He shrugged his shoulders and threw up his hands.
“If we don’t finish today we’ll finish tomorrow,” he countered. “We’re paid for the job, not by the hour, so we can surely take an extra half-day.”
“I’ve a plane for New York tomorrow,” she said. “I made a reservation, and my daughter will be waiting for me.”
“Lady, make up your mind,” said the ticket-collector. “We have to push off.”
A whistle blew twice and a sailor started to release the mooring rope. The ticket-collector pulled out his pad and tore off two tickets.
“You’ll be better off at the bow,” he remarked. “There’s a bit of breeze, but you won’t feel the rolling.”
The seats were all free, but they leaned on the low railing and looked at the scene around them. The boat drew away from the pier and gathered speed. From a slight distance the town revealed its exact layout, with the old houses falling into an unexpected and graceful geometrical pattern.
“It’s more beautiful viewed from the sea,” she observed. She held down her windblown hair with one hand, and red spots had appeared on her cheekbones.
“You’re the beauty,” he said, “at sea, on land, and wherever.”
She laughed and searched her bag for a scarf.
“You’ve turned very gallant,” she said. “Once upon a time you weren’t like that at all.”
“Once upon a time I was stupid, stupid and childish.”
“Actually, you seem more childish to me now than then. Forgive me for saying so, but that’s what I think.”
“You’re wrong, though. I’m older, that’s all.” He shot her a worried glance. “Now don’t tell me I’m old.”
“No, you’re not old. But that’s not the only thing that matters.”
She took a tortoiseshell case out of her bag and extracted a cigarette. He cupped his hands around hers to protect the match from the wind. The sky was very blue, although there was a black streak on the horizon and the sea had darkened. The first village was rapidly approaching. They could see a pink bell tower and a bulging spire as white as meringue. A flight of pigeons rose up from the houses and took off, describing a wide curve towards the sea.
“Life must be wonderful there,” he said, “and very simple.”
She nodded and smiled.
“Perhaps because it’s not ours.”
The boat they were to meet was tied up at the pier, an old boat looking like a tug. For the benefit of the new arrival it whistled three times in greeting. Several people were standing on the pier, perhaps waiting to go aboard. A little girl in a yellow dress, holding a woman’s hand, was jumping up and down like a bird.
“That’s what I’d like,” he said inconsequentially. “To live a life other than ours.”
From her expression he saw that his meaning was not clear and corrected himself.
“I mean a happy life rather than ours, like the one we imagine they lead in this village.”
He grasped her hands and made her meet his eyes, looking at her very hard.
She gently freed herself, giving him a rapid kiss.
“Eddie,” she said tenderly, “dear Eddie.” Slipping her arm into his she pulled him towards the gangplank. “You’re a great actor,” she said, “a truly great actor.” She was happy and brimming over with life.
“But it’s what I feel,” he protested feebly, letting her pull him along.
“Of course,” she said, “like a true actor.”
— 5 —
The train came to a sudden stop, with the wheels screeching and puffs of smoke rising from the engine. A compartment opened and five girls stuck out their heads. Some of them were peroxide blondes, with curls falling over their shoulders and on their foreheads. They started to laugh and chat, calling out: “Elsa! Elsa!” A showy redhead, wearing a green ribbon in her hair, shouted to the others: “There she is!” and leaned even farther out to wave her hands in greeting. Elsa quickened her step and came close to the window, touching the gaily outstretched hands.
“Corinna!” she exclaimed, looking at the redhead, “What’s this get-up?”
“Saverio says it’s attractive,” Corinna called back, winking and pointing her head towards the inside of the compartment. “Come on aboard,” she added in a falsetto voice; “you don’t want to be stuck in a place like this, do you?” Then, suddenly, she screamed: “Look girls, there’s a Rudolph Valentino!”
