Wednesday, January 07, 2004

Sunday Afternoon

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The house was so quiet. So different from what was going on outside. Look at all those cars in the street. Their headlights swaying along the houses opposite. Where were they all going? So many cars, and all going somewhere.
What should she do now? Nothing worth while on the telly. Hang on! Beethoven. That new CD with the piano concerto. Ah, so lovely! As lovely as ever! If she lay down on the couch, she would also be freed from the sight of those cars. It was so horribly grey and miserable outside. Only five o’clock, and yet almost completely dark. How rude of the neighbour to practically slam the front door in her face. When she had only dropped by to inquire after the health of his wife. Of course she wouldn’t take up any of his time, if he was busy. She wouldn’t dream of doing that!
If only she could call Eric. But if his wife answered the phone she would immediately bang down the receiver. She had done it before. “I don’t want you ever to call again.” He had said it himself. It still hurt. But of course it was the fault of that witch of a wife of his. Who hadn’t even allowed her to attend the wedding. Her, the mother of the groom! It had all been so long ago, but she couldn’t get it out of her mind.
Lenie. She could try Lenie. What would she say? O, right! About the concert. Yes, that’s what she would do. The CD was almost over anyway. She would play it again later, and try to concentrate better on listening.
“Lenie? Yes, well. It’s me. I know you don’t like answering the phone. But would you mind calling me back, please. I found a wonderful concert for next Thursday. Songs by Mahler. Your favourite, aren’t they? I’m going to get the tickets tomorrow. So let me know, right? Are you having a nice day today? Did you go out with your friends? I . . .” Shit! Infuriating, those answer phone tapes! They broke off too soon. Hardly room for a proper message. Should she call again? Better not. She didn’t want to sound pushy.
Pitch dark outside. And so quiet inside the house. Chairs were being pushed across the floor above her, and next door a toilet was flushed. It echoed loudly through the silence. Should she play Beethoven again? Or try the telly. Tomorrow she could visit that sweet man in the bookstore again. If she went early the shop would still be empty. They would not be disturbed then, when she questioned him about his wife and children. Such a sweet man. Although rather timid. He would always look around so nervously. As if he was expecting someone. But a very kind man. O, tomorrow was Monday. Bank holiday. Well, Tuesday was just as well.
Why didn’t she try John and Anja. Just to hear a sympathetic human voice. Shacks! Another answer phone. Where were all those people? “Yes, John. And Anja. I was wondering, how are you? You must be back from your hols by now. I’m sure you had a good time. I saw the weather reports. You are always so lucky, aren’t you? And how is your grandchild? Have you seen Eric recently? And his children? I suppose not. You don’t see him either, do you? O, well. It’s not the wife, you know. But my grandchildren. I would . . . .”
Again that piercing beep. No, she wouldn’t complain. Hang in there. Such a nasty buzz in her head. She was so hot. And shivering at the same time. What if she was going to have a fit? What would she do? Bang on the wall. Surely they could hear her next door. Or should she go out on the landing and ring the neighbour’s bell? Could one do that in the middle of an apoplectic fit? Well, she would make sure she could! She would just drag herself out onto the landing! No doubt about it! O, she was suffocating! This was the real thing! She was actually having a fit!
No such luck! If only she were. At least somebody would be looking at her then.
Would they, though? Would they be able . . . ? No! No! Don’t think about it. Chin up. Grit your teeth. It would all pass. Let’s play that Beethoven CD again. And imagine it did the job.

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