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,” Renato said, and he began laughing. “Welcome to Italy!”
His teeth were very white. When he laughed, his lips pulled back to reveal them, adding visual impetus to the laugh, inviting contagion. She found herself laughing with him.
“Is it always this way?” she asked. “How do you get anything done?”
“Oh, we get things done,” Renato said, and he shrugged. “It’s hot today. Do you find it hot?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Would you like some ices? Do you like ices?”
“I’d love some, thank you.”
They walked to the cart. “Two lemons,” he said to the ices man. “Do you like lemon? Of course you like lemon. That is the only kind of ices to have on a hot day.”
“Yes, I like lemon,” she said softly.
“Good. How old are you?”
“What?”
“How old are you?”
“Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “Why, because I want to know.”
“I’m thirty-five,” she said unflinchingly.
“That’s good.” He nodded.
“Why?”
“Is it not good?” he asked. He opened his eyes wide in surprise.
“Well, thirty is better. And seventeen is even better than that.”
“Thirty is a bridge,” Renato said, “and seventeen is a cradle. You are a good age.”
“Thank you.”
“Here. Be careful, the cup sometimes drips. You would not want to stain your pretty blouse,” he said, and from the way he glanced at her she knew he’d noticed the unfastened button earlier.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Thirty-three.” He grinned. “I’m a boy yet.”
“Yes, you are.”
“But not too young for il Duce’s magnificent army, eh?”
“I take it you don’t like the army.”
“Oh, I love the army,” he said broadly. “How else would I be able to afford travel? They send me all over Europe with important secret dispatches. I climb onto my motorbike and deliver messages to generals of all nations. Very important documents. I carried one to Switzerland that said, ‘I will meet you for a drink in Geneva on Tuesday.’ Highly important, highly official, very secret.”
Julia laughed. “Where are you stationed?” she asked.
“Rome. Isn’t everyone? Rome is where il Duce is. He likes to look out over his balcony and see uniforms, many uniforms. So that’s where I’m stationed.”
“And where do you live?”
“I live nowhere,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I was born in Naples, but my father took me from there when I was very young because he wanted to farm, and he had heard of a strip of land just outside Rome. It is rare for Italians to leave the town of their birth, but my father wanted to go, so we went. When my parents died, my sister and I sold the farm. I suppose I live with her now, in Rome.”
“I see.”
There was a pause in the conversation. They had walked back to the Automobile Club and were leaning against the metal door now.
Renato said, “Will you be going to Rome?”
“Yes. Well, outside of Rome actually. The Abruzzi. I’m taking my sister to Aquila.”
“That’s not far from Rome,” he said. “Only a few hours’ drive.”
“My sister is ill,” Julia said.
“Aquila is pleasant,” he said. “Especially if you are ill.” His smile widened. “Perhaps only if you are ill.” He paused. “Will you be staying long?”
“Not too long.”
“How long?”
“Why?”
“You always say ‘why.’ I ask questions because I want to know the answers. It’s not necessary to say ‘why.’ How long will you be staying?”
“Several months.”
“Perhaps you may stay longer.”
“No.”
“How can you tell?”
“I have a husband and a son at home.”
“Yes, and they will miss you.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I know.”
He was silent again.
“Aquila will be good for your sister,” he said at last. “The air is clean.”
“Yes, that’s what we were told.”
“Where will you be staying in Aquila?”
“We’ve rented a villa.”
“How much are you paying?”
Julia laughed suddenly. “You ask very funny questions,” she said.
“I want to make sure you’re not being cheated.”
“A travel agent arranged the rental for us.”
“There are thieves among travel agents, too.”
“Yes, but that applies to everyone, and I would rather trust people, wouldn’t you?”
“No, I don’t care to trust people,” he said. “Nor they me. It doesn’t matter. How much are you paying?”
“Two thousand lire a month.”
“That’s high.”
“It’s a beautiful villa.”
“Will you have a car?”
“Yes.”
“Will you come into Rome sometimes?”
“I suppose so.”
“Yes or no?”
“Yes, there are things I want to see in Rome.”
“I know an excellent guide,” Renato said.
“Who?” she asked.
She watched him intently, slightly frightened by what was happening and yet totally free of any feeling of guilt, and the guiltlessness frightened her even more. She knew where this was leading, and yet she felt powerless to stop it. He had said, “I know an excellent guide,” and she had said, “Who?” and she knew what his answer would be. She knew he would say, “Me.” She was certain he would say, “Me,” and she waited somewhat breathlessly for his reply, not sure what her reaction would be when it came, not sure whether she would end whatever was happening then and there, smile pleasantly but aloofly and say, “Thank you, that’s very kind, but I don’t think so,” not sure at all what she would say when he made his offer.
He did not answer at once.
“Who?” she said again, and waited.
“A woman named Maria Scalza,” he said.
“What?” She stared at him, surprised.
“Yes. She is a fine guide. If you like, I will give you her number.”
“I... thank you, but...”
“Ahhh,” Renato said, “the professor returns.” He looked at his wrist watch. “He said a half hour, and a half hour it is. Il Duce should send him a medal. He should send us all medals.” He raised his arm in greeting. “Ah, professor!” he called. Then he winked at Julia and said, “You’re late, professor,” and burst into laughter when the old man exploded in rage.
She brought the carnet to the customs office afterward. Renato waited until they had stamped it and returned it to her, and then he walked her to the car. Millie had fallen asleep on the front seat.
“Where do you go now?” Renato asked.
“Stresa. Just overnight.”
“You will like Stresa,” he said. “Are you staying at the Grand Borromées?”
“Yes. Have you ever stayed there?”
“Me?” He began laughing. “Cara mia, I’m a farmer,” he said. “But it’s pretty on the outside.” He paused. “Like you.” He opened the car door for her. “Arrivederci. Have a good trip.”
“I... thank you for your help. You were very kind.”
“It was my pleasure, believe me.”
“Thank you again.”
“Prego.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” he said.
She first saw the paintings in one of the palaces where she had gone with her sister Millie in a gondola. It had been a misty day in Venice, the sky spread overhead like a taut translucent skin, gray-white, the sun behind it evenly illuminating the canopy and creating a shimmering glare on the water and the buildings. It seemed as if the sun would break through at any moment. Instead, as the morning lengthened into afternoon, the sky turned ominously gray. When they stepped out of the gondola, it began raining. They ran for the shelter of the building. A bronze urchin stood in the entrance arch, a lovely statue in an angelic pose, his genitals rubbed shining bright by luck-seeking tourists. He stood grinning at them with his small shining penis as if inordinately proud of its glow, and she smiled as she passed it and noticed that Millie turned back for a second puzzled look.