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:
“Well... are you stationed here?”
“Pardon?”
“Well... could you come with us? To the Automobile Club? I’ll never be able to explain all this in Italian.”
The corporal nodded. “Ahhh,” he said. “Ahhhh.”
“Could you?”
“Cosa?” the border man asked.
The corporal translated Julia’s request.
“Allora, andiamo,” the border man said. “Stiamo sciupando tutto il pomeriggio.”
“Will you come?” Julia asked.
“Si, signorina. Al suo servizio!” He snapped a salute at her, and then smiled, and the three began walking down the street together. From the car, Millie called, “Julia! Where are they taking you?”
“To the Automobile Club,” Julia called back over her shoulder.
“The what? What did you say?”
“It’s all right, Millie. I’ll be right back.”
There was something comical about the procession, and she could not resist smiling. She walked between the two uniformed men, trying to match her strides with their own. The border man walked with a stiff precise cadence, as if he were leading her to a wall to execute her. The notion delighted her. When they raised their rifles, she would say, “To hell with the blindfold!” The corporal, walking with a rather lazy lope, noticed her smile, but said nothing. There was a curious air of inactivity to the town. No one seemed to be employed, the entire town seemed to be out in the main street, idling, gossiping, the men standing in dark trousers and intensely white shirts, or the green army uniforms with their funny tasseled hats, the women barefoot most of them, but wearing brightly colored dresses as if they had got ready for a ball and forgotten to put on their heels. Here and there, a few of Mussolini’s Black Shirts lounged against the walls. The sunshine caught the town in its lazy posture, caught motion suspended, caught bicycles leaning against walls, reflected from silvered spokes, caught water running in the gutter, caught wrought-iron balconies overhanging the main street, caught the brightly colored cart of the ices peddler, and the young soldiers standing beside it in green, and the two adolescent girls in bright skirts and white blouses, barefoot, giggling, the town had been frozen by sunshine. The boots of the border man and the corporal thudded on the cobbled street, bracketed the feminine chatter of Julia’s heels.
“My name is Renato,” the corporal said suddenly, in Italian. “Renato Cristo.”
“How do you do?” Julia said in English. “I’m Mrs. Arthur Regan.” She paused. “Julia Regan.”
Renato smiled his slow smile. In Italian, he said, “You spoke our language very well earlier. It would be a shame, now that you are in Italy, if you returned home exactly as you arrived.”
“How do you mean?” Julia asked in English.
“It might be good to practice your Italian,” Renato said. He would not speak English now. He spoke Italian, slowly, deliberately, carefully, so that she would understand him. But he would not speak English, and she sensed a challenge in his choice of language, and she responded to the challenge by answering him in English, refusing to give ground.
“I’ll have ample opportunity to practice my Italian,” she said.
“Why not begin now?” he asked in Italian. “You could learn very easily. You understand me perfectly well, do you not?”
“Yes,” Julia said in English. “I understand you very well.”
“Then why won’t you answer me in Italian?”
“Why won’t you ask me in English?”
“I am the man,” he said simply.
She looked into his eyes suddenly. His face was very serious. All at once, she was frightened. She put her hand to her mouth, and then looked away. Renato smiled.
In deliberate Italian, he said, “Your Italian is very good. I have lived here in Italy all my life. I am, after all, an expert on the Italian language. I say your Italian is quite good.” He paused. “Do you agree?”
“No,” she said, still not looking at him.
“But yes.”
“All right then, yes,” she said in English, an annoyed tone in her voice. She turned to look at him again. “My Italian is very good, all right? Yes.”
He stopped suddenly. The border official kept walking, unaware that Renato had stopped, unaware that Julia had stopped beside him.
“Would it pain you to say ‘yes’ in Italian?” he asked quietly.
“No. I suppose not.”
“Then say it.”
“Yes,” Julia said. In Italian.
Renato smiled. “Good. We will speak only Italian from now on. It will be easier for us.”
“Please, please hurry!” the border man said impatiently. He stood in the center of the street waiting for them, his hands on his hips. “I have other things to do.”
They caught up to him and walked the rest of the way in silence. Julia was suddenly aware that the top button of her blouse was unfastened. She moved her hand to it surreptitiously, buttoned it, and then glanced at Renato to see if he had noticed. The street seemed very hot all at once. When they reached the Automobile Club, an old man was out front, rolling down a corrugated-metal door upon which were painted the letters RACI.
“What are you doing?” Renato asked him.
“I am going home,” the man said. “Today is a feast day. I have stayed open later than I should have.”
“This lady needs a carnet,” Renato said.
“She will have to come back tomorrow.”
“She cannot come back tomorrow. She is leaving here this afternoon.”
“That is impossible,” the Automobile Club man said. “She cannot leave Domodossola without a carnet, therefore she cannot leave this afternoon, therefore she will come back tomorrow.”
“No,” Renato said. “Open your door, professor. You will give the lady her carnet now.”
The Automobile Club man looked at the border official. The border official shrugged.
“I must go to the post office to mail a letter,” the old man said. “I will come back in a half hour. I should go home. This is a feast day. You soldiers are all brigands. You will not let a man enjoy his feast day.”
“The lady is in Italy on holiday.”
“No one asked her to come to Italy without a carnet,” the old man said, “on holiday or otherwise. This is my holiday. There are few enough feast days.”
“Yes, professor, but you are a kind man who would not turn away a lady so beautiful as this one.”
The old man studied Julia with a practiced eye. For a moment, she thought she would blush. The border official looked at her, too. Renato stood by with an air of proprietorship, like a cattle breeder exhibiting a choice head of beef. She was somewhat annoyed by his attitude. The men continued to study her solemnly, as though her beauty or lack of it would be the deciding factor in whether or not she got the carnet.
“Well, she is pretty,” the old man said grudgingly. “I’ll go to the post office and return. It will be a half hour. If you wish to wait, fine. If not, tell me, and I’ll go home to my family and enjoy a well-deserved rest on this scarce feast day.”
“We’ll wait,” Renato said.
“Will you take care of the lady?” the border official asked him.
“Yes. I’ll take care of the lady,” Renato said.
“Very well. When you have the carnet, please return to the office.”
“I will,” Julia said. “Would you please tell my sister I’ll be a little while?”
“Yes, madam,” the border official said. He nodded curtly and walked away.
“I’ll be back,” the old man said. He tested the padlock on the rolled-down metal door, and shuffled off up the street.