Read Online My Tango With Barbara Strozzi by Russell Hoban - Free Book Online

said.
    ‘Everybody draws the line somewhere, I think.’
    ‘Even I. Would you believe that since you left I haven’t been with any other woman?’
    ‘No, I wouldn’t.’
    ‘All right, I didn’t actually go cold turkey but it was like being alone. Can you believe that?’
    ‘Almost. At least it’s a nice compliment.’
    ‘So are you with anyone now?’
    ‘I’m married but I’m not with my husband any more.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘One beating was enough.’
    ‘How could you marry a man stupid enough to beat you?’
    ‘I’m not very clever myself. You may have noticed.’
    ‘You’ve got someone else?’
    ‘Sort of. It’s too soon to say.’
    ‘Who is he?’
    ‘No one you know. He’s a writer.’
    ‘What’s his name?’
    ‘Phil Ockerman.’
    ‘The guy who wrote
Hope of a Tree
?’
    ‘Have you read it?’
    ‘Yes, and it was real crap. He uses words well enough but it was really just a put-together thing trying to pass for a novel. Have
you
read it?’
    ‘No. How are things between you and your wife?’
    ‘We’re divorced. She’s got the house and the kids anda lot of money and I’ve moved here. I’ve got a house in Cheyne Walk.’
    ‘You must have struck it rich.’
    ‘Von Augenblick doesn’t only have contacts in Dubai, he’s got the whole Middle East pretty well covered, and Judith & Co. go down a bomb with his clientele.’
    We were quiet for a while, then a white-haired woman nearby leaned our way and said, ‘Actually,
Hope of a Tree
had quite a few good things in it. You can’t expect strong plots from Ockerman, his novels are mainly character-driven.’ Her face might not have been beautiful when she was young but looked very classy now and there was something in her voice – it was low and husky – that made me think she must have had an exciting past and a lot of lovers. I’d noticed her when she came in; she was taller than I and had a long slim black velvet bag slung from her shoulder. It knocked against the table when she sat down and it didn’t sound like an umbrella. She saw me looking at it and slid it partly out of the bag. It was a baseball bat. I thought of
The Rainmaker
and I couldn’t help smiling. Sometimes it’s nothing but baseball bats. A sign?
    ‘A Louisville Slugger,’ she said. ‘His name is Irv.’
    ‘“His”, not “Its”,’ said Brian. ‘Has that bat got a history?’
    ‘It has,’ she said. ‘But you wouldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I didn’t know that form and emptiness are the same.’
    ‘Not a lot of people know that,’ Brian said. ‘What’re you drinking? You need a refill.’
    ‘Directors,’ she said. ‘But just a half please. Vodka used to be my tipple but the ravages of time forced me to switch to beer, and even that puts me to sleep if I’m not careful.’
    Brian went to the bar and got refills for all of us, then he said to the woman with the baseball bat, ‘Tell us the story, please. I’m Brian Adderley. This is Bertha Strunk.’
    ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘My name is Grace Kowalski. The bat is named after a friend who’s no longer with us. Some years back he and I and a few others were involved in some very strange goings-on. Do you believe in ghosts?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Brian.
    ‘Sometimes,’ I said.
    ‘I hang out with more ghosts than I do with live people,’ said Grace.
    ‘That’s part of getting old, I guess,’ said Brian.
    ‘It sure is,’ said Grace. ‘Do you believe in vampires?’
    ‘Metaphorically or literally?’ said Brian.
    ‘The kind that actually suck blood,’ said Grace.
    ‘Not yet,’ said Brian.
    ‘Likewise,’ I said.
    ‘Just asking,’ said Grace.
    ‘Do you?’ I said.
    ‘Takes all kinds,’ said Grace. ‘What do you do?’ she asked me.
    ‘I paint eyeballs for artificial eyes,’ I said.
    ‘And you?’ she said to Brian.
    ‘I’m a painter,’ he said. ‘Pictures on canvas. Are you retired?’
    ‘Not yet,’ said Grace. ‘I make jewellery and I sell it in