‘Richard. We never called him Dick. Only his mother, but not us. I hope he gets the plane all right. Oh — where’s the paper-knife?’
‘You put it in here,’ says Lise, pointing to her zipper-bag. ‘Don’t worry, it’s safe. Let’s get out of here.’
As they drift with the outgoing shoppers into the sunny street, Mrs Fiedke says, ‘I hope he’s on that plane. There was some talk that he would go to Barcelona first to meet his mother, then on here to meet up with me. But I wouldn’t play. I just said No! No flying from Barcelona, I said. I’m a strict believer, in fact, a Witness, but I never trust the airlines from those countries where the pilots believe in the afterlife. You are safer when they don’t. I’ve been told the Scandinavian airlines are fairly reliable in that respect.’
Lise looks up and down the street and sighs. ‘It can’t be long now. My friend’s going to turn up soon. He knows I’ve come all this way to see him. He knows it, all right. He’s just waiting around somewhere. Apart from that I have no plans.’
‘Dressed for the carnival!’ says a woman, looking grossly at Lise as she passes, and laughing as she goes her way, laughing without possibility of restraint, like a stream bound to descend whatever slope lies before it.
FIVE
‘It is in my mind,’ says Mrs Fiedke; ‘it is in my mind and I can’t think of anything else but that you and my nephew are meant for each other. As sure as anything, my dear, you are the person for my nephew. Somebody has got to take him on, anyhow, that’s plain.’
‘He’s only twenty-four,’ considers Lise. ‘Much too young.
They are descending a steep path leading from the ruins. Steps have been roughly cut out of the earthy track, outlined only by slats of wood which are laid at the edge of each step. Lise holds Mrs Fiedke’s arm and helps her down one by one.
‘How do you know his age?’ says Mrs Fiedke.
‘Well, didn’t you tell me, twenty-four?’ Lise says.
‘Yes, but I haven’t seen him for quite a time you know. He’s been away.
‘Maybe he’s even younger. Take care, go slowly.’
‘Or it could be the other way. People age when they’ve had unpleasant experiences over the years. It just came to me while we were looking at those very interesting pavements in that ancient temple up there, that poor Richard may be the very man that you’re looking for.’
‘Well, it’s your idea,’ says Lise, ‘not mine. I wouldn’t know till I’d seen him. Myself, I think he’s around the corner somewhere, now, any time.’
‘Which corner?’ The old lady looks up and down the street which runs below them at the bottom of the steps.
‘Any corner. Any old corner.’
‘Will you feel a presence? Is that how you’ll know?’
‘Not really a presence,’ Lise says. ‘The lack of an absence, that’s what it is. I know I’ll find it. I keep on making mistakes, though.’ She starts to cry, very slightly sniffing, weeping, and they stop on the steps while Mrs Fiedke produces a trembling pink face-tissue from her bag for Lise to dab her eyes with and blow her nose on. Sniffing, Lise throws the shredded little snitch of paper away and again takes Mrs Fiedke’s arm to resume their descent. ‘Too much self-control, which arises from fear and timidity, that’s what’s wrong with them. They’re cowards, most of them.’
‘Oh, I always believe that,’ says Mrs Fiedke. ‘No doubt about it. The male sex.’
They have reached the road where the traffic thunders past in the declining sunlight.
‘Where do we cross?’ Lise says, looking to right and left of the overwhelming street.
‘They are demanding equal rights with us,’ says Mrs Fiedke. ‘That’s why I never vote with the Liberals. Perfume, jewellery, hair down to their shoulders, and I’m not talking about the ones who were born like that. I mean, the ones that can’t help it should be put on an island. It’s the others I’m talking about. There was a time when they would stand up and open the door for you. They would take their hat off. But they want their equality today. All I say is that if God had intended them to be as good as us he wouldn’t have made them different from us to the naked eye. They don’t want to be all dressed alike any more. Which is only a move against us. You couldn’t run an army like that, let alone the male sex. With all due respects to Mr Fiedke, may he rest in peace, the male sex is getting out of hand. Of course, Mr Fiedke knew his place as a man, give him his due.’
‘We’ll have to walk up to the intersection,’ Lise says, guiding Mrs Fiedke in the direction of a distant policeman surrounded by a whirlpool of traffic. ‘We’ll never get a taxi here.’
‘Fur coats and flowered poplin shirts on their backs,’ says Mrs Fiedke as she winds along, conducted by Lise this way and that to avoid the oncoming people in the street. ‘If we don’t look lively,’ she says, ‘they will be taking over the homes and the children, and sitting about having chats while we go and fight to defend them and work to keep them. They won’t be content with equal rights only. Next thing they’ll want the upper hand, mark my words. Diamond earrings, I’ve read in the paper.’
‘It’s getting late,’ says Lise. Her lips are slightly parted and her nostrils and eyes, too, are a fragment more open than usual; she is a stag scenting the breeze, moving step by step, inhibiting her stride to accommodate Mrs Fiedke’s pace, she seems at the same time to search for a certain air-current, a glimpse and an intimation.
‘I clean mine with toothpaste when I’m travelling,’ confides Mrs Fiedke. ‘The better stuff’s in the bank back home, of course. The insurance is too high, isn’t it? But you have to bring a few bits and pieces. I clean them with my toothbrush and ordinary toothpaste, then I rub them with the hand-towel. They come up very nicely. You can’t trust the jewellers. They can always take them out and replace them with a fake.’.
‘It’s getting late,’ says Lise. ‘There are so many faces. Where did all the faces come from?’
‘I ought to take a nap,’ says Mrs Fiedke, ‘so that I won’t feel too tired when my nephew arrives. Poor thing. We have to leave for Capri tomorrow morning. All the cousins, you know. They’ve taken such a charming villa and the past will never be mentioned. My brother made that clear to them. I made it clear to my brother.’
They have reached the circular intersection and turn into a sidestreet where a few yards ahead at the next corner there is a taxi-rank occupied by one taxi. This one taxi is taken by someone else just as they approach it.
‘I smell burning,’ says Mrs Fiedke as they stand at the corner waiting for another taxi to come along. Lise sniffs, her lips parted and her eyes moving widely from face to face among the passers-by. Then she sneezes. Something has happened to the people in the street, they are looking round, they are sniffing too. Somewhere nearby a great deal of shouting is going on.
Suddenly round the corner comes a stampede. Lise and Mrs Fiedke are swept apart and jostled in all directions by a large crowd composed mainly of young men, with a few smaller, older and grimmer men, and here and there a young girl, all yelling together and making rapidly for somewhere else. ‘Tear-gas!’ someone shouts and then a lot of people are calling out, ‘Tear-gas!’ A shutter on a shop-front near Lise comes down with a hasty clatter, then the other shops start closing for the day. Lise falls and is hauled to her feet by a tough man who leaves her and runs on.
Just before it reaches the end of the street which joins the circular intersection the crowd stops. A band of grey-clad policemen come running towards them, in formation, bearing tear-gas satchels and with their gas-masks at the ready. The traffic on the circular intersection has stopped. Lise swerves with her crowd into a garage where some mechanics in their overalls crouch behind the cars and others take refuge underneath a car which is raised on a cradle in the process of repair.