Isolated farms were now seen, frost stuck to them, the trees were naked, cars were seen driving on paths dwarfed by tall trees. About two hours later, the houses increased, the farms gave way to more elegant houses, and then an industrial area belching smoke and taverns, little signs, blinking at their doors, well-tended gardens attached to one another, another hill and naked treetops, and then the bus stopped. Sam looked at a woman who looked monstrous with her face stuck to the windowpane. She gaped her mouth open and blew on the window, her nose was smashed against it. Even in the strong cold, she looked despondent and forsaken. He waved his hand at her and the bus started moving.
For a long time he walked in the forest in the stinging cold and then in the fields, he saw houses with red roof tiles, haylofts, cowsheds, handsome rustic churches in domesticated groves, in the distance a hill was seen and on it a sweet, gray little town, with a gilded clock on its church steeple and then, when he came to the house, he opened the gate and a gigantic dog assaulted him. Sam climbed up on Ebenezer's tail and pulled hard, went down on all fours, kissed the snout of the dog who gasped heavily, hit him, petted him at the same time, and by the time the little woman hurried to the gate at the sound of the barking, the dog was lying next to Sam and wagging its tail, its mouth drooling and its face thrust in Sam's hand. Facing him was the old house surrounded by a big garden. The windows were shrouded in shades, the entrance was like a Greek temple, the chimneys belched thin smoke scattered in all directions by the wind. The dog didn't move at the sound of its mistress's hasty steps. Sam noticed the woman's antique beauty and looked at her calmly. She asked who he was and what he wanted. He told her that first he had to pee and then he could talk with her. She swallowed wind, her look passed angrily, maybe even more, offensively, over the dog's swooning back, and she said: This is a private house, sir, not a public lavatory. She used the professional terminology, and even that neutral name sounded coarse in her mouth. Her lips clamped righteously.
I come about Melissa, said Sam.
Now, when she looked at him again, she saw him through a thick cloud. He saw the blood drain out of her face. Her anger at the treacherous dog lying next to her young enemy increased, she banged her hand nervously on her thigh, and said: Melissa? Melissa's dead. The fact that Melissa had died so many years ago and suddenly she had to say that, embarrassed her immeasurably. Maybe for the first time in years, Melissa's death was so needless and yet painful. She dropped her eyes and saw the shoes that had walked in the fields and forest and the spots and the flickering of the trampled leaves, and she said pensively: Thirty years ago, and then she was scared and said in a voice almost shrieking at itself: What do you mean about Melissa?
I have to pee, said Sam.
She shrugged and yelled furiously at the dog: Come here, Smoky! The dog straightened up, looked at her, wagged its tail, and Sam hit his thigh and the dog clung to him as if it feared for its life and started shaking. Sam kicked it until it whined. She yelled: Why do you kick him? And Sam bent down and kissed it. She hissed furiously: A dog is supposed to guard the house from strangers! What are you here for?
To pee, said Sam.
Not you, him, she said, and she felt her position in the doorway of her house turn into a farce she didn't want to take part in. Sam said: I'm not a stranger and he understands, and then he noticed her sweet wickedness, an orphaned warmth, some old yearning on her face. Now he didn't know if she was a guard in the camp or the NCOs' housekeeper, so he could smile at her and say: Look lady, he won't bite me, he knows who's the master and who's the bitch, where do you pee in this splendid house?
The gentleman talks funny, said the woman. Her anger was more for the dog than for him. Her mouth gaped a little, she had to pluck up a properly shaped humility. Who are you? she asked again. Why… But now she also saw him more clearly, and a forgotten memory rose for a moment and extinguished in her, as if a forgotten picture was drawn and she didn't know what the picture was. Now she also looked scared.
Sam said: You've got no choice, don't let me pee in your beautiful yard. They walked inside. A maid in an apron who had just been shedding tears over a bowl of slaughtered onions came running up with her eyes red and dripping. You should have been here before, said the woman in a voice with a threat aimed for later.
I tried, said the maid with extinguished awe.
Trying isn't enough, barked the woman.
Let the dog bark, said Sam, it doesn't suit you, you were born delicate and only later comes life and makes us dogs. Believe me, I'm an expert. When she raised her hand she looked surprised at herself for almost striking him. His charming smile spread over her face. That only increased his dependence on her. Let me pee and then we'll talk about Melissa, he said. The maid genuflected at the name. He passed through the room, went into the corridor, turned right, and found a toilet.
Afterward, he looked for a towel. The maid who ran after him stood next to the door rubbing her hands on her apron. He went to her and wiped his hands on her apron and went into the living room, whose walls were covered with mounted animal heads. The woman was sitting in a straightbacked chair and looking at him. He felt close to the iron that came from her, all of her solid in a wonderfully shaped posture, he could feel the hatred in her eyes. A pleasant smell of spices crept into the room and was swallowed by a fragrance of roses. The drapery looked more beautiful from this side of the room. The woman could categorize corpses with model precision, he wanted to tell Kramer.
The thoughts were messed up in his mind, his mother acting Ophelia in a room closed with drapes, a smell of spices in a house they lived in for many years.
The dog who was clinging to his leg all the time growled and the mounted animals looked at him with flashing eyes.
Why did you come, she said.
I love her, said Sam. He smiled a smile of condolence and on the piano he could see the faded picture of Melissa in a white dress, a bouquet of flowers in her hand, and behind her a grown-up man holding a cigar in his hand. When she got up the dog growled again.
He knows you?
Dogs know me, said Sam.
But he can't know you, she said and was immediately embarrassed because she knew she had asked the wrong question.