"What's wrong, Lucas?"
She reaches out a hand to touch his face. Lucas brushes it away, walks out of the kitchen, and locks himself in his room.
On Saturday evening, Lucas goes from one bar to another. The people are drunk and generous.
Suddenly, through a cloud of smoke, Lucas sees her. She is sitting alone, near the entrance; she is drinking red wine. Lucas sits at her table.
"Clara! What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep. I wanted to be with people."
"These people?"
"Any people. I can't stay in the house alone, always alone."
"You weren't alone yesterday evening."
Clara doesn't reply, she pours some wine, she drinks. Lucas takes the glass from her hands.
"You've had enough!"
She laughs. "No. I've never had enough. I want to drink and go on drinking."
"Not here! Not with them!"
Lucas grips Clara's wrist. She looks at him, she murmurs, "I was looking for you."
"You didn't want to see me."
She doesn't reply; she turns her head away.
The customers are demanding some music.
Lucas throws some coins onto the table. "Come!"
He takes Clara by the arm, he leads her to the exit. Remarks and rude laughter follow them out.
Outside, it is raining. Clara staggers; she trips on her high heels. Lucas virtually has to carry her.
In her room, she falls onto the bed. She shivers. Lucas takes off her shoes and covers her up. He goes into the other room. He lights a fire in the stove that warms up the two rooms. He makes some tea in the kitchen. He brings two cups.
Clara says, "There's some rum in the kitchen cupboard."
Lucas brings the rum. He pours some into the cups.
Clara says, "You're too young to drink."
Lucas says, "I'm twenty. I learned to drink at the age of twelve."
Clara closes her eyes. "I'm almost old enough to be your mother."
Later she says, "Stay here. Don't leave me alone."
Lucas sits at the desk, he looks around the room. Apart from the bed, there is only the big desk and a small shelf of books. He looks at the books. They are of no interest; he is familiar with them.
Clara sleeps. Her arm is hanging out of the bed. Lucas takes hold of the arm. He kisses the back of the hand, then the palm. He licks it, running his tongue up to her elbow. Clara doesn't move.
It is warm now. Lucas pulls back the eiderdown. Clara's body lies before him, white and black. While Lucas was in the kitchen, Clara took off her skirt and sweater. Now Lucas takes off her black stockings, her black suspenders, her black bra. He covers up her white body with the eiderdown. Then he burns her underwear in the stove in the next room. He pulls up an armchair and settles down next to the bed. He notices a book on the ground. He looks at it. It is an old, worn-out book. The flyleaf bears the library stamp. Lucas reads. The hours pass.
Clara begins to moan. Her eyes remain closed, her face is covered with sweat. She tosses her head from side to side on the pillow and mutters incomprehensibly.
Lucas goes into the kitchen, dampens a cloth and lays it on Clara's forehead. Her mutterings turn into screams.
Lucas shakes her to wake her up. She opens her eyes.
"In the desk drawer. Tranquilizers. A white box."
Lucas finds the tranquilizers. Clara takes two with the remains of the cold tea. She says, "It's nothing. It's always the same nightmare."
She closes her eyes. When her breathing becomes regular, Lucas leaves. He takes the book.
He walks slowly in the rain through the deserted streets to Grandmother's house, on the other side of town.
On Sunday afternoon, Lucas goes back to Clara's house. He knocks on the kitchen door.
Clara asks, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Lucas."
Clara opens the door. She looks pale. She is wearing an old red dressing gown.
"What do you want?"
Lucas says, "I was passing by. I just wondered if you were all right."
"Yes, I feel fine."
Her hand, which holds the door, is trembling.
Lucas says, "Forgive me. I was afraid."
"Of what? You don't need to be afraid on my account."
Lucas whispers, "Clara, please, let me in."
Clara shakes her head. "You're very persistent, Lucas. Come in, then, and have some coffee."
They sit in the kitchen, they drink coffee.
Clara asks, "What happened last night?"
"You don't remember?"
"No. I've been receiving treatment since the death of my husband. The medication I'm on sometimes has a disastrous effect on my memory."
"I brought you home from the bar. If you're under medication you should stay off alcohol."
She buries her face in her hands. "You can't imagine what I've been through."
Lucas says, "I know the pain of separation."
"The death of your mother."
"And something else besides. The loss of a brother who was as one with me."
Clara raises her head. She looks at Lucas.
"We too, Thomas and I, we were a single being. They killed him. Did they also kill your brother?"
"No. He went away. He went across the border."
"Why didn't you go with him?"
"One of us had to stay behind to look after the animals, the garden, Grandmother's house. We also had to learn to live without each other. Alone."
Clara rests her hand on Lucas's.
"What is his name?"
"Claus." "He'll come back. Thomas will never come back."
Lucas gets up. "Do you want me to light the fire in the room? Your hands are frozen."
Clara says, "That would be nice. I'll make some pancakes. I haven't eaten anything today."
Lucas cleans the stove. There is no trace of the black underwear. He lights the fire and comes back into the kitchen.
"There's no charcoal left."
Clara says, "I'll go and get some from the cellar." She picks up a tin bucket.
Lucas says, "Let me do it."
"No! There's no light. I know my way."
Lucas sits in the armchair in the living room. He takes Clara's book out of his pocket. He reads.
Clara brings in the pancakes.
Lucas asks, "Who is he, your lover?"
"You spied on me?"
Lucas says, "It was for him that you bought the black underwear, it was for him that you wore high heels. You should have dyed your hair while you were at it."
Clara says, "That's none of your business. What are you reading?"
Lucas hands her the book.
"I borrowed it from you yesterday. I liked it very much."
"You had no right to take it away with you. I have to return it to the library."
"Don't be angry, Clara. I'm sorry."
Clara turns away.
"What about my underwear? Did you borrow that, too?"
"No. I burned it."
"You burned it? What gave you the right?"
Lucas gets up.
"I think it's best if I leave."
"Yes, go on. They're expecting you."
"Who's expecting me?"
"A wife and child, by all accounts."
"Yasmine is not my wife."
"She's been living with you for four years with her child."
"He's not my child, but he belongs to me now."
On Monday, Lucas waits opposite the library. Evening comes and Clara does not appear. Lucas goes into the old, gray building, walks down the long corridor, knocks at the glass-paneled door. There is no answer; the door is locked.
Lucas runs to Clara's house. He enters without knocking, goes into the kitchen, then the living room. The door to the bedroom is half open. Lucas calls, "Clara?"
"Come in, Lucas."
Lucas goes into the room. Clara is in bed. Lucas sits on the edge of the bed, takes Clara's hand. It is burning hot. He touches her forehead.