Read Online Hold on to the Sun by Michal Govrin, Judith G. Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michal Govrin, Judith G. Miller
Tags: Writing
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to the hotel,” said Monyek.
“All right,” said Lusia.
When they were approaching the hotel, in the light of the elegant display windows, Monyek Heller turned his head and stole a quick glance at the woman who was walking beside him with a heavy tread.
The next morning, Monyek knocked on Lusia’s door, as agreed.
“Mrs. Taft. Lusia.” He leaned into the door in the hallway.
“Yes yes,” answered Lusia, who was already awake in her bed.
“Sorry but I have to hurry you up,” continued Monyek behind the door, “Hirshel Feingold called and invited us to a celebration. I don’t understand exactly of what.”
“I’ll be ready in a minute,” replied Lusia, and she sat up in bed among the big pillows and sheets, which were still starched, although she’d already slept in them for two nights. The big room was dim, and underneath the high ceiling unknown smells were circulating. The night had left a murky residue in her. She propped herself up on both elbows and descended slowly from the high bed. She pulled the curtains apart and pushed the balcony shutters open. On the sunlit wallpaper countless shepherds
and shepherdesses with their flocks rested under pale blue trees. They climbed to the ceiling and disappeared behind the big wardrobe.
She went into the bathroom and rummaged in her old cosmetic bag in order to take out the toilet articles that for some reason she hesitated to leave displayed in the place intended for them, on the glass shelf glittering underneath the mirror. She turned her back—for years now she’d avoided looking at herself undressed in the mirror—and mechanically finished fastening her corset and pulling on her orthopedic stockings.Then she turned around, and with a few vehement strokes she painted vivid color over the slit of her lips. When she’d finished powdering her forehead and cheeks, she threw her things back into the cosmetic bag and straightened up her crushed coiffure.
When she’d finished dressing, she sat down for a moment on the corner of the high bed, ready to leave with her bulky purse already in position on her knees. For a moment she puzzled about the Sabbath here, which stretched on into Sunday, and then she immediately bent stiffly over her purse, with her short legs dangling, and made sure that she’d not forgotten to put in her compact. And while her hand was kneading the guts of her bag, she also made sure she had her pills. She stood up, wondering apprehensively whether she’d creased her skirt, and straightened the bedspread, whose motif of sailing ships reconfirmed the vacation
atmosphere. From the window she saw the two trees in the hotel garden. She crossed her hands under her bosom around the strap of her purse and left the room.
When they’d finished eating breakfast Lusia took the lipstick out of her purse again and roughly repaired the drawing around her lips. Monyek crumpled the napkin and placed in on the table. He rose from his chair and approached Lusia to offer her his arm. A heavy smell of perfume rose from her body. He was wearing his brown silk tie today, and it shone with the richness of earth between the lapels of his jacket.
When they stepped outside he was troubled by the pressure in his chest, which had grown worse since the chestnut trees had come into blossom. This morning too the sky was covered with mist and the air was not yet really warm. Only a few bathers had ventured onto the white beach, and the little flags strung between the lifeguard stands waved limply. They hastened down the wooden walkway on the beach in the direction of the café La Promenade. Monyek leaned over to tuck his hand in Lusia’s arm alongside the strap of her purse. Lusia patted her hair, and every time she put her heels down on the wooden planks the noise of her dragging feet eased for a moment the uncertainty of her deliberate tread.
At the other end of the wooden walk Hirshel Feingold, who’d come out to meet them, was already waving his
“All right,” said Lusia.
When they were approaching the hotel, in the light of the elegant display windows, Monyek Heller turned his head and stole a quick glance at the woman who was walking beside him with a heavy tread.
The next morning, Monyek knocked on Lusia’s door, as agreed.
“Mrs. Taft. Lusia.” He leaned into the door in the hallway.
“Yes yes,” answered Lusia, who was already awake in her bed.
“Sorry but I have to hurry you up,” continued Monyek behind the door, “Hirshel Feingold called and invited us to a celebration. I don’t understand exactly of what.”
“I’ll be ready in a minute,” replied Lusia, and she sat up in bed among the big pillows and sheets, which were still starched, although she’d already slept in them for two nights. The big room was dim, and underneath the high ceiling unknown smells were circulating. The night had left a murky residue in her. She propped herself up on both elbows and descended slowly from the high bed. She pulled the curtains apart and pushed the balcony shutters open. On the sunlit wallpaper countless shepherds
and shepherdesses with their flocks rested under pale blue trees. They climbed to the ceiling and disappeared behind the big wardrobe.
She went into the bathroom and rummaged in her old cosmetic bag in order to take out the toilet articles that for some reason she hesitated to leave displayed in the place intended for them, on the glass shelf glittering underneath the mirror. She turned her back—for years now she’d avoided looking at herself undressed in the mirror—and mechanically finished fastening her corset and pulling on her orthopedic stockings.Then she turned around, and with a few vehement strokes she painted vivid color over the slit of her lips. When she’d finished powdering her forehead and cheeks, she threw her things back into the cosmetic bag and straightened up her crushed coiffure.
When she’d finished dressing, she sat down for a moment on the corner of the high bed, ready to leave with her bulky purse already in position on her knees. For a moment she puzzled about the Sabbath here, which stretched on into Sunday, and then she immediately bent stiffly over her purse, with her short legs dangling, and made sure that she’d not forgotten to put in her compact. And while her hand was kneading the guts of her bag, she also made sure she had her pills. She stood up, wondering apprehensively whether she’d creased her skirt, and straightened the bedspread, whose motif of sailing ships reconfirmed the vacation
atmosphere. From the window she saw the two trees in the hotel garden. She crossed her hands under her bosom around the strap of her purse and left the room.
When they’d finished eating breakfast Lusia took the lipstick out of her purse again and roughly repaired the drawing around her lips. Monyek crumpled the napkin and placed in on the table. He rose from his chair and approached Lusia to offer her his arm. A heavy smell of perfume rose from her body. He was wearing his brown silk tie today, and it shone with the richness of earth between the lapels of his jacket.
When they stepped outside he was troubled by the pressure in his chest, which had grown worse since the chestnut trees had come into blossom. This morning too the sky was covered with mist and the air was not yet really warm. Only a few bathers had ventured onto the white beach, and the little flags strung between the lifeguard stands waved limply. They hastened down the wooden walkway on the beach in the direction of the café La Promenade. Monyek leaned over to tuck his hand in Lusia’s arm alongside the strap of her purse. Lusia patted her hair, and every time she put her heels down on the wooden planks the noise of her dragging feet eased for a moment the uncertainty of her deliberate tread.
At the other end of the wooden walk Hirshel Feingold, who’d come out to meet them, was already waving his