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:
“Thank God,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”
Julia looked through the windshield. A border official in a green uniform was stopping each car. The owners of the automobiles were showing him some sort of identification. Passports, she supposed, and watched as the cars ahead of her were waved on. As she approached the official, he shouted “Alt!” and she put on the brake and waited for him to come over to the window on her side.
“Carnet,” he said. He extended one gloved hand, palm up.
“What is it you want?” Julia asked, and then quickly translated in halting Italian, “Che cosa vuole?”
“Carnet,” the man said. His hand remained extended.
“What does he want, Julia?” Millie said.
“I don’t know. My driver’s license, I suppose.” She opened her bag, found her wallet, took out her Connecticut driver’s license and handed it through the window.
The man shook his head. “Carnet, carnet,” he said.
“He must want the registration,” Millie said. “All the papers are in the glove compartment, Julia. Give him those.”
Julia sighed, opened the glove compartment, took out the papers the Paris auto rental agency had given them, and handed them through the window. The border official leafed through the various papers, shaking his head as he studied each one. Then he handed them back to Julia.
“Per entrare in Italia,” he said, “deve avere il carnet. Nessuno di questi documenti é un carnet.”
“What in hell is a carnet?” Julia asked Millie.
“I’m sure I don’t know. Tell him we’ll get it in Stresa, whatever it is. Tell him we’re in a hurry, Julia.”
“Non teniamo una carnet,” Julia said. “Lo prendiamo a Stresa. Per piacere, abbiamo fretta.”
The border official shook his head. “Lo deve ottenere qui. Non a Stresa. Non potete lasciare Domodossola senza il carnet.”
“Ma dove lo potere avere?” Julia asked.
“Seguitemi,” the man said. He motioned with his hand, directing Julia to pull the car to the side of the road, where she saw one sign hanging over a customs office and another sign for the Italian military police. She drove to a place marked DIVIETO MACCHINE CTVILI and parked the car alongside a motorcycle.
“Stay here with the luggage, Millie,” she said. “They won’t let us leave Domodossola until we get this carnet, whatever it is.”
She stepped out of the car. The official was waiting for her.
“Venite,” he said, and he led her into the customs office. A man sitting behind an old desk looked up when they entered. The office was dim and cool. The shutters on the single window set in the stone wall were closed, blocking the rays of the sun. The men held a conversation in rapid Italian, the only word of which Julia caught was carnet. The man behind the desk kept nodding his head. The other went on at interminable length about the carnet. It seemed they would never get it settled.
Finally, the man behind the desk said, “Si, va bene. Portatela all’ Automobile Club.”
“Do either of you speak English?” Julia asked.
The man behind the desk looked up and smiled. The smile was evil, Julia thought, a horrid evil smile. “In Italia,” he said slowly, “parliamo italiano.”
She knew he understood English, because he had answered her question. Slowly, precisely, controlling her anger, she said in English, “And in Italy you have apparently forgotten whatever manners you ever had. How do I get this carnet?”
The man behind the desk continued smiling. He did not answer Julia. The other man said, “Seguite,” and she followed him out into the sunshine again. A tall blond man in an army uniform was coming out of the military-police barracks next door. He smiled at Julia and said, “Ah, buon giorno, signorina.”
She did not recognize him at first. Somehow, she’d thought the soldier on the mountain was an officer, but she saw quite clearly now the corporal’s stripes on his sleeves and was a little disappointed, though she couldn’t understand why. Too, the man on the mountain had seemed heavier inside his rubberized poncho, and this man who walked toward her now, smiling, was rather thin, and somewhat older than she’d originally estimated, thirty-three or thirty-four, perhaps even her own age. His hair was a muddied blond and this, too, came as a surprise because he’d been wearing the black helmet on the mountain, and yet surely she had noticed that his eyebrows were blond too and that his eyes... the eyes. The eyes were the same. Blue, an intense blue, smiling with the rest of his tanned face. It was a face she knew. She turned to him desperately and said in rapid English, “Oh, hello, how are you? Can you help me, please? I seem to need a carnet, but no one will tell me what it is, and they’ve been leading me from place to—”
The soldier held out his hand. “Piano, piano,” he said. “My English is not good.”
She explained again, slowly this time. He listened intently, his head cocked to one side. He pushed a strand of hair off his forehead, revealing a white streak of flesh that the sun had not touched. She kept talking, fascinated by the suddenly exposed skin, as if she had stumbled upon a secret vulnerable corner of the man. The border official seemed weary of the exchange. He leaned against the whitewashed wall with the black FORBIDDEN TO CIVILIAN CARS lettered boldly on it, one hand resting on the butt of the pistol at his waist. The corporal nodded as Julia spoke, making his laborious mental translation. Then he said, “A carnet is a paper, it tells, descrivere, describes? si, your automobile, and that you are not bring to Italy for to sell. Capisce?”
“Yes, si, but no one told us about it. The Paris agency...”
“Si, ma é necessario. Is need. It is law.” He shrugged.
“Si,” she said, and she nodded, distressed.
“Si, but is easy. To get this. The Automobile Club... ah... come si dice rilasciare? Issues? Fixes? They fix for you.”
“But where is the Automobile Club?”
“In città. In town. He will take.” He pointed to the border man.
“Could...?” Julia hesitated. “Are you very busy now?”
“Signorina?”