Alice by Judith Hermann Read Free Book Online Page A

grilled.
    Can I talk to Conrad, just briefly? Alice asked.
    Of course, Lotte said.
    Conrad was sitting in the front seat, the seat back had been lowered to a reclining position; he was lying rather than sitting, but he wore a neatly pressed, elegant, light-coloured shirt and smiled mockingly at Alice’s worried expression. She opened the car door and they shook hands. He held her hand in both of his. His hands were dry and hot. Dear Alice. He said, We didn’t imagine it would be like this, did we? Seeing each other again, I mean. But that’s just the way it is, and tomorrow things will be better. It’s such an odd coincidence. Perhaps I got too excited about your arrival.
    Alice said nothing. She let her hand remain in his. He looked past her towards the table where the Romanian and Anna were sitting, and said, So there they are, the friends I don’t know. He squinted slightly. Dark Anna and the Romanian. We’ll say hello tomorrow. Are you all right?
    Yes, Alice said, her voice serious. All drunkenness, exhausted nervousness, and irritation were suddenly gone. We’re doing fine, Conrad. I only wish you were feeling better.
    I am feeling better, Conrad said. The admissions people at the hospital will send me right back home again. Lotte’s worried, that’s all.
    Lotte got into the car, closed the door, pulled the seat belt over her shoulder and turned the key in the ignition. A transparent rock hung down from the key chain, shaped like a large teardrop. Conrad let go of Alice’s hand.
    All right, then, see you soon.
    Yes, see you soon, Alice said. She straightened up, closed the car door as gently as possible and watched the car as it rolled down the street, turned into the lakeshore road, and was gone.
    Lotte came back in the middle of the night. Half past one. Or half past two? They couldn’t remember precisely. They had been at the Nuovo Ponte till closing time. What Lotte hadn’t known was that none of them would be able to stop at just one glass of wine. The usual drinking rituals – just one more goodnight grappa before leaving, and another, and then one last one. They took two bottles of wine along with them, paying a whopper of a bill. And then back through the forged-iron gate along the dirt road, past the dark house on the side of the hill and towards the yellow house where they had left the lights on and the doors open. There it was, waiting for them, enchanted and silent. Which spot was really the most beautiful? The bench outside the kitchen. The balcony facing the lake with the trembling lights on the far shore, the Romanian’s camping site, the paraffin lamps of his childhood. Or Anna’s balcony, the compact opacityof the mountain, a black massif against the night sky. The three of them were completely drunk. They sat down on the terrace – it was the best spot, this seventh room with its stone parapet, three columns and the cypress, sharp-edged and closed, like a feather.
    They opened a bottle of wine, which took a while. The Romanian couldn’t deal with the corkscrew, but by now Alice’s impatience had diminished, throbbing only a little now and then as if to itself. They sat together in a triangle, the bottle, glasses, and a carafe of water between them, a saucer as ashtray; the candle flickered in the draught, and fat fireflies darted about in the meadow down below. They talked about this and that, nothing important. Telling each other stories. Alice said something to Anna, and Anna replied while the Romanian listened; they were gentle with one another, exhausted and gentle.
    Lotte might have been standing on the two steps that led from the terrace into the garden for quite a while before they saw her. At some point she said something and came over to sit with them on the edge of the parapet. She said they had kept Conrad in the hospital after all; the fever had been too high for too long. No cause for concern, only a routine evaluation