again?” When she said nothing, he didn’t know whether she hadn’t understood his question or didn’t want to answer it. “I mean …”
“Sex was better in New York than here. We were hungrier for each other. Here … we’re like an old couple, we’re tender but not passionate. As if we’d lost what passion was.”
He got angry. Yes, sex was more peaceful now, more peaceful and more profound. In New York they’d often fallen onto each other in their haste and their appetite, which had had its own charm, just as life in the city was full of haste and appetite. Their sex resembled their lives, both here and back there, and if Kate was longing for haste and appetite, then it wasn’t just about sex. Had she needed peace only to get her book written? Now that the book was done, was she done with life in the country too? He was no longer angry, he was afraid. “I would love to sleep with you more often. I would love to burst into your room and take you in my arms, and you’d put your arms round my neck and I’d carry you to bed. I …”
“I know. I didn’t mean what I said. When the book’s finished, it’ll get better again. Don’t worry.”
Kate came into his arms and they made love. When he woke up next morning she was already awake and she was looking at him. She said nothing, and he turned on his side too and looked at her silently. He couldn’t tell from her eyes what she was feeling or thinking, and tried not to let his look betray his anxiety. He hadn’t believed her yesterday when she’d said she didn’t mean it, and he didn’t believe it today either. His anxiety was filled with longing and need. Her face with its high forehead, the proud arch of its eyebrows over the dark eyes, long nose, generous mouth and chin, that, smooth, or clenched, or furrowed, declared the mood Kate was in—it was the landscapeinhabited by his love. That love was happily at home when her face was open and turned toward him, worried when it was closed and turned away. A face, he thought, nothing more, yet it encompasses the entire range of what I need and what I can bear. He smiled. She kept looking at him silently and seriously, but then put her arm around his back and pulled him to her.
7
On the trip to town he stopped by the fallen tree and pole and the ripped wires. As they spun, his tires had left marks on the road. He wiped them away.
It all looked as if something had simply happened. He could drive to town and alert the phone company. There was nothing yet to reproach him for. But even if he didn’t report it to the phone company, there was nothing to reproach him for. He hadn’t seen the fallen tree and pole and the torn wires. Why should he have seen them? It was up to the technician who had laid the wires in their house and installed the computer, and whom he had promised to notify, to notice what had happened on his way to them. Or not.
The technician wasn’t in his workshop. On the door was a piece of paper saying he was visiting a customer and would be back soon. But the paper was yellowed and the filthy windows made it impossible to see whether the workshop was in use, or closed for a vacation or for the winter. Phones and computers stood on the tables, along with cables, plugs, and screwdrivers.
In the general store he was the only customer. The owner started talking to him and told him about the town fair on the upcoming Saturday. Would he like to come? And bring his wife and daughter? He had never been in the general store with Kateand Rita, nor in any shop or restaurant. They had sometimes driven through town, that was all. What else did the owner know about them?
Then he saw Kate’s photo in the
New York Times
. She had won the Book Prize. She hadn’t appeared for the ceremony, her agent had accepted it on her behalf, and Kate hadn’t been reachable for a quote.
Didn’t the owner read the paper? Had he not recognized Kate in the photo? Hadn’t he seen her properly as they drove
“Sex was better in New York than here. We were hungrier for each other. Here … we’re like an old couple, we’re tender but not passionate. As if we’d lost what passion was.”
He got angry. Yes, sex was more peaceful now, more peaceful and more profound. In New York they’d often fallen onto each other in their haste and their appetite, which had had its own charm, just as life in the city was full of haste and appetite. Their sex resembled their lives, both here and back there, and if Kate was longing for haste and appetite, then it wasn’t just about sex. Had she needed peace only to get her book written? Now that the book was done, was she done with life in the country too? He was no longer angry, he was afraid. “I would love to sleep with you more often. I would love to burst into your room and take you in my arms, and you’d put your arms round my neck and I’d carry you to bed. I …”
“I know. I didn’t mean what I said. When the book’s finished, it’ll get better again. Don’t worry.”
Kate came into his arms and they made love. When he woke up next morning she was already awake and she was looking at him. She said nothing, and he turned on his side too and looked at her silently. He couldn’t tell from her eyes what she was feeling or thinking, and tried not to let his look betray his anxiety. He hadn’t believed her yesterday when she’d said she didn’t mean it, and he didn’t believe it today either. His anxiety was filled with longing and need. Her face with its high forehead, the proud arch of its eyebrows over the dark eyes, long nose, generous mouth and chin, that, smooth, or clenched, or furrowed, declared the mood Kate was in—it was the landscapeinhabited by his love. That love was happily at home when her face was open and turned toward him, worried when it was closed and turned away. A face, he thought, nothing more, yet it encompasses the entire range of what I need and what I can bear. He smiled. She kept looking at him silently and seriously, but then put her arm around his back and pulled him to her.
7
On the trip to town he stopped by the fallen tree and pole and the ripped wires. As they spun, his tires had left marks on the road. He wiped them away.
It all looked as if something had simply happened. He could drive to town and alert the phone company. There was nothing yet to reproach him for. But even if he didn’t report it to the phone company, there was nothing to reproach him for. He hadn’t seen the fallen tree and pole and the torn wires. Why should he have seen them? It was up to the technician who had laid the wires in their house and installed the computer, and whom he had promised to notify, to notice what had happened on his way to them. Or not.
The technician wasn’t in his workshop. On the door was a piece of paper saying he was visiting a customer and would be back soon. But the paper was yellowed and the filthy windows made it impossible to see whether the workshop was in use, or closed for a vacation or for the winter. Phones and computers stood on the tables, along with cables, plugs, and screwdrivers.
In the general store he was the only customer. The owner started talking to him and told him about the town fair on the upcoming Saturday. Would he like to come? And bring his wife and daughter? He had never been in the general store with Kateand Rita, nor in any shop or restaurant. They had sometimes driven through town, that was all. What else did the owner know about them?
Then he saw Kate’s photo in the
New York Times
. She had won the Book Prize. She hadn’t appeared for the ceremony, her agent had accepted it on her behalf, and Kate hadn’t been reachable for a quote.
Didn’t the owner read the paper? Had he not recognized Kate in the photo? Hadn’t he seen her properly as they drove
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