mopping the floor he gets his jacket and his fancy scarf. They leave the bar. They go to the corner where the streetcar stops.

  They wait for a streetcar to come.

  A streetcar comes. They get on. The streetcar moves and then they get off the streetcar.

  They are standing on the plat form in the middle of the street. They cross the street to the sidewalk. They walk down the street. They go to the door to their apartment.

  Nicolas takes his key out of his pocket. He opens the door. They go inside and up the stairs. They go into their apartment. They take their jackets and their shoes off. Nicolas takes his scarf off and Emile hangs his cap on a hook.

  Emile goes to the table in the kitchen. He sits down. He starts to make a cigarette.

  Nicolas shakes his head. He says: ‘I’m tired, Emile.’

  Emile nods his head. He puts his tobacco away.

  Nicolas goes into his room. He closes the door behind him. Emile is still sitting at the table.

  There is a bowl in the middle of the table. There are apples and oranges in the bowl.

  Some of the apples and oranges are bruised.

  Emile sits at the table. His shoulders are hunched forward. He looks at the apples and oranges in the bowl. He rubs at his eyes.

  He stands up. He stands beside the table for a moment. He goes over to where the light switch is. He turns the lights out. He goes into his room.

  He closes the door behind him.

  Dear Emile,

  You were on the train.

  It’s what I remember most vividly. How I stood on the platform and watched you get on the train. You walked down the aisle, awkwardly, because you were carrying your things, and then you sat down.

  You looked out the window. You saw me.

  I made sure that my hair was not in my face, I smoothed the front of my dress and I stood with my hands held together in front of me. I did not cry because I wanted to be strong. I wanted you to have that to take away with you.

  You saw me and you smiled.

  And then you were gone. I was left standing there, with just the image of the train vanishing in the distance.

  I was not sure what I would do.

  I remembered being on the train when I was a little girl. I was going somewhere with my mother. I don’t remember where but wherever it was it was important at the time. I remember there was an old woman sitting across from me. She smelled sour and I didn’t like her. It was the way that she looked at me. I didn’t like it. I was sitting on my mother’s lap with my face pressed up against the window. I looked out and I wanted everything that went past. I wanted it so fiercely. I would have wriggled off my mother’s lap and reached out the window as far as I could, I would have grabbed everything that went rushing past, but I couldn’t. The windows didn’t open. I could only look.

  I don’t know where you are, Emile. I don’t know what you are doing. I imagined you sitting on the train with your things in your lap. You would have wanted them close to you, so you could be sure that they were safe.

  And I imagined you looking out the window.

  I’m sitting on your bed now. It is late, I should be getting ready to go to sleep, but I am just sitting here. My dress is lying on the floor. I’m naked. I’m looking at myself in the mirror, at the places you touched me. I try to touch myself like you touched me. I’m trying to remember the way that your hands moved, and what it was like to feel your hands move, and I can’t. I can’t do it.

  It is getting cold here, especially at night. I am shivering. I should get into bed, I should go to sleep. I don’t want to.

  I don’t want to be in this place. I don’t want to be the kind of person who lives in this place. But I am. You are what makes me more than this. The way that you touched me, what it left behind in my body. I touch myself to remember what we were. To keep it alive.

  I want more, Emile. I want what you saw, when you looked out the window of the train. I want what I saw. Sometimes I remember what it is like to want so fiercely. And sometimes I am just a girl lying in bed touching myself.

  You saw me standing on the platform. You saw how strong I am. You know what I can be. I need to know that you saw that. I’m not sure that I can do it, sometimes, and I need to remember that you saw me. It’s so that I do not forget.

  I am a girl living in a room over a grocery store. I don’t want this. I want my body to be electric and alive, not this sad, worn-out thing. I want to be more than this. I have to be.

  I love you, Emile.

  8

  Isobel is in the room over the grocery store.

  It is late. When it was earlier she was working in the store. It is late now. She is not working. Mr. Koch has gone. He stood at the bottom of the stairs. He said: ‘Good night, Isobel.’ He left.

  Isobel is alone.

  Her body hurts. She does not notice that her body hurts anymore. She is used to it. She has been here long enough that she is used to it. It still hurts. She sits on the bed. She rubs her shoulders and her arms with her hands. It helps.

  Her dress is dirty. It is starting to smell. She touches her side. There is a rip in her dress there. It is under her arm. She tried to mend it. It did not work. The cloth is too worn.

  She takes her dress off. She drops it onto the floor. She stands up.

  She stands in the middle of the room. She looks at the mirror. She is not as thin as she was. Her body is harder. She is getting stronger. She did not think she would change like this. It is a relief. It is not how she wants to change. It is a relief to see that she can change.

  She is in the room over the grocery store. She is standing under the light. She reaches up. She turns the light out. She walks over to the bed.

