Read Online A Darkening Stain by Robert Wilson - Free Book Online Page B

be a very forgiving person,’ she said. ‘But with nothing to forgive. You’re flying already. I could smell you from the door.’
    â€˜That Sancerre’s going to go down as well,’ I said. ‘And when I’ve finished this glass of water I’m going to have a Grande Beninoise. I’ve been talking a lot and it’s dehydrated me.’
    â€˜I’m glad you’re not reforming just because you’re going to be a father.’
    â€˜Maybe in the last few months before D-day I’ll start trying to be good.’
    â€˜They’ve already got a brain after two months. They hear things.’
    â€˜But they don’t know what they mean.’
    â€˜Babies are very tonal,’ she said.
    â€˜It’ll learn to sleep to the clinking of glass.’
    â€˜Because it’s all crap after that.’
    â€˜Well,
I’ve
just been told I’m very interesting.’
    â€˜By your drinking pal?’ she said. ‘That’s a very sad thing for you to be saying, Bruce Medway.’
    I opened the beer and drank it like I said I would. We sat down to eat, a Spanish chicken dish called
chilindron,
which was good for the climate. The chilli kept the sweat up. I idled over the Sancerre while Helen cleared the plates and brought the Red Label out, which she put down with a thump and a sigh. I sent her back with it and she gave me one of her half-lidded, muddy-eyed looks that told me I wasn’t fooling her.
    â€˜Don’t hold back on my account,’ said Heike.
    â€˜I’ve got to go out tonight,’ I said.
    â€˜Oh yes?’
    â€˜Clubbing.’
    â€˜Anybody I should know?’
    â€˜It’s work.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t bring it home with you.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t, but the guy I want to see runs a bar down the Jonquet and it doesn’t get going until midnight.’
    â€˜Which bar?’
    â€˜A place called L’Ouistiti. I’m told it means “marmoset”—you know it?’
    â€˜I’ve had a drink in there before now.’
    â€˜Who with?’
    â€˜An American Peace Corps worker. It’s their after-work joint. Grim, unless you like grunging it.’
    â€˜You know me, Heike,’ I said. ‘Who was the Peace Corps worker?’
    â€˜Robyn.’
    I dead-eyed her.
    â€˜With a “y”,’ she added.
    â€˜Aha-a,’ we said, tipping our glasses at each other. ‘Just checking there.’
    â€˜I’m flattered,’ she said, sounding the opposite.
    â€˜This
ouistiti
place...?’
    â€˜It’s run by a guy called Michel Charbonnier.’
    â€˜You know him?’ I asked.
    â€˜He’s a creep.’
    â€˜What sort of a creep?’
    â€˜A sex creep.’
    â€˜Touchy, feely?’
    Breathey, breathey.’
    â€˜I’ll keep my distance.’
    â€˜I don’t know how you do it, Bruce.’
    â€˜Bring myself to the marks for the Michel Charbonniers of this world?’
    â€˜He’s probably the lighter end of it too.’
    â€˜You’d have liked the guy I was with this evening.’
    â€˜The one who thought you were interesting? I don’t think so. That hotel-barroom mutual back-slapping bullshit isn’t my kind of conversation.’
    â€˜I’ve got to go away tomorrow too ... an all-nighter.’
    â€˜With Mr Interesting ... on our day off?’ she said, irritated. ‘He must have made a big impression. Where’re you going?’
    â€˜Maybe Grand-Popo.’
    â€˜What sort of an answer is that?’
    â€˜A tricky one.’
    â€˜This isn’t going to be a row but...’
    â€˜I’ve noticed that when one of us isn’t drinking we don’t row.’
    â€˜When
I’m
not drinking. You’re never not drinking.’
    â€˜If it’s not going to be a row why’s it already sounding like one?’
    â€˜I don’t
want
it to be a row but...’
    â€˜No more