Three Women in a Mirror by Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt, Alison Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

married. To anyone. It is not my destiny. I cannot say why, but I must not. I am sorry . . . ”
    â€œI’m not good enough for you, is that it?”
    â€œYou are worthy of any woman.”
    Saying this, Anne looked straight in Philippe’s eyes. He believed her. She went on: “You are far too good for me!”
    â€œI agree with you there,” interrupted Ida. “For goodness’ sake, Philippe, can’t you see what she is like, this former fiancée of yours? She’s a slut! She hasn’t washed since she ran away, she’s been sleeping on the ground . . . She must be sucking on roots. A sow would have more self-respect. You want to have children with such a woman?”
    â€œNo!”
    He retreated. He suddenly seemed to hate Anne. His last hopes had shattered. His neck turned purple with rancor.
    â€œWhat will we do?” said Ida, wincing.
    â€œWhat we decided this morning!” said Philippe.
    They narrowed their eyes in delighted complicity.
    Anne sensed a connivance that excluded her: they were talking in front of her as if she could not hear them. Was she no more than a beast?
    Pulling a rope from his satchel, Philippe rushed over to his fiancée, followed by Ida. In a flash they tied her up. Philippe wound the rope around her joints and Ida pulled it tight, delighted to torture her cousin.
    Anne was mortified, and put up no resistance.
    Why wasn’t she struggling? Basically, other people had done what they liked with her ever since her birth, and she had always let them.
    While they finished tying her up, Anne saw a sudden danger her torturers had failed to notice: a giant was approaching.
    A huge man, wearing a cloak of thick black wool, was marching toward them with a quick determined stride. Formidable enough by the sheer size of him, what was even stranger was that he moved so silently, without cracking a single twig or crushing the carpet of leaves. He was plowing through the thicket the way a ship cleaves the waves.
    Ida, unaware of his presence, was commenting upon her victory, pointing to her trussed-up cousin: “Look at her, Philippe, a worm would have struggled more than she did. She’s a half-wit. Yes, quite simpleminded. She doesn’t even know why she left or why she is rotting here. Trying to talk to her is like conversing with a goat: it makes no sense.”
    The stranger clapped his huge hand onto Ida’s shoulder.
    She screamed, as much from surprise as from fear. When she turned around, the stranger stared at her: he looked as though he were about to slaughter her like fowl, wring her neck, break her bones.
    With a sudden quick gesture, Ida managed to escape and recoiled, breathless.
    Philippe, surprised but above all frightened, understood that he was expected to act the protector. He puffed up his chest and mumbled, “But . . . who are you?”
    The stranger gave him a blow that sent him flying into a bush.
    Philippe stood up, reached for his hat, and ran away. Shriek­ing, “Wait, wait!” Ida followed close behind.
    Anne lay on the ground, tied up, looking at the stranger’s cold, hard, emaciated face beneath his hood.
    He reached a hand under his cloak, pulled out a dagger and brandished it above her.

5
    Vienna, May 25, 1904
    Â 
    Dear Gretchen,
Coming back to Vienna has been dreadful.
During our honeymoon, when we were traveling amiably from town to town, we didn’t really get to know people, Franz and I; if by chance there was a couple we liked among those we met, our relationship with them was all the stronger for the brevity of the acquaintance.
    From the moment we set foot in Vienna, I have felt cooped up. As if I’m living in an aquarium.
    Oh, a luxurious aquarium to be sure: who does not dream of living on Linzerstrasse, of hobnobbing with the aristocracy, of flitting from party to ball, listening one night to
Lucia di Lammermoor
at the opera and the next day to the
Fledermaus
at the Theater