  She is tired. She is always tired. She does not sleep well. There is nothing she can do about it. She gets into bed. She is naked. She curls her legs up against her body. She puts her hands between her legs. It is warmer with her hands between her legs.

  There is light coming in through the window. It is from the street lights outside. Isobel closes her eyes. She is cold. It cannot be helped. It is cold in the room. If she lies under the blanket for long enough then she will be warmer.

  She is shivering. She pulls her legs tighter against her body. She keeps her eyes closed.

  It is later. Isobel is asleep.

  She is lying with the blanket tangled around her. She is holding part of it with her hands. Another part of it is between her legs.

  She is moving in her sleep. She is squeezing her legs together.

  It is cold in the room. It cannot be helped. It is cold outside. Isobel is moving in her sleep. The blanket is tangled around her. It is tangled so that it is not covering her.

  She is naked. There are goosebumps on her skin.

  She tries to stay asleep. She is dreaming. She is dreaming that she is cold.

  She pulls on the blanket. It moves between her legs.

  She is standing in a room. There are white tile
s on the floor and on the walls and on the ceiling of the room. There is a bathtub in the room. It is in the middle of the room.

  She is naked. She is walking towards the bathtub. She is going to take a bath.

  She sits on the edge of the bathtub. She puts her legs into the tub. The water comes up to her knees. She puts her hands on the edges of the tub. She lowers herself into the water.

  She is curled up on the bed. She shivers.

  The water in the bathtub is cold. She shivers. Her hair is floating on the water. She moves her hands under the water. It does not feel pleasant.

  The water is dirty. It does not bother her.

  She thinks for a moment that it should bother her. She does not know why it should bother her. She decides she does not mind.

  She closes her eyes. She lets her head go under the water. Her hair is floating around her head. It is like seaweed in the ocean.

  She opens her eyes. The water is cold. There are goosebumps on her skin. It does not bother her. She likes it. The water is filthy. It is grey. There are things floating in it. She closes her eyes.

  She raises her head. It is not under the water anymore. She lets her breath out. She moves so she is sitting.

  Her back is against the edge of the tub. It is not comfortable. The bathtub is not big enough. She cannot straighten her legs. Her knees stick up out of the water.

  She rests her head on the edge of the bathtub. She lets her mouth open. Her hair is over her face. It is tangled around her shoulders and floats on the surface of the water. She is cold. She can feel her skin shrivelling. She can feel herself starting to sleep.

  Her mother is here.

  She cannot hear her but there is something in the room that is different. She cannot say what it is. She knows that her mother is here.

  She opens her eyes. Her mother is standing in the room. Isobel lifts her head. She puts her hands on the edge of the tub. She lifts her body out of the water.

  She stands up. She is standing in the tub. Water runs off her body. She is filthy. Her hair is filthy. It is tangled and matted and clings to her body.

  Her mother looks at her.

  Isobel does not want to be naked. She tries to cover her body. She uses her hands.

  Her hands do not cover her body. She is filthy.

  Her mother can see her naked.

  She turns her head away. Her nipples are hard from the cold. She can feel them. She puts her hands between her legs. She does not want her mother to see her. She is going to cry. She closes her eyes. She does not want to cry.

  She wakes up. She is lying in her bed. The blanket is tangled around her body. She is going to cry. She does not want to cry.

  She holds her breath and she closes her eyes. It stops her from crying.

  She moved while she was dreaming. She is more tangled up in the blanket than she was before. She has to untangle the blanket from her body.

  She could have stepped out of the tub. She did not.

  She untangles the blanket from her body. She sits up in the bed. She pulls her hands through her hair. Her hands are shaking. She is cold. She cannot help it. It is cold in the room.

  She pulls her hands through her hair. Her hair is wet. Her dream made her sweat. Her skin is clammy. She straightens the blanket on the bed. It is the middle of the night. The light from the alley is coming in through the window.

  It is dark in the room. It is dark and it is cold.

  Isobel stands up. She walks over to the sink. She turns the water on. She puts some water on her face. The water is clean.

  She cannot see her face in the mirror. It is dark in the room. She starts to shiver. She is glad she cannot see her face in the mirror. She does not want to know what she looks like now.

  She turns the water off. She walks back to the bed.

  She sits on the bed. She pulls her knees up against her body. She wraps her arms around her legs. It is the middle of the night. There is nothing else to do.

  She lies down on the bed. She pulls the blanket over her. She closes her eyes.

  She does not go to sleep.

  She sits up in the bed. She pushes the blanket away. She stands up. She turns the light on.

  She goes back to the bed. She does not sit down on it. She reaches under it. There is a notebook under the bed. It is a coil notebook. There is a pencil tucked in the coils.