The girls waved madly to catch the man’s attention. Eddie had come out from behind the arrivals and departures board; he advanced slowly along the platform, with his hat pulled over his eyes. At that same moment, two German soldiers came through the gate and went towards the stationmaster’s office. After a few moments the stationmaster came out with his red flag under his arm and walked towards the engine, with rapid steps, which accentuated the awkwardness of his chubby body. The soldiers stood in front of the office door, as if they were on guard. The girls fell silent and watched the scene looking worried. Elsa set down her suitcase and looked confusedly at Eddie, who motioned with his head that she should go on. Then he sat down on a bench, under a tourist poster, took the newspaper out of his pocket and buried his face in it. Corinna seemed to understand what was up.
“Come on, dearie!” she shouted. “Come aboard!”
With one hand she waved at the two staring soldiers and gave them a dazzling smile. Meanwhile the stationmaster was coming back with the flag now rolled up under his arm. Corinna asked him what was going on.
“Don’t ask me,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders. “It seems we have to wait for a quarter of an hour. It’s orders, that’s all I know.”
“Then we can get out and stretch our legs, girls,” Corinna chirped. “Climb aboard,” she whispered as she passed Elsa. “We’ll take care of them.”
The little group moved in the direction opposite to where Eddie was seated, passing in front of the soldiers. “Isn’t there anywhere to eat in this station?” Corinna asked in a loud voice, looking around. She was superb at drawing attention to herself, swinging her hips and also the bag she had taken off her shoulder. She had on a clinging flowered dress and sandals with cork soles.
“The sea, girls!” she shouted. “Look at that sea and tell me if it isn’t divine!” She leaned theatrically against the first lamp-post and raised her hand to her mouth, putting on a childish manner. “If I had my bathing suit with me, I’d dive, never mind the autumn weather,” she said, tossing her head and causing her red curls to ripple over her shoulders.
The two soldiers were stunned and couldn’t take their eyes off her. Then she had a stroke of genius, due to the lamp-post, perhaps, or to the necessity of resolving an impossible situation. She let her blouse slip down off her shoulders, leaned against the lamp-post, stretched out her arms and addressed an imaginary public, winking as if the whole scene were in cahoots with her.
“It’s a song they sing the world over,” she shouted, “even our enemies!” And, turning to the other girls, she clapped her hands. It must have been part of the show, because they fell into line, raising their legs in marching time but without moving an inch, their hands at their foreheads in a military salute. Corinna clung to the lamp-post with one hand and, using it as a pivot, wheeled gracefully around it, while her skirt, fluttering in the breeze, displayed her legs to advantage.
“Vor der Kaserne vor dem grossen Tor,
Stand eine Laterne, und steht sie noch davor …
So wollen wir uns da wiedersehen,
Bei der Laterne wollen wir stehen,
Wie einst Lili Marlene, wie einst Lili Marlene.”
The girls applauded and one of the soldiers whistled. Corinna thanked them with a mock bow and went to the fountain near the hedge. She passed a wet finger over her forehead while looking down at the street below; then, trailed by the other girls, she started to reboard the train.
“Goodbye, boys!” she shouted to the soldiers. “We’re going to snatch some rest. We’ve a long tour ahead of us
.”
Elsa was waiting in the corridor and threw her arms around her.
“You’re an angel, Corinna,” she said, giving her a kiss.
“Think nothing of it,” said Corinna, starting to cry like a baby.
The two soldiers had come close to the waiting train; they looked up at the girls and tried to exchange words; one of them knew some Italian. Just then there was the sound of a motor, and a black car came through the gate and travelled the length of the platform until it stopped at the front, just behind the engine. The girls tried to fathom what was happening, but there was a curve in the tracks and they couldn’t see very well around it. Eddie hadn’t moved from the bench. Apparently he was immersed in the newspaper that shielded his face.
“What’s up?” asked Elsa, trying to seem indifferent as she stowed her things in the luggage net.
“Nothing,” one of the girls answered. “It must be a big shot who arrived in the car. He’s in civilian clothes and travelling first-class.”
