Where are you hurrying to at this time of day.
If I wanted to I could wait for her. She motioned at the church, indicating that she would be going in to it. And then her husband was coming to collect her.
This was like two blows of a cudgel, that’s what my face must have shown.
She started to laugh, as if taking revenge for the earlier insult, though she seemed a bit ashamed. At the same time, I recovered from another daze, a deeper one that did not include her. And I fell into a helpless fury, which she had provoked yet was now only observing, coolly, innocently. Or was happy about. That was her revenge. I did not understand anything in the strictest meaning of the phrase: nothing. I did not understand how I’d gotten mixed up in this situation, and I didn’t know how I could get away from her quickly. What did she want or what did I want from her. Why am I still so careful not to turn my anger loose.
What had we talked about, what subjects, what had I spoiled, with what, or why did I even exist.
But then why did she say I should wait for her.
Right away I heard the stifled rebuke that had found its way into my voice, which sounded like the shout of a quarreling man; hard as I tried, I couldn’t do much about it and saw her face turning cold as ice.
No, she did not say I should wait for her, not at all. She asked me not to wait for her in front of the store.
While we spoke, we could hear intermittently the sound of the organ from within the church. And the wind kept on roaring.
Really, she didn’t have to tell me not to wait for her.
Why should she, if this is what she wanted.
Wanted or still wants, I asked, on the attack.
Wants, she replied innocently.
Her gentle impudence and the glitter of her huge eyes so enthralled me that I became even angrier with her — or with myself. But then how would I defend myself against her. I asked her why she hadn’t told me not to wait for her today but tomorrow, another time, the day after tomorrow or sometime when she didn’t have to go to church and her husband wasn’t coming to collect her.
If she works the afternoon shift, her husband always comes for her.
I had never seen him come for her.
Because they always meet here. This is something she didn’t care to let her boss know, whether her husband or someone else comes for her. Her older brother is a deacon in this church.
What this means, then, or what she means to say, is that this whole thing makes no sense or is completely hopeless.
Even if I did wait for her.
If that’s what she means, she would have told me not to wait but to get lost.
But that’s not what she said.
But then she could have told me to wait for her after the morning shift, because then she wouldn’t have to go to mass and her husband wouldn’t come to collect her, either.
It seemed I kept repeating the same tune. I have said this before, it’s boring.
What, am I here to amuse her.
That’s how I vented my anger, that’s what I kept on insisting, incredibly and ridiculously, even in my own eyes, as if looking for a tiny crack where I could hide, probably making myself more ridiculous; but in fact I kept wasting time with my questions so I could leave with my dignity more or less intact.
No, I shouldn’t be angry with her, things like this disgust her, it never occurred to her to say something like that — or ask for it. She might have said it, no doubt, but she’d never want to be entangled in dark little lies like this or entangle others in them. No, she loathes this type of secrecy with all her heart. I probably misunderstood her. She likes to talk openly about everything. She’d just told me why she hadn’t been able to talk about anything in the store. But she wouldn’t keep secrets from her husband, why should she. She didn’t understand why I didn’t understand.
Because it’s not understandable.
But what don’t I understand.
Or maybe I do understand but don’t want to. Or I’m afraid I might misunderstand her.
Now she must really go into the church because they are almost at the Elevation of the Host, but still, it would be better if I told her what I didn’t want to understand or why I didn’t.
I don’t want to offend you. Please, do go in, and I’ll leave.
I shouldn’t go away now.
Not now, I’ll go once you are inside.
Still, she asks me not to go.
Leave it to me, all right.
All right, then she won’t go in.
I don’t want to offend you with anything, even if you stay out here.
She really can’t imagine how I could offend her.
By leaving, for example. Or if I didn’t tell her what I was thinking about. That’s already two examples. Everyone can be offended.
My own words made it clear that this woman was playing a role and had assigned a role to me too — an unfamiliar but most intriguing role.
And I could see how defenseless she was, precisely against this sort of thing. But she didn’t want to be protected by lies and self-deceptions. She did not like it when something was kept secret from her; true, she herself had no secrets. And she did not like things turning out unexpectedly, though she was fairly flexible.
I told her it was just like that for me too.
That makes two of us.
I said this didn’t sound too good.
What didn’t sound good, what was I objecting to, and what do I want anyway.
I said it was very simple. Either I’d like to leave right away or I’d like to understand why I had come in the first place.
Wonderful, she said, laughing, and asked if I always busied myself with such quintessential questions. As to this particular one, we can answer it very simply. In all probability, I came here to talk to her.
I said, if she knew so well I wanted to talk to her and not someone else, and she didn’t mind, then why was she making my situation difficult. And frankly, I didn’t understand why she had to go to church and to confession. Or why she would need her husband for it.
She didn’t have to go to church or confession at all, and usually didn’t, since she lived in sin consciously and inveterately. But for a few weeks she had been studying rituals, and the concept of sin interested her from a theological-historical point of view. But I should know that she does not exist without her husband. Anyone who wants to talk to her, it’s like talking to her husband.
They tell each other everything, anyway. They grew up together. This has nothing to do with the Catholic Church, her brother, or confession.
Still, I can’t expect her to keep it a secret from herself that she wanted to talk to me.
Well, that’s all.
That simple.
But why would she think I’d like to talk to her husband, whom I don’t know. Or how on earth could I have known they’d grown up together.
No, she hadn’t thought about that, and she leaves it up to me whether I feel like waiting for him.
For God’s sake, what did she think the three of us would do together.
She hadn’t thought of anything special, and she certainly didn’t want to alarm me with debauched thoughts. But since I asked, she could repeat that she must have thought of something like this: I would wait for her while she was in church, and afterward she and her husband were planning to go to someone’s house, to a party, and if I felt like it I could join them. She definitely did think of this, more precisely, such a thought did occur to her. But I kept asking so many senseless questions that she hadn’t had a chance to mention it.
And what if I don’t feel like going to someone’s party right now, and even less like talking to her husband. Or what would she do if her husband didn’t feel like talking to me.
Nothing would happen, no problem, and at least we’ve talked about it.