doesn’t want to spoil them.’ She looks at
a key-case, then buys the paper-knife.
‘If he
uses a paper-knife,’ Lise says, ‘obviously he isn’t a hippy. If he were a hippy
he would open his letters with his fingers.’
‘Would
it be too much trouble,’ she says to Lise, ‘to put this in your bag? And the
slippers — oh, where are the slippers?’
Her
package of slippers is lost, is gone. She claims to have left it on the counter
while she had been to the door to compare the two leather notecases. The
package has been lifted, has been taken away by somebody. Everyone looks around
for it and sympathizes, and points out that it was her own fault.
‘Maybe
he has plenty of slippers, anyway,’ Lise says. ‘Is he my type of man, do you
think?’
‘We
ought to see the sights,’ says Mrs Fiedke. ‘We shouldn’t let this golden
opportunity go by without seeing the ruins.’
‘If he’s
my type I want to meet him,’ Lise says.
‘Very
much your type,’ says Mrs Fiedke, ‘at his best.’
‘What a
pity he’s coming so late,’. Lise says. ‘Because I have a previous engagement
with my boyfriend. However, if he doesn’t turn up before your nephew arrives I
want to meet your nephew. What’s his name did you say?’
‘Richard.
We never called him Dick. Only his mother, but not us. I hope he gets the plane
all right. Oh — where’s the paper-knife?’
‘You
put it in here,’ says Lise, pointing to her zipper-bag. ‘Don’t worry, it’s
safe. Let’s get out of here.’
As they
drift with the outgoing shoppers into the sunny street, Mrs Fiedke says, ‘I
hope he’s on that plane. There was some talk that he would go to Barcelona
first to meet his mother, then on here to meet up with me. But I wouldn’t play.
I just said No! No flying from Barcelona, I said. I’m a strict believer, in
fact, a Witness, but I never trust the airlines from those countries where the
pilots believe in the afterlife. You are safer when they don’t. I’ve been told
the Scandinavian airlines are fairly reliable in that respect.’
Lise
looks up and down the street and sighs. ‘It can’t be long now. My friend’s
going to turn up soon. He knows I’ve come all this way to see him. He knows it,
all right. He’s just waiting around somewhere. Apart from that I have no plans.’
‘Dressed
for the carnival!’ says a woman, looking grossly at Lise as she passes, and
laughing as she goes her way, laughing without possibility of restraint, like a
stream bound to descend whatever slope lies before it.
FIVE
‘It is in my mind,’ says
Mrs Fiedke; ‘it is in my mind and I can’t think of anything else but that you
and my nephew are meant for each other. As sure as anything, my dear, you are
the person for my nephew. Somebody has got to take him on, anyhow, that’s
plain.’
‘He’s
only twenty-four,’ considers Lise. ‘Much too young.
They
are descending a steep path leading from the ruins. Steps have been roughly cut
out of the earthy track, outlined only by slats of wood which are laid at the
edge of each step. Lise holds Mrs Fiedke’s arm and helps her down one by one.
‘How do
you know his age?’ says Mrs Fiedke.
‘Well,
didn’t you tell me, twenty-four?’ Lise says.
‘Yes,
but I haven’t seen him for quite a time you know. He’s been away.
‘Maybe
he’s even younger. Take care, go slowly.’
‘Or it
could be the other way. People age when they’ve had unpleasant experiences over
the years. It just came to me while we were looking at those very interesting
pavements in that ancient temple up there, that poor Richard may be the very
man that you’re looking for.’
‘Well,
it’s your idea,’ says Lise, ‘not mine. I wouldn’t know till I’d seen him.
Myself, I think he’s around the corner somewhere, now, any time.’
‘Which
corner?’ The old lady looks up and down the street which runs below them at the
bottom of the steps.
‘Any
corner. Any
a key-case, then buys the paper-knife.
‘If he
uses a paper-knife,’ Lise says, ‘obviously he isn’t a hippy. If he were a hippy
he would open his letters with his fingers.’
‘Would
it be too much trouble,’ she says to Lise, ‘to put this in your bag? And the
slippers — oh, where are the slippers?’
Her
package of slippers is lost, is gone. She claims to have left it on the counter
while she had been to the door to compare the two leather notecases. The
package has been lifted, has been taken away by somebody. Everyone looks around
for it and sympathizes, and points out that it was her own fault.
‘Maybe
he has plenty of slippers, anyway,’ Lise says. ‘Is he my type of man, do you
think?’
‘We
ought to see the sights,’ says Mrs Fiedke. ‘We shouldn’t let this golden
opportunity go by without seeing the ruins.’
‘If he’s
my type I want to meet him,’ Lise says.
‘Very
much your type,’ says Mrs Fiedke, ‘at his best.’
‘What a
pity he’s coming so late,’. Lise says. ‘Because I have a previous engagement
with my boyfriend. However, if he doesn’t turn up before your nephew arrives I
want to meet your nephew. What’s his name did you say?’
‘Richard.
We never called him Dick. Only his mother, but not us. I hope he gets the plane
all right. Oh — where’s the paper-knife?’
‘You
put it in here,’ says Lise, pointing to her zipper-bag. ‘Don’t worry, it’s
safe. Let’s get out of here.’
As they
drift with the outgoing shoppers into the sunny street, Mrs Fiedke says, ‘I
hope he’s on that plane. There was some talk that he would go to Barcelona
first to meet his mother, then on here to meet up with me. But I wouldn’t play.
I just said No! No flying from Barcelona, I said. I’m a strict believer, in
fact, a Witness, but I never trust the airlines from those countries where the
pilots believe in the afterlife. You are safer when they don’t. I’ve been told
the Scandinavian airlines are fairly reliable in that respect.’
Lise
looks up and down the street and sighs. ‘It can’t be long now. My friend’s
going to turn up soon. He knows I’ve come all this way to see him. He knows it,
all right. He’s just waiting around somewhere. Apart from that I have no plans.’
‘Dressed
for the carnival!’ says a woman, looking grossly at Lise as she passes, and
laughing as she goes her way, laughing without possibility of restraint, like a
stream bound to descend whatever slope lies before it.
FIVE
‘It is in my mind,’ says
Mrs Fiedke; ‘it is in my mind and I can’t think of anything else but that you
and my nephew are meant for each other. As sure as anything, my dear, you are
the person for my nephew. Somebody has got to take him on, anyhow, that’s
plain.’
‘He’s
only twenty-four,’ considers Lise. ‘Much too young.
They
are descending a steep path leading from the ruins. Steps have been roughly cut
out of the earthy track, outlined only by slats of wood which are laid at the
edge of each step. Lise holds Mrs Fiedke’s arm and helps her down one by one.
‘How do
you know his age?’ says Mrs Fiedke.
‘Well,
didn’t you tell me, twenty-four?’ Lise says.
‘Yes,
but I haven’t seen him for quite a time you know. He’s been away.
‘Maybe
he’s even younger. Take care, go slowly.’
‘Or it
could be the other way. People age when they’ve had unpleasant experiences over
the years. It just came to me while we were looking at those very interesting
pavements in that ancient temple up there, that poor Richard may be the very
man that you’re looking for.’
‘Well,
it’s your idea,’ says Lise, ‘not mine. I wouldn’t know till I’d seen him.
Myself, I think he’s around the corner somewhere, now, any time.’
‘Which
corner?’ The old lady looks up and down the street which runs below them at the
bottom of the steps.
‘Any
corner. Any
Similar Books
