Love

Author: Marguerite Duras (France)/Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features: Anna Dabalest stands at the entrance of the café, not entering. Xian walks toward her. He reaches her side, and she turns to walk toward the coastal avenue. "There are already so many people," she murmurs, "I was late for the piano lesson." "I heard the entire lesson today," Xian says. The child breaks free from his hand and runs down the sidewalk. Tonight, Friday night, he wants to run around as usual. Xian looks up at the sky, where a faint light still lingers, the sky a dark blue. He moves closer to her, and she does not shy away. "Summer is coming," he says, "let's go." "But here, it doesn’t feel like it." "Sometimes, you can feel it. You know. Like tonight." The child jumps around on the cable. Humming Diabelli’s sonata. Anna Dabalest follows Xian as they walk. The café is already full. Those who sit down as soon as their drinks are poured immediately drink them down—it’s the rule—and hurry home. Those who arrive later, from farther factories, take their places, drink, and then walk. Anna Dabalest steps into the café and stands by the door, unhappy, irritated. Xian turns to smile at her, encouraging her. They walk to the far end of the long counter, where few people notice them. She picks up a glass like a man and drinks it down quickly. The glass trembles in her hand. "It’s been seven days," Xian says. "Seven nights," she replies, as if it were an afterthought, "this wine is wonderful." "Seven nights," Xian repeats. They leave the counter and he pulls her into the back of the hall, seating her on the bench where he wants to sit. The people at the bar counter watch the woman from a distance, feeling strange. The hall is quiet. "So, you heard it all? All the scales he asked me to play?" "It was still early then. No customers here. The windows facing the docks were open. I heard it all, the scales too." She smiles at him, grateful, and picks up her glass again to drink. Holding the glass, her hand still trembles slightly. "I thought he should learn music, you know. It was two years ago." "I understand. That grand piano was in the living room, on the left as you enter?" "Yes," Anna Dabalest clenches her fists tightly, forcing herself to remain calm, "but he was so small, so small. If you knew, just thinking about it makes me doubt myself." Xian smiles. Only they are seated at the table in the hall. Few customers remain at the bar. "You know, he plays the scales quite well?" Anna Dabalest laughs this time, a loud laugh. "He plays very well, really. Even the female teacher has to admit it. Look, I have some ideas. It’s really ridiculous." She is still laughing, but her laughter gradually fades. Xian speaks to her in a different way. "You once rested your elbow on that grand piano. On your bare chest, fastened with a magnolia." Anna Dabalest listens intently to his recollection. "Yes." "When you bent over, the flower touched the outline of your chest, and you carelessly fastened it there, thinking it was a bit high. The flower was large—you chose it by chance, and it seemed too big when you wore it. The petals were still firm, having bloomed only the night before." "I looked outside?" "Have another drink. The child is playing in the garden. Yes, you were looking outside." Because he urged her to drink, Anna Dabalest drinks, trying to recall the past and feeling deeply astonished. "I don’t remember picking that flower. Or wearing it." "I didn’t pay much attention to you then, but I did see the flower." She focuses on holding the glass tightly with her hand, and her movements and tone thus become slower and more deliberate. "I really enjoy this wine now, but I didn’t know that then." "So, tell me about it now." "Oh, don’t make me say it," Anna Dabalest pleads. "We don’t have much time, I’m powerless." The dusk grows darker, and only a faint light remains on the ceiling of the café. The bright lights illuminate the counter, while the hall sinks into shadows. The child suddenly runs in. He doesn’t feel it’s late and reports, "Another child has come." As he runs away, Xian’s hands reach out toward Anna Dabalest’s side. Both hands stretch across the table. "I told you, I often can’t sleep. I go to the child’s room, I look at him, and I stay there for a long time." "Often?" "Often, especially in the summer, when there are still people walking on the avenue. Especially on Saturday nights, these people undoubtedly come out to stroll because they don’t know what to do in the city." "Undoubtedly," Xian says, "especially men. You often watch them in the hallway, or in the garden, or in your room." Anna Dabalest leans forward and finally says to him, "Actually, I think I do watch them often, in the hallway or from my room. Some nights, I don’t know what to do either." Xian whispers a word. Under this forceful advance, Anna Dabalest’s gaze becomes hazy, almost drowsy. "Go on." "Not only do these people walk past here, but also at fixed times during the day. I can’t say any more." "Not much time left, keep going." "Dinner… it’s time for dinner again. Then, it’s night. One day, I had an idea—I sent the child to piano lessons." Their wine is gone. Xian goes to order more. Fewer people remain at the bar. Anna Dabalest drinks as if she were thirsty, without stopping. "It’s seven o’clock," the landlady announces. They don’t hear her. It’s already dark. Four people enter the café and sit in the back hall, planning to spend their time there.