Everything Like Before, page 5
Everything Like Before
The fat waiter was standing well in under the battered, old corrugated iron roof, smoking. It was a little after three o’clock, and the thermometer over his shoulder showed thirty-nine degrees. He tossed the butt away and went into the dim bar where the little Scot was sitting playing patience.
Carl turned and saw a small fishing boat round the long, narrow breakwater. Just beyond, the sea disappeared in a haze of heat.
He sipped his beer, it had become tepid. The fishing boat vanished and everything was motionless.
But only for a moment. Zakarias’s little, green Hilux appeared by the corner of the train station. It pulled over and parked beneath the dappled shade of the tousled palm tree. Zakarias got out and began lifting cases of wine and Coke out of the back. The fat waiter came out of the bar and called out something Carl did not understand. Zakarias replied. The waiter worked his fat thighs past one another and walked over to the truck. They began to carry the cases into the bar.
On his way back to pick up more, Zakarias looked over at Carl and called out:
“Hallo. Your wife not here?”
“No. She is sick.” He patted his stomach to illustrate his lie.
“Sorry. Good wife – okay?”
“Okay.”
They carried in the rest of the cases. Then it was quiet again.
Carl finished his beer, left some coins on the table and stood up. He walked into the alley by the coopers. The shadow from the southwest-facing row of houses was not enough to cover him: the sun burned mercilessly.
He climbed the dark staircase of the guesthouse, up to the third floor. The door of the room was locked. He knocked, but Nina did not answer. He called her name. Nothing. He had been so sure she was inside that he had not looked to see if the key was hanging in the reception. He went down to get it. It was not there.
Damn her, he thought, and went out into the harsh light. He walked back the same way. The table had not been cleared, the coins were still there. He sat down, facing the dark doorway. He put the coins in his pocket. The fat waiter did not appear, and after a while Carl got up and went into the bar where the large ceiling fan made for a hint of a cooler atmosphere. The cook and the Scot were playing chess. Carl asked for a beer. Then he sat down at another table, further in under the corrugated iron roof where the light was not as strong. He was surprised that Nina could be capable of pretending she was not in the room, it was not like her – and in a flash of awareness he realized: I don’t know her.
He drank. He thought: I’m going to stay here, she knows where to find me. I’m going to get drunk, slowly drunk.
He drank himself into a state of resentment before reaching a state of indifference, but without getting particularly drunk. People began arriving, and at four-thirty the waiter put on the record player, the siesta was over. The little Scot came out of the bar and sat down at the table closest to the door.
Carl drank, slowly, but willfully.
It was his turn today.
It had been Nina’s yesterday.
It had begun so well. They had been sitting at Barbarossa over some fish and a bottle of white wine. The brief twilight came and went, and the soft darkness fell. They talked about how the light seemed to slip out of the narrow streets and gather above the sea before disappearing over the horizon. They drank wine, touched hands, and things were good. The darkness around them grew, they paid and walked towards the old square, hand in hand.
They found a small table outside a café and ordered beer. Nina wanted a raki afterwards, and then one more. Everything was good; Carl had a real feeling of intimacy. Then Nina suggested they move on. They strolled through narrow, dimly lit streets, heading nowhere in particular.
They suddenly heard bouzouki music. They followed the sound, and it led them to a small taverna. The man playing was in his late fifties. They sat down at the only unoccupied table and ordered raki. There were photographs and newspaper pictures of the man playing hanging up behind the bar. “He must be well known,” Nina said, buoyed. She drained her glass of raki and signaled to the skinny old woman behind the bar for another. Carl passed. And all of a sudden Nina was not with him any longer. She was sitting looking around the premises; she had got that peculiar, direct look in her eye – desirous and, at the same time, innocent. She zeroed on three men at a table by the door, either all three or one of them, he did not know. What he did know was that he had to alter, or if necessary spoil, her mood, or else things would turn out badly. But he could not do anything, not right away. When she wanted yet another raki, he asked with a smile – albeit a rather anxious smile – if she intended on getting drunk. “I’m fine,” she replied, beaming at the musician and the three men by the door. Shortly after, the old woman behind the bar came over and filled up their glasses, probably at the request of one of the three. Carl said she didn’t actually have to drink it, but she did. He followed suit; he had lost. Whatever happens, happens, he thought, it’s what she wants after all, it’s like she has this urge within her. Nevertheless, shortly afterwards he said he wanted to go. “Are you cross?” she asked, and he denied it, because that did not cover it, he was sad and perplexed, and perhaps a little riled. Yes, ever so slightly riled. He was an abandoned husband right in front of his own wife – damn right he was upset. He motioned to the landlady, smiled and paid, smiled at Nina as well, and at the musician, nobody would be able to tell anything by the look on his face, everything was normal, everything was good. He stood up and asked if she was coming. “Just as we were starting to enjoy ourselves,” she said. “We,” he said and smiled.
She went with him.
Neither of them spoke. She walked a few paces behind.
