The sun shone almost vertically on the planking wall. They lay in deck chairs, the smell of tar blended with the fusty odour from the damp-stained canvas. There was no telephone in the house, Otto would not be able to call even if he guessed where she was. Else lay with closed eyes, arms outstretched so the sun could shine on their paler undersides. The skin in the low neck of her dress was lobster-red and swollen, with deep lines between her flabby breasts. She did not talk much, perhaps she wanted to seem considerate, it was understandable for Lucca to be quiet. Although she should be glad it had happened now and not later, as Else had said when she met her off the ferry. Imagine if they had actually had a child! Lucca thought of Miriam, dreaming of having her own little baby.
She had called Miriam after Otto had left. Suddenly everything seemed very clear, and half an hour later she had finished packing her clothes and other things. It all went into two suitcases and four plastic bags, that was all she had contributed to Otto’s life. She waited down on the corner to hail a taxi. A prostitute stood smoking, a little round-shouldered as if cold. She held the cigarette away from her body and bent first one leg in tight jeans, then the other. Lucca greeted her, they passed one another every day. Hey, was she off travelling? You could say that. Where? She didn’t know yet. The prostitute nodded sympathetically. She knew all about that.
Miriam looked at her with a tragic face when she opened the door. She was a head shorter than Lucca, who had to bend down to let her friend embrace her. They stood there locked in each other’s arms, rocking from side to side. Lucca began to cry, simultaneously asking herself why she had only begun to cry now. Was it Miriam’s sympathy that had set her off, rather than grief at Otto ditching her? Miriam was alone at home, her boyfriend was a jazz musician and had a gig that night. They sat in the kitchen drinking vodka, turning the glowing ends of their cigarettes around in the ashtray so they grew as sharp as flaming spears. Miriam had always thought Otto was a shit, Lucca wasn’t the first one to be dropped like that. But she couldn’t well have said that while they were together. Incidentally, Miriam’s boyfriend had seen him in town recently with a mulatto, a photographer’s model, as far as she knew. Miriam hadn’t wanted to say anything about that to Lucca, so as not to upset her.
She went on heaping scorn and condemnation over Otto until Lucca interrupted her. Were they going to have a child or what? Lucca was not really interested, but Otto had been slated enough for the time being. She felt battered by her friend’s vicious words. Miriam changed channels promptly and lowered her voice, modest but also flattered at being able to share her dream of happiness with her sorrowing friend. Her beloved couldn’t make up his mind, he had mumbled something about his freedom. What did he want that for? They had had a row. But Miriam herself was ready, it was a feeling in her body, she just wanted to have this child, besides, it would strengthen their relationship. If only he would understand. What else was there to look forward to? A gig and a cabaret here and there, like that comic one. She could actually sing very well, but no better than a lot of others. She was not the one Harry Wiener had invited to supper! She saw the little flicker in Lucca’s eyes and laid a hand on her shoulder. The Royal Theatre, that was quite fantastic! She was really happy for Lucca.
Later they lay in bed with their arms around each other, the jazz man would have to sleep on the sofa, but Lucca could not fall asleep. She cautiously wriggled free of Miriam’s heavy embrace and sat on the edge of the bed. The grey morning light was already penetrating the blind. Plastic baskets full of briefs, underpants and socks sat among the few books on the backless bookcase. Once they had been white but had faded into pale pink or pale blue shades after all the times they had been through the washing machine. The walls were adorned with photographs of sweaty, exhausted jazz musicians fastened with drawing pins, and ranged along the wainscot were Miriam and her boyfriend’s trodden-down shoes in rows amidst the dust. On the bedside table a foot file and a pessary sat beside the alarm clock. It was only just past five.
Miriam turned over on her side, she had a heavy face, in sleep she almost resembled a man. None the less she always wore close-fitting tops that emphasised her full bosom, and leggings despite her hefty thighs. There was something brash about Miriam. When she made a real effort she could look quite good, but she was particularly noisy and coarse if she was in the company of women better looking than herself. As if she was secretly offended by their genes. Several times Lucca had been taken aback by the way she bossed her man about, the tall, skinny guy with a ring in his ear, only to sit the next moment on his lap and start tongue-kissing. She had told Lucca with a grin that she had practically had to rape him the first time they made love. Miriam used her initiative when things did not develop of their own accord. In her opinion to be desired was a simple human right.
Lucca felt a tickling sensation on one foot. A wood ant was on its way along the vein protruding under the thin skin of the arch. The deck chair creaked as she bent down. The mouldy canvas tore underneath her as the ant curled up and fell through her fingers. It was hot, she rose, and everything went black for a moment.
She retreated into the shade at the end of the garden, where the wild growth around the stone wall made a chaotic barrier facing the woods. In some places dusty broken rays of sunlight broke through the thicket and touched a reddish trunk or a tuft of dark green needles, disorientating the eyes in a confused web of golden light surrounded by soft formless shadows. Everything had been in movement, the heavy tree trunks and the shadows and beams of sunlight, when she clamped her legs around his neck. His beard tickled the sides of her knees as he walked over the domed forest floor covered by dead needles with a firm grip of her ankles. He stumbled and almost lost his balance every time she threw out her arms because she caught sight of a squirrel or a pigeon that flew up and flapped against the branches, but then the trees opened out and gave way to the sand dunes covered with marram grass waving smoothly in the wind, and there was the sea, vast and very, very blue.
She turned round and sat down on the grass. Else’s deck chair was empty. She hadn’t seen her get up. Her stomach tied itself into a knot and she lay down on the grass, thinking of Otto’s eyes and his broad hands. The earth was cool and damp through her dress. Maybe he was lying looking at his hands right now as they explored a delicious mulatto girl’s body, infatuated by the difference between his own pale skin and hers. The sizzling of butter in the frying pan blended with the grasshoppers’ song. Lucca got to her feet. The top of the stable door to the kitchen was open. She stood watching Else coat the fish fillets in egg and breadcrumbs before putting them into the pan. She stood with one hand on her side as she turned them. Her grey hair was gathered into a careless, girlish knot and she had tied a pink sash round her waist as a skirt, indomitably feminine, thought Lucca.
There is more to life than love, she said, pouring out white wine. They sat at the garden table in the last golden light. You’ll discover that sooner or later. She looked down into her glass and up again at Lucca. Work, for instance… Strindberg, wasn’t it? They drank a toast to that. And children, what about children? Else thought about that as she parted flesh from bone. Children were a trap. Not you, she hastened to add with a reassuring pat on Lucca’s hand. Lucca had been so easy. Else removed a tiny bone from the corner of her mouth and put it on the edge of her plate. But you look like a cow, she said, and you feel like a cow, and you turn into a cow. Lucca thought of Miriam.