He was hungry. He quietly opened his suitcase. Several dirty shirts, some magazines and a folded suit. Not a single sweet or even chewing gum. He closed the case again.
'What are you rummaging for?' came her voice. 'You don't happen to have a pistol there, do you? People like you have to carry a weapon, don't they? And don't look at me now. I'm ugly in the morning.' He heard her footsteps and then from the bathroom the sound of running water.
She emerged naked, but immaculately made up once more. 'Do you still find me attractive?'
'You're beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen. You
must believe me that I couldn't bear it there without you any more.'
'I believe you. What are we going to do now?' she asked. 'Do you think they're serving breakfast yet?'
'I doubt it.' And he was startled by the thought that he would soon have to abandon this close, airless room.
'There's no reason why they shouldn't bring it up to us,' she said. 'Call them and tell them we want our breakfast here.'
He lifted the receiver and waited for someone to reply.
'I'll have ham,' she said. 'Ham and eggs and tea. I love tea, I could drink it all day long.'
'It's dead.' There was no point fooling themselves. They were trapped. No trick with a borrowed identity card was going to help him. They were outside the door waiting for him to emerge.
'Don't,' she said. 'We'll go downstairs. What shall I put on?'
'Nothing. I like you best 'when you've got nothing on.'
'Do you think I ought to have breakfast in the nude? Or are you going to bring me breakfast in bed? Will you go down and fetch it?'
He nodded and stepped over to the window. It was already dawn. There were several buses waiting at the bus station. Below, almost indiscernible from five floors up, a man on crutches hurried about on a narrow strip of grass. A ball flew towards him from some unseen opponent around the corner. The man on crutches hobbled over and kicked the ball. He observed the game, watching the ball fly back and forth — watching his imminent fate.
'What can you see there?' she asked.
'Nothing.' Although he sensed that he was to see him again, he couldn't yet work out how and where it might happen.
'Is that your hunchback?' she said, looking over his shoulder.
He shrugged and stretched out on the bed. The paper game lay on the table. Where's your soul to go?
'He's fallen over,' she called from the window. 'He slipped as he tried to kick the ball. It's only a young lad. That fellow wasn't a young lad, 'was he?'
'Do you love me?' he asked.
'I don't know. At this moment I'm hungry. How am I supposed to think about whether I love you when I'm thinking about ham and eggs?'
'Come over here. I want you.'
'Let's go and eat instead.'
'Afterwards. They're not open yet anyway.'
'We can buy a roll at a shop.'
'Afterwards.'
'You're crazy. You always want to make love and never want to eat!' She knelt at the side of the bed and placed her lips on his. She let herself be kissed. 'That's why I love you: because you're crazy. And now come on!'
He could feel the apprehension sneaking up on him. Where will I run to? But so long as he was here, so long as he was with her, so long as he could hear her breath and cling to her body, he remained, he was still alive and had one certainty: her. He could touch her, feel her closeness, and that awoke in him a sense of blissfulness and peace. He put his arms around her and drew her to him, kissing her, his lips weary and dry. I love you. Don't leave me! Stay with me!
She made love with him in silence and that made him even more uneasy. 'Just a little while longer,' he whispered, 'and then we'll go.'
When he next awoke the room was bathed in light,
although he was sure he'd slept only a few minutes. She was in the bathroom again. In the corridor footsteps went back and forth. Men's, women's, maybe even children's footsteps. A medley of footsteps. He sat down and looked out of the sealed window.
'Is he there?' she asked from behind him.
'No, he isn't, sweetheart.' He looked at her. She was already half dressed. No, she'll leave. He had no one to hold on to any more.
'Are we going to eat?' she asked. 'They must be open by now. It can't be far off midday. I'll have soup. I'll eat two servings of soup and three rolls. Will they have fresh rolls?'
'Don't get dressed yet, darling!'
'We have to go now. I've got to be home this afternoon. You don't have to drive me if you don't feel like it. I'll thumb a lift.'
'I'll drop you home. I want to. I want to be with you.'
'You're tired and I'm hungry.' She sat down next to him. She kissed him. 'Come on, my pet. We'll leave the things here and come back here for a little afterwards!'
He didn't move. Nor did the time. He stood motionless in the blue hotel room. The blue cell. The sun bobbed out of the mist and its rays heated the hot air even more.
'Have you got something to read here?'
'No, only magazines.'
'Read to me. Read me something.'
' They're specialized journals.'
'That's fine. They'll take your mind off things, at least.'
'They're English.'
'That doesn't matter. You can translate them for me, can't you?'
He got up and opened his case. The suitcase and the things
in it were from over there — where she was absent, but so was fear. Then he leaned over her. Her lips were tightly pursed and her eyes half closed. He looked for a moment at that unfamiliar face. '"From ancient times",' he translated, '"doctors were interested in the construction of the human skeleton. They noticed that bone had different characteristics from all other tissue. .
'What sort of bones do cripples have?' she asked.
'That all depends. Do you really want me to explain it?'
'Yes, really,' she grinned at him. 'Really and at length. .' — He remained silent. Love was the only thing they ever talked about together. There was no point in reading aloud to her. He closed the journal and tossed it on to the floor.
'Come on. We will be coming back, after all.'
He put his arms around her.
'Leave me alone!' she said crossly.
'Don't you love me any more?'
'You're crazy and I'm hungry.'
Dust swirled in the beam of sunlight. He felt the urge to go and look out the window at the patch of grass. But he resisted it.
'You don't love me either,' she said. 'You're just scared. You've been scared ever since you entered this room. You're scared of every footstep outside the door, you're scared of being left here on your own. You're longing for some certainty. Jesus,' she burst out, 'what are you doing here with me? Why didn't you stay over there and find yourself some nice, faithful woman?' She stood up.
He reached out and tried to draw her to him.
'Don't touch me!' she shouted, scratching at his chest. Her nails gouged out long bloody furrows.
'Darling, don't leave me now!' He watched her dress. The scratches stung. He felt his own blood running down his chest.
He switched on the radio — at last there was some music. He wasn't aware of it, only of his tiredness and the hunger that filled his body with inertia. He was aware of his inertia and uncertainty. What will happen next? I'll close my eyes and stay lying here. I'll have a sleep. Towards evening I'll get up and have something to drink. One has to drink, at least. He was aware of his thirst. He got up and went to the bathroom and drank two glasses of hot water, one after the other.
She sat in front of the mirror combing her hair. 'What sort of hair did she have, the one who was here?'