Staring at the Sun by Julian Barnes Read Free Book Online Page A

supposed that she loved him. She must, mustn’t she? She thought about him all the time; she lay awake and dreamed all kinds of fancies; she liked to look at his face, which struck her as full and interesting and wise, not at all fleshy as she’d first imagined, and those patches of red that flared in his cheeks showed character; she was slightly afraid of displeasing him; and she judged him to be the sort of man who would look after her. If that wasn’t love, what was?
    One evening he walked her home under a high, calm sky, a sky empty of clouds and aeroplanes. He sang softly, as if to himself, in the placeless American accent of an international crooner:
Heads we marry, honey,
Tails we take a cruise;
Heads it is so tell your people the news …
    Then he just hummed the tune, and she imagined the words repeated. That was all, until they got back to the creosoted gate with the cutout sunrise, where Jean pressed herself hard into the lapel of his jacket before breaking away and running inside. Maybe it was some awful tease, she thought, like one of Uncle Leslie’s pranks. She hummed the tune to herself as if to find out, but it was no real help; it was just a wonderful tune.
    The next evening, when they reached the same point in the lane and the sky proved just as tender, she found herself almost panting. Without breaking his stride, Michael resumed the story:
Heads we have six children,
Tails we keep a cat;
Heads it is so whaddya know about that …
    She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think straight at all.
    “Michael, I’ve something to ask.”
    “Yes?” They both stopped.
    “When you first came along that day … There wasn’t anything wrong with our blackout, was there?”
    “No.”
    “I thought there wasn’t. And then you told me those fibs about policemen’s feet.”
    “Guilty as charged.”
    “ And you didn’t tell me you don’t put sugar in beer.”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “So why should I marry someone like that?”
    She stopped. He put his arm through hers while thinking of an answer. “Well, if I’d called at your house and said, I’d just like to tell you your blackout curtains fit perfectly and by the way my feet are the right way round if you’d care to inspect them, you wouldn’t have looked at me twice.”
    “I might not have.” He put his arms round her. “And I’ve something else to ask while we’re sorting things out.” He moved forward slightly as if preparing to kiss her, but she persevered. It was only one of childhood’s questions, but she distantly felt that they ought all to be settled before her adult life began. “Why is the mink tenacious of life?”
    “Is that another riddle?”
    “No. I just want to know.”
    “Why is the mink tenacious of life? What a funny question.” They walked on; he assumed that she didn’t want to be kissed yet. “They’re nasty, vicious little things, minks,” he announced, not entirely happy with this answer.
    “Is that why they’re tenacious of life?”
    “Probably. Nasty, vicious little things usually do fight for their lives more than big soft things.”
    “Hmm.” It wasn’t quite the answer she’d been hoping for. She’d expected something more specific. But that would do for the moment. They walked on. Glancing at the sky, which was high and serene, with just a scatter of light, loose evening clouds, she said, “Well, when are we getting married, then?”
    He smiled, nodded, and quietly hummed his tune.
    It must be right to love Michael. Or, if it wasn’t right, she must love him. Or, even if she didn’t love him, she must marry him. No, no, of course she loved him, and of course it was right. Michael was the answer, whatever might have been the question.
    She hadn’t had many suitors, but didn’t mind. Suitor was such a silly word that the men who were suitors must be silly too. “He pressed his suit.” She had heard that phrase somewhere, or read it, and it always struck her that this was what was