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

the sea, the distant crying of the birds.
    —Helen. Helen.
    A voice was screaming, but no call came in answer. The room seemed filled with a white mist that pressed heavily against her eyes. She left the bed and opened the door. A vast, deep silence lay on the house, a silence which seemed to hold in it the inaudible hum of a tremendous machine. She moved to the top of the stairs and sat on the first step. From here she could see into the living room. They were down there, on the couch. She leaned against the banister and watched, listening in awe to the strange sounds, the terrifying sounds. There was a faint warm smell, like the smell of blood and bones. She fled into the bathroom, and there she was sick. When the nausea passed she lowered herself to the floor and leaned her face against the cool enamel of the bath. She wept.
    There were footsteps on the stairs, the sound of a door opening quietly, more steps, a voice.
    Julie. What are you doing here?
    Crying out, she opened her eyes, then turned away her face. Helen ran her fingers through her unruly air, and looked down helplessly at the girl huddled before her in terror. She reached down, and taking her under the arms lifted her to her feet.
    —Julie, what is the matter with you?
    —Has he gone?
    —What? Are you hurt? Take your hands away and let me look at you. You haven’t taken anything, have you?
    Julie, her fingers pressing her eyes, began to moan. Helen pulled open the door of the cabinet above the handbasin and checked swiftly through the bottles there. She said in exasperation:
    —This will have to stop, Julie. You’re behaving like a child. You are looking for attention. Are you listening to me?
    But Julie went on moaning. She sat on the edge of the bath now, her shoulders trembling. Helen threw up her hands and groaned at the ceiling.
    —You’re impossible, she cried, and left the room. Down the stairs Julie’s cries followed her.
    —You hate me! You hate me! You want to see me dead!
    Helen went to the window and with trembling fingers lit a cheroot. This would have to stop.
    She crushed out the cheroot with a savage twist of her fingers and went into the empty room where their cases were stored. Gasping with the effort she hauled them out and piled them on the couch. Julie came down the stairs, and Helen worked steadily on, pretending not to notice her.
    —Don’t leave me, Helen, she said mournfully.
    Helen paused, but did not turn. She said:
    —We have to leave today, Julie.
    —I know.
    —And then you’re going away. You decided, didn’t you?
    — You decided. You did. I decided nothing. It was you!
    Helen beat her fists on the battered case before her, then ran a hand over her forehead, her mouth.
    —O Julie Julie Julie.
    She turned, and they looked at each other. Julie lowered her eyes and pulled in the corners of her mouth. She touched the cases piled before her, her face betraying an ill-controlled, frantic incomprehension of these square, heavy things. Helen said gently:
    —We’re leaving today, Julie. You haven’t forgotten. It’s what you want. You want to leave here, don’t you? The summer is over.
    Julie nodded dumbly, and stepped back from the couch. She lifted her hands and opened her mouth to speak, then turned away in silence. As she went to the door Helen watched her, and shook her head.
    Julie stood in the doorway and looked out across the sound. The brittle autumn sunlight danced on the water and the far islands seemed to shift and tremble in their distance. Helen came behind her and touched the down on her neck. Julie started, and as though the touch had sprung some hidden switch she began to speak tonelessly.
    —I want to get married. I want to have a baby.
    —Of course you do.
    —My mother worries about me. She asks what are my plans. What can I tell her? And I’m weak. I feel sorry for her. I want to tell her I’ve found someone. That everything is all right. That everything is … all right.
    She sighed, and