“Is he alone?” Elsa asked.
“It seems so. The soldiers are standing at attention and not boarding the train.”
Elsa peered out the window. The soldiers had turned around and were walking towards the road leading into the town. The stationmaster came back, dragging the red flag behind him and looking down at his shoes.
“The train’s leaving,” he said in a philosophical, knowing manner, and waved the flag. The engine whistled. The girls returned to their seats, only Elsa stayed at the window. She had combed her hair off her forehead and her eyes were still gleaming. At this moment Eddie came up and stood directly under the window.
“Shall we meet in another film?” he asked.
“What the devil is he saying?” shouted the director from behind him. “What the devil?”
“Shall I hold?” asked the cameraman.
“No,” said the director. “It’s going to be dubbed anyhow.” And he shouted into the megaphone, “Walk, man, the train’s moving, move faster, follow it along the platform, hold her hand.”
The train had, indeed, started, and Eddie obeyed orders, quickening his pace and keeping up as long as he could. The train picked up speed and went around the curve and through a switch on the other side. Eddie wheeled about and took a few steps before stopping to light a cigarette and then walk slowly on into camera. The director made gestures to regulate his pace, as if he were manipulating him with strings.
“Insert a heart attack,” said Eddie imploringly.
“What do you mean?”
“A heart attack,” Eddie repeated. “Here, on the bench. I’ll look exhausted, sink onto the bench and lay my hand on my heart like Dr. Zhivago. Make me die.”
The clapperboy looked at the director, waiting for instructions.
The director moved his fingers like scissors to signify that he’d cut later, but meanwhile the shooting must go on.
“What do you mean by a heart attack?” he said to Eddie. “Do you think you look like a man about to have a heart attack? Pull your hat over your eyes, like a good Eddie, don’t make me start all over.” And he signalled to the crew to put the pumps into action. “Come on, move! It’s starting to rain. You’re Eddie, remember, not a poor lovelorn creature … Put your hands in your pockets, shrug your shoulders, that’s it, good boy, come towards us … your cigarette hanging from your lips … perfect! … eyes on the ground.”
He turned to the cameraman and shouted: “Pull back—tracking shot; pull back!”
New Directions Paperbooks—a partial listing
César Aira
An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter
Ghosts
The Literary Conference
Will Alexander, The Sri Lankan Loxodrome
Paul Auster, The Red Notebook
Gennady Aygi, Child-and-Rose
Honoré de Balzac, Colonel Chabert
Djuna Barnes, Nightwood
Charles Baudelaire, The Flowers of Evil*
Bei Dao, The Rose of Time: New & Selected Poems*
Nina Berberova, The Ladies From St. Petersburg
Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile
Distant Star
Last Evenings on Earth
Nazi Literature in the Americas
The Skating Rink
Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths
Seven Nights
Coral Bracho, Firefly Under the Tongue*
Kamau Brathwaite, Ancestors
William Bronk, Selected Poems
Sir Thomas Browne, Urn Burial
Basil Bunting, Complete Poems
Anne Carson, Glass, Irony & God
Horacio Castellanos Moya, Senselessness
Tyrant Memory
Louis-Ferdinand Céline
Death on the Installment Plan
Journey to the End of the Night
René Char, Selected Poems
Inger Christensen, alphabet
Jean Cocteau, The Holy Terrors
Peter Cole, Things on Which I’ve Stumbled
Maurice Collis, Cortes & Montezuma
Julio Cortázar, Cronopios & Famas
Albert Cossery, A Splendid Conspiracy
Robert Creeley, If I Were Writing This
Life and Death
Guy Davenport, 7 Greeks
