Long Lankin: Stories by John Banville Read Free Book Online Page A

boy laughed, and shook the flaming hair away from his forehead. He lit one of Helen’s cheroots and sat down on the couch. Julie moved away from him, and he smiled sardonically at her. Helen put her hands on her knees and leaned down to gaze silently into Julie’s face. The boy asked:
    —Are you sleeping well now, Julie? Do you sleep well?
    She did not answer, and he went on:
    —Why can’t you sleep, Julie?
    Again silence. He shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the couch he walked about the room, examining it here and there. Julie followed him with her eyes. Helen reached forward and touched her cheek lightly and then went to stand again at the window. Julie’s lips began to move, and she said:
    —I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the dark.
    The boy stopped in the middle of the floor.
    —Well you should leave a light burning. With a light there would be no darkness and then you would not be afraid. Would you?
    Julie looked down helplessly at her hands where they lay like dead things in her lap. Without turning, Helen murmured:
    —Not that kind of darkness.
    —I see, the boy said. Yes I see.
    Julie’s hands moved, and she smiled at them.
    —You see, I’m afraid that I won’t wake up and yet I’m afraid of waking too. Sometimes I think there is something in the room. Some animal sitting on its haunches in the corner watching me. And I’m afraid.
    The boy ambled out the door, and from the next room he called:
    —What kind of animal? In the corner, Julie, what kind of animal is it?
    —I don’t know, she whispered.
    —What? What did you say, Julie?
    Helen left the window and sat down in an armchair in the corner. One half of her face now lay in shadow, and Julie looked away from the still, single eye watching her. The boy came back and leaned against the door frame, his arms folded.
    —There are some strange things in this house. Shaving lotion. I found shaving lotion.
    —I like the perfume, Helen said. I prefer it.
    —Ah. You prefer it. But there are other things. In the bathroom.
    Helen suddenly laughed, and the sound of her laughter seemed to shake the room. The boy sat again beside Julie. This time she did not move away. She was gazing in a trance at her knees. The boy ran a hand through his hair and said:
    —Last year there was a girl here. In this house. She was alone. A very strange girl with blue eyes. I don’t think she was Irish. Maybe English. I came to see her. She used to talk too about things following her. Threatening her. I came every day to see her. I listened to her and she said it made her feel better that I listened to her. One day I found her sitting on the floor crying. I asked her what was wrong and she said she was afraid of the sea. I wanted to teach her how to swim and she said that once she could swim and was a strong swimmer but now she had forgotten. She couldn’t swim now.
    There was silence but for the cries of birds out on the sound. At last Julie asked:
    —What happened?
    —What?
    —The girl. What happened to her? Was she drowned?
    —Drowned? No. She went away, I think. But I don’t think she was drowned.
    Julie stood up and went toward the stairs, her head bent and her arms hanging loosely at her sides.
    —Where are you going? Helen said.
    —I’m going to … to lie down for a little while. Just a little while. I’m so tired. It’s strange.
    In the bedroom she lay with her hands folded on her breast and listened to their voices. Once they laughed, and in a while all was silence. She watched the reflections of the water above her on the ceiling. They seemed to have but one pattern which constantly formed, dissolved, and reformed again. A small wind came in from the sea and murmured against the window, and the curtains moved with a small scraping sound. Her eyelids fell. She struggled against sleep, but the strange weariness she felt was greater than her fear. She watched in fascinated horror her mind drift into the darkness, floating away with the small sounds of