They came down to the harbor, and Nina said: “You’re not planning on going home, are you?” He equivocated. “I’m not planning on going home,” she said. “Only if you don’t drink more raki,” he said. “Christ, how very kind of you,” she said. “Yes,” he said. “A beer then,” she said.
She picked a table, at the place with the biggest crowd. Carl tried to think of something to say, something to bring her back, but could not. In order to escape the uncomfortable silence, he went to the toilet, and he took his time. When he returned, she had begun talking to two Greeks at the next table; they were speaking in English, asking about Nina – where she was from, where she lived, how long she was staying. They were friendly, not flirtatious, and polite. Carl liked them, particularly the one sitting closest to Nina, who spoke the best English, was called Nikos, and was here on holiday from Athens. After a while, Nina moved her chair nearer Nikos, and Carl, smiling between gritted teeth, said in Norwegian: “You don’t need to take a bite out of him.” She looked at him. “You have to speak English,” she said.
After that he had nothing more to say. Everything took its course. Nina ordered, inadvertently as it were, more beer. Nikos’s friend left. Nikos pulled his chair over to their table, Nina placed her hand, inadvertently as it were, on his bare arm. Carl pretended not to notice, or rather, as if it did not mean anything, and carried on the conversation about the trials after the fall of the junta, trials which in Nikos’s opinion had been a farce and a disaster. Nina interrupted and asked if he was a lawyer. Nikos laughed, placed his free hand upon hers – but only for a second – and said he worked for an insurance company. Nina said she wouldn’t have thought that to look at him. Carl checked his watch and said it was getting late. Nikos checked his watch as well and agreed. He said he was going the same way. They paid. Nina suggested they walk along the beach. Carl and Nikos walked on either side of her. Carl saw Nina taking Nikos by the hand, it pained him. He moved a little away from them, not much, but enough for the small waves on the beach to prevent him from hearing what they were saying. Nina halted abruptly, turned towards Nikos and kissed him on the mouth. It was not a prolonged kiss, and Nikos was merely passive. But he did not let go of her hand. Carl didn’t say anything, just stood there looking at them. It was he who had the faint light in his face, theirs lay in darkness. He stood looking at them silhouetted in the lights from the boardwalk, and he saw Nikos withdraw his hand. Then they walked on, nobody spoke. Carl walked a few meters ahead, was not about to turn around, he had some pride. He went diagonally toward the lights, heard them following behind. They reached the road, Carl continued on in the direction of the guesthouse, Nina and Nikos chatting behind him, Nina laughed. Then he turned after all and saw they were holding hands. They were almost at the guesthouse. It’s over now, thought Carl, don’t crawl, it’s over now anyway. He quickened his pace. Nina called out something or other but he pretended not to hear. He entered the guesthouse, nodded to Manos, who was half-asleep beside a small TV, and got the key behind the counter. He hurried up to the room. The balcony door was open, allowing some streetlight to fall into the room. He didn’t switch on the lights, but went straight out onto the balcony, which was almost directly above the entrance. He could not hear anything. He leaned over the railing and looked down. They were not there. He sat down, lit a cigarette. After a while he heard the door being opened, he sat motionless, thought for one desperate moment that she was not alone. She was. She stood beside him. “What’s wrong with you?” she said. He did not reply. “You’re always doing this,” she said. He held his tongue, did not answer, because that was what she was out after. “Fuck’s sake,” she said, and went into the room. He tossed the half-finished cigarette down on the street and lit up another. She turned on the light. “Have I done something wrong?” she asked. He did not reply. She came back out. “Are you not going to bed?” “Not yet,” he replied. “Are you going to punish me now?” she asked. “For what?” he replied, thinking it a good answer. “For not being able to satisfy me with that hair-trigger dick of yours.” She went back in, turned out the light. He sat there, his heart would not slow, his blood pounded and pounded. Now it’s over, he thought, it’s got to be over sometime.
He smoked three more cigarettes and presumed she had fallen asleep. He went quietly in, got undressed, drew the portieres, groped his way to the bed, and pulled the sheet over him. Nina moved. “Is it something I’ve done?” she said. He did not reply. “Christ, you’re such a sadist,” she said. He lay for a while, trying to think up the worst thing he could say, and then he said it: “You once told me about a friend of yours who was in the habit of flaunting her cunt. When I looked at you tonight I realized what you meant. You should…”
Suddenly she was on top of him, he was caught completely off guard, he felt her fingers close around his throat and heard her hiss: I’ll kill you. Her grip on his throat was not firm, but he panicked and lashed out. She loosened her grip, but did not stop fighting. He pushed her away, got out from under the sheet and stood on the floor. She lay there gasping for breath. He drew the portiere aside and went onto the balcony, before coming back in again to get his clothes and cigarettes. It was one-thirty.
At two-fifteen he went in and got into bed. Nina was asleep. At nine-thirty he awoke and got quietly up out of bed. Nina was asleep. She had kicked the sheet off. She had a bruise the size of a fist on the front of her left shoulder. For a moment he was almost overcome by a sudden tenderness, but then he remembered. He closed the door quietly behind him.