Osamu Dazai, The Setting Sun
H.D., Trilogy
Robert Duncan, Groundwork
Selected Poems
Eça de Queirós, The Maias
William Empson, 7 Types of Ambiguity
Shusaku Endo, Deep River
The Samurai
Jenny Erpenbeck, The Old Child
Visitation
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
A Coney Island of the Mind
A Far Rockaway of the Heart
Thalia Field, Bird Lovers, Backyard
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-Up
On Booze
Forrest Gander, As a Friend
Core Samples From the World
Romain Gary, The Life Before Us (Mme. Rosa)
William Gerhardie, Futility
Henry Green, Pack My Bag
Allen Grossman, Descartes’ Loneliness
John Hawkes, The Lime Twig
Second Skin
Felisberto Hernández, Lands of Memory
Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
Takashi Hiraide
For the Fighting Spirit of the Walnut*
Yoel Hoffman, The Christ of Fish
Susan Howe, My Emily Dickinson
That This
Bohumil Hrabal, I Served the King of England
Ihara Saikaku, The Life of an Amorous Woman
Christopher Isherwood, The Berlin Stories
Fleur Jaeggy, Sweet Days of Discipline
Gustav Janouch, Conversations With Kafka
Alfred Jarry, Ubu Roi
B.S. Johnson, House Mother Normal
Franz Kafka, Amerika: The Man Who Disappeared
Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness
Heinrich von Kleist, Prince Friedrich of Homburg
Laszlo Krasznahorkai
The Melancholy of Resistance
War & War
Mme. de Lafayette, The Princess of Clèves
Lautréamont, Maldoror
Denise Levertov, Selected Poems
Tesserae
Li Po, Selected Poems
Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star
Soulstorm
Luljeta Lleshanaku, Child of Nature
Federico García Lorca, Selected Poems*
Three Tragedies
Nathaniel Mackey, Splay Anthem
Stéphane Mallarmé, Selected Poetry and Prose*
Javier Marías, All Souls
A Heart So White
Your Face Tomorrow (3 volumes)
Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
The Way of Chuang Tzu
Henri Michaux, Selected Writing
s
Dunya Mikhail, Diary of a Wave Outside the Sea
Henry Miller, The Air-Conditioned Nightmare
Big Sur & The Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch
The Colossus of Maroussi
Yukio Mishima, Confessions of a Mask
Death in Midsummer
Teru Miyamoto, Kinshu: Autumn Brocade
Eugenio Montale, Selected Poems*
Vladimir Nabokov, Laughter in the Dark
Nikolai Gogol
The Real Life of Sebastian Knight
Pablo Neruda, The Captain’s Verses*
Love Poems*
Residence on Earth*
Charles Olson, Selected Writings
George Oppen, New Collected Poems (with CD)
Wilfred Owen, Collected Poems
Michael Palmer, Thread
Nicanor Parra, Antipoems*
Boris Pasternak, Safe Conduct
Kenneth Patchen, The Walking-Away World
Octavio Paz, The Collected Poems 1957-1987*
A Tale of Two Gardens
Victor Pelevin, Omon Ra
Saint-John Perse, Selected Poems
Ezra Pound, The Cantos
New Selected Poems and Translations
Personae
Raymond Queneau, Exercises in Style
Qian Zhongshu, Fortress Besieged
Raja Rao, Kanthapura
Herbert Read, The Green Child
Kenneth Rexroth, Songs of Love, Moon & Wind
Written on the Sky: Poems from the Japanese
Rainer Maria Rilke
Poems from the Book of Hours
The Possibility of Being
Arthur Rimbaud, Illuminations*
A Season in Hell and The Drunken Boat*
Guillermo Rosales, The Halfway House
Evilio Rosero, The Armies
Good Offices
Joseph Roth, The Leviathan
Jerome Rothenberg, Triptych
William Saroyan
The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze
Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea
The Wall
Delmore Schwartz
In Dreams Begin Responsibilities
W.G. Sebald, The Emigrants
The Rings of Saturn
Vertigo
Aharon Shabtai, J’accuse
Hasan Shah, The Dancing Girl
C.H. Sisson, Selected Poems
Gary Snyder, Turtle Island
Muriel Spark, The Ballad of Peckham Rye