Rather Not
It had rained for a long time. But
it had not spoiled their summer vacation. On the contrary. They had never felt
so good before. And only one of his daughters had come down with them, so
finally she could have him a little bit more to herself. He had been so busy
during the semester, of course it had to be so - with his position. But it
sometimes felt as if they didn’t really live together. And, in fact, it was a
bitter feeling after she had waited for him over so many years. She had decided
that this summer would be truly marvelous, and she felt that he had thought
about things, too and that he was now willing to really try, so that everything
would be as great as when Elaine was still alive. It was paradoxical, indeed when
you let yourself reflect upon it, that it had been much better when they only
met a couple of times a week, and he came to her full of desire and joy.
But desire had returned to them,
even though the daily grind sometimes made it difficult, and with the daughters
in the house at all times, and such. But it had been so wonderful the last
couple of days down here. He caressed her back to life every morning and
brought her to the point where she wanted to feel him inside of her, and then
the sound he made at the moment of ecstasy, and their tranquil rest afterwards
with his caresses and smiles. It felt as if they were made for each other. Life
had proven that, and the fact that she had had it in her power to make him hold
on to her for so many years! And now it was forever, she felt certain of that,
forever. In all fairness, he could surely not leave her now. She sometimes had
a strange feeling that there might be something else in his life, but she
ultimately would refuse to take that thought seriously, and it would disappear.
And anyway, nothing bad could happen.
Didn’t he tell her every day how fulfilled he felt being with her?
“Let’s take a walk,” she said, “now
the rain has finally stopped.”
“Yes,” he said, “let’s do that.”It was hot and stifling by the time they reached the road. He took her hand and looked at her with something that had a semblance of ardor.
They walked along the village street to get to the mountains. Cypresses and cicadas made up the right décor of smells and sounds. They now had their own house in Provence, and that, too had turned out as it should.
“Let’s drive to Avignon tomorrow. We could visit the Papal Castle.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“You can make a decision, can’t you?”
“Sure, but let’s see how things are tomorrow.”
“We can’t just sit here all the time, we have to see something new now and then.” She knew she irritated him with this constant nagging, but honestly life was too precious to always sit inside with a pipe and a book.
“Oh, well, let’s see tomorrow.”
“We might also drive down and take
a swim in the sea,” she said.
“Maybe.”
Now, she was getting mad, but she
had to restrain her anger. It was an unspoken understanding between them that
she could not get angry, because she had won him in the end. She had conquered
him and he had married her, so she had to be grateful. That’s how it was, and
she was getting tired of it, if truth be told, quite tired really. He would not
go with her to her parents’ Christmas party any more, and had acted as if he
was the one offended because she so much wanted to be with her family. So they
hadn’t been together for Christmas, and his daughters had demonstrated quite clearly
that it was a triumph for them. They had won their father for themselves, for
Christmas, and she thought this whole competition wasn’t quite sane, really.
And she had to be sweet afterwards,
for she was the one who had netted him, and Elaine had taken her own life. Of
course, that was something they could never talk about, even for her to think
of his ex-wife’s name was almost a sacrilege. He had spoken so ill about Elaine
all those years: she had created hell on earth for him, with her stupidity and
with that constant anxiety over her next bout of depression. Elaine had now
been transformed into someone he should have never let down, she knew it all
too well, although the words were never spoken. And his totally exaggerated
sweetness always seemed to express; “See how sweet I am to you, although I
should not have chosen you, look what an effort I’m making now.” He, of course
believed that she could not see through it. He believed that she was satisfied
with her own victory. But, in reality, she felt chained to the ghost of the
woman she had conquered. If he really knew what she felt inside, he would not
feel so damned sure of himself, he would wipe that smug smile of fake
politeness off his goddamned face.
They came to the other side of the
village and one of the most magnificent views lay splayed before their eyes.
The mountaintops dipped and vanished into the distant shimmer of the Mediterranean
Sea.
She turned towards him and said,
“We must be the absolute favorites of fortune!”
“Yes,” he replied with the
conviction that the expression in his somewhat hangdog eyes did not quite match.With drooping shoulders and hand in hand, they plowed their way further into the landscape.
To his new mistress, who passed
them in her car because he had talked her into driving down to Provence for a
few hours’ of bliss, they looked comical. Small and inconsequential - and she
thought: ‘How pathetic! I have come all this way because of that man!’ She
stopped herself. ‘But I must be thankful for his taking so much risk for my
sake.’
The mistress convinced herself that
this pathetic showcasing of two ridiculously miserable individuals, who seemed
lost in the world, boded well for her. With her, he grew tall and proud, with
her, things would be different. He would have to see that. He would have to
come to his senses. What did he owe his wife? Just because she had endured with
him for such a long time, when she should have simply left him. The mistress
herself had already decided that she wouldn’t stay much longer with him than
the two years she had already given him.
“If we start early tomorrow,” she
told him, “we can have a wonderful long day at the beach, and you can enjoy the
seascape you love so much!”“The Mediterranean is different,” he said. “You can drive to Cannes and go shopping, if you feel bored. I’ve been looking forward to getting some work done tomorrow.”
“Work, always work,” she said and
sighed.
He smiled sheepishly. He knew that
they could do nothing against the work. That was his only free space from their
eternal clamoring demands: Be mine! Be mine!
He had no idea how he could satisfy
them, always the same: Be mine, eternally mine. He did not get into any
discussions with them anymore. Being around them was already hard enough.
Actually he’d rather not.
Ulla Gudnason was born and raised
in Denmark, where she studied Nordic and English languages and literature at
Copenhagen University. She taught Danish culture and
language for a couple of years at Indiana University and for 5 years at
L’Université de Sciences Humaines in Strasbourg, France. Later she worked at the Danish Defence College
in teaching and testing languages. She has two novels published by
the Gyldendal publishing house. And lately, she is exploring the short form,
inspired by writers like Lydia Davis who showed her how much you can say in very
few words about character, relationship and our small human lives.
Tags:
Short Fiction