The fat waiter met his gaze. Carl pointed at the empty glass. The waiter nodded and went into the bar. Carl missed Nina – and hoped she wouldn’t come.
Just then she arrived. She was wearing a blue blouse that covered her shoulder.
“There you are,” she said and sat down. She smiled slightly. He did not smile, avoided meeting her eyes. As if I’m the one who should have a guilty conscience, he thought.
“I must have been drunk,” she said. “Did I go for you?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“I told you what I thought of you.”
“Oh. Right.”
The waiter came with a bottle of beer. Nina ordered one too.
“Right,” said Carl.
“And what was it you thought of me?”
“That I suddenly realized what you’d meant when you once told me about a girl who flaunted her cunt.”
“Oh. Why was that?”
“You don’t remember any more than you want to, do you?”
“I remember getting angry and going for you.”
“And Nikos?”
“Nikos?”
* * *
—
He related the most humiliating details, except for what she had said about him being unable to satisfy her. He was quite thorough and expected her to be devastated.
The waiter brought her beer just as he was finished saying his piece. She poured it into the glass, slowly, then took a long mouthful, before she said:
“Jesus, Carl. That’s nothing to be getting worked up about, I was drunk. And after all, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Right, right. Okay, sure.”
“Carl.”
“We don’t understand one another. What would you say if I’d done what you did?”
“But you’re not like that.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“But it’s important. You’re you and I’m me. You don’t know me.”
“No.”
“Don’t mock me.”
He looked away from her, stared into space and said:
“Just now, before you came, I was sitting here missing you, but at the same time I was hoping you wouldn’t come. I felt sort of anxious about you suddenly turning up. As though I ought to feel guilty or even have some reason to. I’ve experienced it before. Longing for you but not wanting you to come – it’s positively schizophrenic. Last night I decided it has to come to an end. I’m sick and tired of being taken advantage of.”
“But I was drunk.”
“You wanted to get drunk, just like all the other times. And when you’re drunk, you invariably walk all over me. I’m not so stupid that I don’t realize it’s due to something, something in our relationship, something you ought to deal with, but you don’t. You suppress it, get drunk, and walk all over me. I’m not a piece of shit, and I’m tired of being treated like one.”
“But you never said anything, why didn’t you say something?”
“I can’t interfere like that, I’m just not able. I don’t have any right to you, after all – I only have the right to turn my back when someone toys with me and humiliates me. If I had said more than I did, then it would’ve just been even more humiliating. I should’ve left, but I was too pathetic to leave.”
She did not say anything. He suddenly felt empty. He poured beer into the glass, even though it was almost full. He wanted to leave. He hoped she would say something hurtful or aggressive to give him a reason to go. But she did not say anything. They both sat on either side of the small table, Carl pretending to look at what was going on around them, Nina with her head slightly tilted and her eyes resting on the green tabletop. A couple of minutes passed. Carl got up and went into the toilet. He stood there pissing and feeling sad. He went back out into the dim bar but he stopped short when he heard jazz music coming from the record player behind the counter. A saxophone was coming over the speakers, singing of a tenderness he was in need of. He asked for a raki so that he was not just standing there. He could see Nina, he listened to the music and looked at her. He thought: why do I have a guilty conscience?
He drained the glass, went outside, sat down, and said:
“I have a guilty conscience, it’s ludicrous, but also a bit sad. It may well be no fault of yours, it could be due to a lack of self-esteem on my part.”
It wasn’t entirely clear to him why he had said it and what he wanted her to say in reply, but she did not answer at all, just sat there looking straight ahead. And all at once her complaint from the night before, which had not been referred to, planted itself between them, like a fence and like freedom, and as he stood up he said:
“I’m going back home.”
He placed a banknote on the table and left. She said something behind him, but he did not catch it. He did not know where he was going. He walked toward the town, into the cluster of narrow streets and lanes. The sun was low, only peeping out between the rows of houses now and then.
He had left her, but she remained stuck on his mind.
When he did not know where he had got to, he sat down at a table and drank raki, ate snails and berated himself harshly. Slave, damned slave, every time you try to exact some justice for yourself, you collapse with compassion for your tormentor!
He drank, and it grew dark, and he got on well with himself. He went from place to place and got drunk. He grinned when he noticed he no longer said ‘you’ but ‘we’ when he talked to himself. We’ll stay out all night, will we? he said. We’ll get drunk and sleep on the beach, that’ll give her something to wonder about. To hell with her, we’ll sleep right where she stood kissing that damned insurance man. But first we’ll get drunk.
And he did.
His memory of the rest of the night was hazy. He vaguely remembered Nina turning up – he didn’t know where – and that he refused to go home with her, he was headed for the beach. When he got there he threw up, and it was degrading, he remembered that.
He woke up before noon, at the guesthouse. Nina ran her hand across his chest and through his hair and told him she understood everything.
He knew she did not.
But maybe she understood a little.
Her fingers stroked and caressed, pushing more and more of the sheet away from his body. He remembered, and wanted to resist, otherwise what had been done would be undone. But his desire pressed on, and she saw it and took matters in hand, and there was no way out.
