Mothers and Daughters
- Автор: Хантер Эван
- Год: 1961
- Язык: английский
- Год: Simon and Schuster
- Жанр: Современная русская и зарубежная проза
Электронная книга - «Mothers and Daughters». Краткое содержание книги:
They sat for ten minutes and then Julia tried to start the car again. The engine would not turn over.
“We’re so close to the top!” Julia said angrily. “Why did it have to stall?”
“I’m limp,” Millie said.
“I’ll try it again in a little while. I’m sure it’s only flooded.”
“What does that mean? When it’s flooded?”
Julia began laughing. “I don’t know. It’s what Arthur always says when the car won’t start.”
“Someone’s coming,” Millie said, turning.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. A man on a motorcycle. Maybe he’s a policeman.”
“In the Alps?”
“I’m sure there are policemen in the Alps, Julia.”
The motorcycle approached. The man on it was not a policeman. His bike bore military markings, and he wore a black helmet with an insignia painted into a white circle, and a wide black rubberized poncho. He stopped his motorcycle near the car, got off, and moved toward Millie’s window, seeming to float inside the wide-hanging black cape. The cape was wet and shining. The rain lashed about his face and shoulders. Millie rolled down the window, and he squinted through the rain at her.
“É successo qualche cosa?” he asked.
“I don’t speak Italian,” Millie said. She turned to her sister. “Julia?”
“Parlo solamente un poco,” Julia said hesitantly. “Parla inglese?”
“Si, un poco,” the soldier answered. He seemed thoughtful for a moment. His face beneath the black helmet was lean and tanned. His eyes were almost closed against the rain, but Julia could make out their color even from her side of the car, a startling blue against the burnished face. He could not have been older than twenty-four or twenty-five, but the helmet was deceiving, combining with the rain to cover his face with shifting shadow. “I speak English bad,” he said. “La macchina, che cosa...? He paused. “What... the car? What is wrong?”
“It won’t start,” Julia said.
The soldier rested his hands on the door of the car. They were large hands, brown and big-knuckled, a workman’s hands, or a farmer’s, with short blond hair curling along the fingers like narrow bronze wires.
“Forse potrei...” Again he paused and mentally translated. “I,” he said. He touched his chest. “I maybe help. To start.”
“If you’d like to try,” Julia said.
“Si, signorina, vorrei provare, se non le dispiace.”
Julia did not miss the “signorina.” She smiled briefly and said, “Signora.”
“Prego?”
“Signora,” she repeated.
“Ah, va bene,” the soldier said. “É sposata, married. Per piacere, signorina,” and his eyes twinkled as he repeated the “Miss” again. “La macchina, no?”
He came around to Julia’s side of the car.
“Be careful!” she said. “You’ll fall down the mountain.”
“No, no, non abbia paura,” he said. He opened the door, precariously close to the edge of the road. “Permesso,” he said to Julia, and he executed a short courtly bow, smiling at her. She moved over toward the middle of the seat. He climbed in, bringing the smell of the rain with him, and the smell of his rubber cape.
“Allora,” he said, and he grinned. “La chiave, ah?” He touched the ignition key. “La benzina?” He frowned, annoyed because he was speaking Italian. “Benzine?” he said. “Gasoline? Si, si, gasoline. You have gasoline?”
“The tank is half full,” Julia said.
“Si, vedo,” he shrugged. “Allora, adesso proviamo, eh? Roma non fu fatta in un’ora, vero?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand you,” Julia said. “My Italian is not very good.”
“Well, forget,” he said. “We try. É pronta?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Julia, do you think this is all right?” Millie asked.
“Yes, darling. He’s trying to help us.”
“Cosa?” the soldier asked.
“Nothing,” Julia said, and she smiled.
“Ha paura?”
“Si. Un pochino,” Julia said.
“Do not be fear,” he said to Millie, and he smiled. “I am very good racer.” He looked at Julia. “That is right? Racer?”
“Driver,” Julia said.
“Si, signorina. Driver.”
“Signora,” she corrected again.
He smiled graciously, a slow lazy smile that came onto his face in sudden brilliance beneath the black helmet. “Ma tutte le donne sono signorine in fondo, non é vero? In the heart, all girls are maidens, is it not true?”
Julia smiled and did not answer.
“Dunque,” he said, and he twisted the ignition key.
The engine turned over immediately.
The soldier began laughing. “Sono un mago,” he said. “Un vero mago. Signorina, la tua automobile.”
He opened the door and stepped into the rain, and again he executed a small bow.
“Thank you,” Julia said. “Mille grazie.”
“Prego,” he answered. “It was pleasure.”
“Well, thank you.”
He smiled, came suddenly to attention, saluted the women, and went back to his motorcycle. He climbed onto the seat, started the bike, waved with one gloved hand, and turned the curve in the road, vanishing in the rain.
“He was nice,” Millie said.
“Yes,” Julia answered.
“Can we get our tea now? Please?”
“Yes, darling, of course,” Julia answered, and she put the car in motion.
They refueled in the town of Gletsch, a Swiss town set in a deep mountain-ringed pocket, a town gone suddenly German. Julia read hesitantly from the Esso translation booklet, telling the attendant what she wanted done to the car. The day still looked foreboding and gray. Millie did not budge from the front seat of the automobile. She kept peering up at the ring of mountains balefully. When Julia got into the car again, she asked, “More climbing?”
“Nope. All downhill from here.”
“Who said?”
“The attendant.”
“I didn’t know you spoke German.”
“I don’t. We used our hands. I pointed up and raised my eyebrows, and he pointed down and smiled. Complete understanding.”
“What are you so chipper about, Julia?”
“I don’t know,” Julia said, and she suddenly looked at her sister and seriously said, “I guess I’m very happy to be here. I guess that’s it.”