  She writes letters in the notebook. She takes it out from under the bed. She takes the blanket off the bed. She wraps the blanket around her body. She sits down on the bed.

  She opens the notebook. The paper in it is yellow. It is thin and flimsy. It has blue lines on it. She reads what she wrote before.

  She pulls her hands through her hair. She writes. She is tired. She writes until she is too tired to write anymore.

  She closes the notebook. She tucks the pencil into the coils. She puts it back under the bed. It is where it was before.

  There are envelopes beside the notebook. There are letters in the envelopes. They are ready to be sent. They have not been sent. Isobel does not want to send them.

  She does not know why.

  The blanket is still wrapped around her body. She pulls it closer to her. She lies down on the bed. She rubs at her eyes. She is tired. She does not want to be tired. She does not want to sleep.

  She does not want to dream again.

  It is not as dark as it was. The night is almost over.

  Isobel goes to sleep.

  There is light coming in through the window. It is not the light that was coming in from the alley. It is sunlight. It is morning.

  Isobel sits up in the bed. She rubs at her face. She is awake. She does not feel awake. She is tired.

  She pushes the blanket off her body. Under the blanket she is naked. Her skin is still clammy. She does not care that she is naked. She is too tired.

  Oskar will be here soon. He will have his truck. There will be crates to unload.

  There is sunlight coming into the room.

  She pulls her hands through her hair. Her hair is tangled. It is matted with sweat. She pulls her hands through her hair until it is less tangled.

  She sits up in the bed. She swings her legs out of the bed. She is sitting so that she is on the edge of the bed.

  It is still cold. She wraps her arms around her body. There are goosebumps on her skin.

  There is a sink on the wall. There is a towel hanging next to the sink and there is a curtain over the window. They are flimsy and dirty. Her clothes and her shoes are on the floor.

  She stands up. She walks over to the sink. She does not walk steadily. Her body is groggy. She does not sleep well. She is still tired.

  She is standing in front of the sink. She turns the water on.

  She waits until the water fills the sink. She turns the water off. She washes her face. She washes under her arms and between her legs. She dries herself.

  She dries herself with the towel. She stands in front of the sink. She looks at herself in the mirror over the sink.

  She is tired. It does not matter that she just slept. Her skin is sallow.

  She scowls.

  Her dress is on the floor. She goes over to where it is. She picks it up off the floor. It was a nice dress. It has frills around the neck. It is dirty and wrinkled. She does not care. She puts it on. She goes to the door. She goes out of the room. She goes down the stairs. She is in the room at the back of the grocery store.

  She is tired of this. She does not know what to do. She will do something. She does not know what she can do.

  She sits down on a crate. She waits for Mr. Koch to come. He will make coffee. He will sit down on a crate. He will give Isobel a cup of coffee.

  She picks at her fingernails. She waits.

  She is tired of waiting.

  Dear Emile,

  I am sitting on your bed. I’m the only one who still calls it your bed. You’re gone, Emile. What we did is the only reason anyone even remembers you were here. And I am the one who lives here now.
>
  I hate it.

  I hate that they say this is my bed.

  I’m sitting here, in your room. It’s late. I’m tired. I’m always tired now. And I hurt. I’m not used to this, to any of this. My clothes are dirty. I smell. I try to wash myself in the sink and I still smell. I am so tired of this, and all I have to remind myself that there is anything more is a cigarette butt.

  The woman at the station dropped it on the platform. It was just after you left, I was still standing on the platform. I watched the train go away and then she was standing there. She looked at me, she finished her cigarette, she dropped it on the ground and then she went back to the ticket booth.

  It was the only butt still smoking. I took it. I still have it.

  I have to keep it because I don’t remember you anymore. Not like I used to. The image of you isn’t vivid anymore. I don’t remember what your breathing is like, the feel of your hair or the way you hold things in your hands. I try and all that is there is me, sitting on this bed, in this room.

  I hold the cigarette butt in my hand. It is all that I have. I have to love it. It’s supposed to help me remember but it’s just a cigarette butt. It doesn’t.

  This is stupid.

  I want to watch you again, Emile. I want to sit here with my legs curled up under me. I want to watch you working.

  You sat on the floor with your puppets. You had their strings in your hands and the way that you held your hands up in the air looked so stupid. And you didn’t care. You had to do it, to make them move. That was what mattered to you.

  They were bits of wood tied together with string. You painted faces on them and dressed them up in clothes but they were still just bits of wood tied together with string.

  And you made them move.

  I remember before I knew you. I had heard about you. The strange boy from the city. No one knew what you were doing here. There were rumours, there were so many rumours, but no one knew.

  I wanted to know.

  I wasn’t supposed to see you. You told Mr. Koch that you did not want to be disturbed and he did his best to keep you from being disturbed. I snuck up the stairs when the store was busy.