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The Summer House, Later. Judith Hermann
Читать онлайн.Название The Summer House, Later
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007396962
Автор произведения Judith Hermann
Жанр Современные любовные романы
Издательство HarperCollins
‘When the hurricane comes,’ Christine says hesitantly, ‘I won’t be able to fly home.’ Nora, who wants to stay longer anyway, says nothing.
Cat waits seventeen days. On the eighteenth day he leaps out of the blue porch chair and grabs Christine, who, with paper and pen in one hand and a cigarette between her lips, is about to go inside; he holds her by the wrist.
He says, ‘I like you.’ His voice sounds rough and unused. Christine stops in her tracks, takes the cigarette from her mouth with her free hand, and stares at him: his eyelashes curve upward in an unreal sweep, the whites of his eyes are yellow from smoking hashish, his face is very close to hers. Christine shudders; he smells good.
Cat repeats, ‘I like you,’ and Christine laughs quite suddenly and says, ‘Yes, I know,’ twists her wrist out of his grasp and runs into the house.
Kaspar says, ‘Cat has a wife and child.’
Christine, barefoot, her knees, as so often, drawn up close to her body, is sitting next to him on the porch, scraping the remaining pulp from a mango pit. She says, ‘I know. Brenton told me.’
Kaspar says, ‘And what are you doing about it now that you know?’
Christine lowers the mango pit and looks at him with irritation. ‘Nothing. What should I do about it – I simply know. I suppose I don’t care.’
Kaspar says, ‘His wife’s name is Lovey. She isn’t here. Two weeks ago she went back to her family because Cat started something with another woman.’
Christine picks at the mango pit, licks her fingers and looks absentmindedly down toward the harbour. ‘Brenton says Cat would deny it.’
Kaspar kicks the pit out of her hand and expects her to be indignant, but Christine doesn’t react. The pit falls into the grass. Kaspar says, ‘That’s not the point,’ but he might as well be shouting into Christine’s ear; he has the feeling she isn’t really listening to him. ‘Lovey was going to come back after a week, but she isn’t back yet, not even today. Cat is waiting. Whether he lies about it or not, he’s waiting, you see. For her and for his child.’
‘Waiting for minor events, right,’ Christine says cynically, then suddenly looks straight at Kaspar with childlike surprise. ‘He would never go after her to get her back, right?’
‘No,’ Kaspar says. ‘That isn’t – usually done. He would never go to fetch her, but still he’s waiting. When she comes he’ll go home.’
Christine fishes the pit out of the grass and feels a brief pain in her stomach. ‘He says he likes me.’
‘I know,’ Kaspar says, getting up. ‘You are what they call “a white lady” here. It’s isn’t about you, it’s about your skin colour. You should keep out of this.’ Christine shrugs and puts her head on her knees.
The banana freighter stays in the harbour for a week. Kaspar wonders whether the long layover has something to do with the hurricane reports; the bananas were loaded a long time ago, but the sailors are still hanging out on the docks, scrubbing the deck, lying around in the shade, sitting motionless and silent in the bars. They look Mongolian, almost like Eskimos, their faces round and dark, their eyes slanted. Nora and Christine sit on the pier and look up at the huge white ship. In spite of the heat the sailors up mere on deck are wearing red coveralls with hoods they’ve pulled over their heads.
‘They’re going to Costa Rica and Cuba,’ Christine says. ‘Past America to Europe. I would love to travel on a ship like that sometime. Now. We could ask them if they’d take us along.’
Nora says nothing. She looks up at the Mongolian sailors, would like to be able to see their eyes properly. Christine leans her head on Nora’s shoulder and feels close to tears.
‘Oh, Christine,’ Nora says. ‘We’re here on holiday. Visiting, understand? That’s all. You pack your suitcase, and three, four weeks later you unpack it again. You arrive and stay and leave again, and what is making you sad is something entirely different. You’ll be flying home soon, and we’re not going to sail to Cuba and Costa Rica on that banana freighter.’
‘Are you coming back with me?’ Christine asks, and Nora says, ‘No. I think I’ll stay with Kaspar a little longer.’ Christine looks at her sideways, then says, ‘Why?’ and narrows her eyes.
Nora shrugs. ‘Maybe I feel sorry for him? Maybe I owe him something because of what used to be? Maybe I think he needs some company? I don’t know. I’m simply staying.’
Christine repeats, ‘You’re simply staying,’ then laughs, says, ‘Belafonte’s “Jamaica Farewell”, do you know it? “Sad to say, I’m on my way, won’t be back for many a da-ay.”’
‘“My heart is down, my head is turning around,”’ Nora sings and giggles. ‘Cat. What’s with Cat?’
‘I don’t know,’ Christine says. ‘I come and stay and leave again. What should there be.’
That evening when Cat sits down on the porch next to Christine, Kaspar and Nora get up. Christine turns toward them, surprised, wants to say something, says nothing. They go into the house and pull the door shut behind them. Cat sits next to her and is silent. Christine is silent too. They look down across the meadow; in the jungle fires are lit, there is scarcely a breeze. Christine feels Cat’s hand on her head, he’s tugging at the elastic holding her hair; it tweaks a bit, her braid is loosened, and her hair falls over her shoulders. Cat twists a strand around his finger and smooths it, Christine gets goosepimples on her arms and neck. Cat puts his hand on the back of her neck. Christine bends her head forward and closes her eyes, the very gentle pressure of Cat’s hand at the nape of her neck, and she feels dizzy. ‘One night,’ Cat says. ‘No,’ Christine says. ‘That’s not possible.’ She gets up and takes back her hair elastic. Cat laughs quietly and softly slaps his thigh with the flat of his hand. Nora and Kaspar are sitting in the kitchen not talking; they look tense. ‘Thanks,’ Christine says to them. ‘Thanks a lot, that really wasn’t necessary. Shit.’ She slams the door to her room behind her and bolts it shut.
‘Lucky,’ Kaspar says, and Nora asks, ‘Who was lucky. Christine or Cat?’
Two days later Lovey comes back. She suddenly turns up at the edge of the hill and stops there; she is accompanied by two women, one holding a white parasol over her, the other carrying a child in her arms. Lovey stands there, immobile, and looks up toward the house. Cat is sitting on the blue porch chair, his eyes as usual half closed; it isn’t clear whether he even sees her. Nora and Christine, on their way to the beach, stop beside the Jeep and stare at Lovey. ‘That’s her,’ Christine thinks, feeling strangely breathless. The second woman impassively holds the parasol over Lovey’s head. Lovey stares up at the house, arms crossed over her chest, and makes no attempt to come closer. Cat seems to hold out against this. Nora and Christine stand still and don’t move. Then Cat gets up and jumps down off the porch, his face grim; he walks stiffly toward Lovey, five steps, seven, twelve, Christine is counting. Directly in front of Lovey he stops.
The white parasol sways a bit. Lovey says something, Cat replies. They stand facing each other. ‘What did she say, what did she say?’ Christine whispers, and Nora hisses, ‘I couldn’t hear!’
Cat turns and goes back to the house. Lovey turns her head and looks at Nora and Christine. ‘She’s putting a spell on us!’ Nora whispers, pinching Christine’s arm, Christine feels her heart leap. Lovey grabs the parasol and closes it; the three women swing their hips and disappear as suddenly as they came.
Cat sits down in the blue chair. Christine goes out on the porch every five minutes, circles around him, waters the azaleas, clears her throat, moves chairs around, carries coconuts into the house. Cat doesn’t react. He sits there like that for two hours, then he gets up and without saying a word walks