Stories by Doris Lessing Read Free Book Online Page A

rocking one heel up and down behind her and shaking her hair forward to conceal the frankness of her response.
    There she stood, even after he had gone, humming lightly to herself, looking after him. The crisp white napkin over her arm shone in the sunlight; her bright white apron shone; her mass of rough fair curls glowed. She stood there in the lastsunlight and looked away into her own thoughts, singing softly as if she were quite alone.
    Certainly she had completely forgotten the existence of Herr Scholtz and Captain Forster.
    The Captain and the ex-Oberstleutnant had apparently come to the end of their sharable memories. One cleared his throat; the other, Herr Scholtz, tapped his signet ring irritatingly on the table.
    The Captain shivered. “It’s getting cold,” he said, for now they were in the blue evening shadow. He made a movement, as if ready to rise.
    “Yes,” said Herr Scholtz. But he did not move. For a while he tapped his ring on the table, and the Captain set his teeth against the noise. Herr Scholtz was smiling. It was a smile that announced a new trend in the drama. Obviously. And obviously the Captain disapproved of it in advance. A blatant fellow, he was thinking, altogether too noisy and vulgar. He glanced impatiently towards the inside room, which would be warm and quiet.
    Herr Scholtz remarked, “I always enjoy coming to this place. I always come here.”
    “Indeed?” asked the Captain, taking his cue in spite of himself. He wondered why Herr Scholtz was suddenly speaking German. Herr Scholtz spoke excellent English, learned while he was interned in England during the latter part of the Second World War. Captain Forster had already complimented him on it. His German was not nearly so fluent, no.
    But Herr Scholtz, for reasons of his own, was speaking his own language, and rather too loudly, one might have thought. Captain Forster looked at him, wondering, and was attentive.
    “It is particularly pleasant for me to come to this resort,” remarked Herr Scholtz in that loud voice, as if to an inner listener who was rather deaf, “because of the happy memories I have of it.”
    “Really?” enquired Captain Forster, listening with nervous attention. Herr Scholtz, however, was speaking very slowly, as if out of consideration for him.
    “Yes,” said Herr Scholtz. “Of course during the war it was out of bounds for both of us, but now …”
    The Captain suddenly interrupted: “Actually I’m very fond of it myself. I come here every year it is possible.”
    Herr Scholtz inclined his head, admitting that Captain Forstels equal right to it was incontestable, and continued, “I associate with it the most charming of my memories—perhaps you would care to …”
    “But certainly,” agreed Captain Forster hastily. He glanced involuntarily towards Rosa—Herr Scholtz was speaking with his eyes on Rosa’s back. Rosa was no longer humming. Captain Forster took in the situation and immediately coloured. He glanced protestingly towards Herr Scholtz. But it was too late.
    “I was eighteen,” said Herr Scholtz very loudly. “Eighteen.” He paused, and for a moment it was possible to resurrect, in the light of his rueful reminiscent smile, the delightful, ingenuous bouncing youth he had certainly been at eighteen. “My parents allowed me, for the first time, to go alone for a vacation. It was against my mother’s wishes; but my father on the other hand …”
    Here Captain Forster necessarily smiled, in acknowledgement of that international phenomenon, the sweet jealousy of mothers.
    “And here I was, for a ten days’ vacation, all by myself—imagine it!”
    Captain Forster obligingly imagined it, but almost at once interrupted: “Odd, but I had the same experience. Only I was twenty-five.”
    Herr Scholtz exclaimed: “Twenty-five!” He cut himself short, covered his surprise, and shrugged as if to say: Well, one must make allowances. He at once continued to Rosa’s listening back. “I