The Bridge, page 4
Madam Vera turned away from Madam Olga and headed down the street. She walked with the short, slow steps of those with a heart condition. She was wearing the dark-gray coat that she usually wore when she went out, even when it was warm. On her it seemed long because she was short.
After watching her walk away for a few moments, Madam Olga started after her, intending to catch up and exchange a few words. Then she thought better of it. She didn’t know what to say. She could ask her questions, of course, but was unable to formulate them properly in her head. She might have had an easier time if they’d been closer friends; as it was, everything that crossed her mind seemed like prying. How do you talk to someone who is dead, anyway?
In that case, she would just follow her. She couldn’t very well continue on her way as though she hadn’t run into Madam Vera. But Madam Olga had no experience of shadowing. How was it done? The street was full of people at this time of the afternoon and she might lose her in the crowd if she lingered too far behind. If she got too close and Madam Vera turned around, she couldn’t help but notice her. Then what? And anyway, it was most certainly unseemly to shadow people.
She would try to stay at a moderate distance. Luckily, Madam Vera didn’t walk fast, so she would not have to overexert herself. An elderly woman was only really up to shadowing another elderly woman. It didn’t even have to be conspicuous. How could the sight of two elderly women walking along at a short distance from each other be suspicious?
Madam Olga stopped dead in her tracks when it dawned on her what made them conspicuous. She took off the scarf, rolled it up and put it in her coat pocket. In fact, she should have done that in the shop, once she’d been unable to stop herself from buying it. It would have been best if Madam Vera had removed hers too, but how could she get this across to her?
Madam Olga stopped once again and pretended to look in a shoe store window when Madam Vera paused in front of a grocery store. There were baskets full of fruit on the sidewalk in front of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Madam Vera pointed at the bananas. The storekeeper took a large bag, filled it and put it on the scale.
Why does she need so many bananas? she wondered when Madam Vera continued on her way. She remembered the time Madam Vera had told her she didn’t like fruit. In addition, considering her heart condition, carrying something that heavy wasn’t a good idea. The bag must have weighed at least two kilos, making her lean heavily to her right. If circumstances had been otherwise, Madam Olga would have offered to help, but this was clearly impossible now.
At the next stoplight Madam Vera joined the others who were waiting to cross the street. Madam Olga stood next to a kiosk not far away, all set to cross as soon as Madam Vera put some distance between them.
Just as she was about to cross, a girl handing out leaflets to passersby, dressed like a majorette in a tall hat and high boots, came up and smilingly offered her a colorful piece of paper. Disconcerted by the rush to make the green light, Madam Olga took it, although she was not in the habit of accepting such offers. She had an aversion to aggressive advertising. She would throw it in the first trashcan she saw.
Not far from the intersection, Madam Vera entered a shop. When Madam Olga reached the edge of the display window, she saw that it was full of tableware. Everything on display looked expensive. The dinner plates, soup plates, dessert plates, cups, saucers and serving bowls were of fine porcelain, decorated with pastoral scenes in pastel colors. Crystal glasses and carafes sparkled in the beams of little spotlights that illuminated the window, even though there was still plenty of daylight. Boxes lined in velvet displayed silver knives, forks and spoons of different shapes, sizes and uses.
What was Madam Vera doing in a place like that? She’d constantly complained about her small pension, saying she barely made ends meet and spent more on the cats than on herself. Had her situation changed? This would be clear soon enough, when she came out.
But this did not happen soon. Madam Vera simply did not emerge from the shop, although she was the only customer in there. This put Madam Olga in a predicament. She couldn’t just stand there in the street. She needed something to do instead of staring blankly in front of her. People would start to give her suspicious looks.
That’s when she remembered she was still holding the leaflet the majorette had given her. She was certain that whatever it was advertising wouldn’t be of the slightest interest, but that didn’t matter. She would pretend to be engrossed in something important. Who would know it was just an advertisement, anyway?
The leaflet turned out to be something other than an ordinary advertisement using the characteristic superlatives. It was instead a pitch for a play called “Food”. The only odd thing about it was the missing name of the playwright. The theater was in the vicinity and a small map on the back showed how to get there.
When she finally raised her eyes from the leaflet, after reading it several times, Madam Olga stared in amazement at an older man who had just passed by her. He was swinging a red bowling ball as though about to throw it and knock down pedestrians like ninepins. She also noted that his hair was as red as Madam Vera’s.
She needn’t have worried about attracting attention standing next to a shop window doing nothing. Who would notice her next to an oddball like that? People turned as he went by, staring with bewilderment or derision. If he’d been a young man, such behavior might have been understandable, but it was certainly not to be expected from someone just a few years her junior.
But she had no more time to spend on the man with the bowling ball. Madam Vera finally appeared at the shop door, loaded down. The bag full of bananas was still clutched in her right hand and her left arm was hugging a large box wrapped in shiny paper tied with a purple ribbon. She continued down the street.
Her pace, however, had changed. As though her load were lighter and not heavier, she strode cheerfully, skipping even, like someone expressing joy with their feet. This was not only bad for her heart, if she continued like that people would start to turn and look at her too. She’d known Madam Vera as a reserved, polite woman, but people seemed to change after death.
This time Madam Olga realized where she was following Madam Vera before they reached their destination. She appeared to be sticking to the path marked on the map on the back of the leaflet that was still in Madam Olga’s hand. But who went to the theater in the afternoon, inappropriately dressed, loaded down with bags and boxes?
The old-fashioned two-story theater with its yellow brick wall seemed squeezed in between modern buildings with glass facades on either side. Nothing indicated that a show was playing there, but the door leading to the vestibule was open. Madam Olga hesitated several moments before deciding to go in after Madam Vera.
Perhaps the dead could take the liberty of acting indecorously, but she still had etiquette to consider. Although she wasn’t dressed properly for the theater, either, it would be even more embarrassing to stand in front of it until Madam Vera came out. She didn’t know how long the play lasted. Smoothing her clothes a little and patting her hair, she stepped into the vestibule.
It was full of mirrors and chandeliers, but otherwise empty. While she’d hesitated, Madam Vera must have entered the auditorium. Obviously she had a ticket already, because a curtain was pulled across the ticket window to the right. The only person present was a short, obese middle-aged woman with very short red hair, standing in front of the auditorium entrance. She was wearing a tight, clinging turquoise leotard, a short blue skirt that didn’t reach even halfway down her enormous thighs, and military boots. The long thin cigarette holder she clenched tightly in her mouth, even though there wasn’t a cigarette in it, only enhanced the grotesque impression she made.
Madam Olga went up to the woman to ask how she might buy a ticket for the show, but before she had managed to say anything, the woman took the leaflet from her hand without a word, pulled aside the dark blue curtain and gestured broadly for her to go in. As she entered, Madam Olga looked at the woman inquisitively, but her face remained expressionless.
As Madam Olga’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noted that the auditorium was considerably larger than it appeared from the outside. In the middle of the distant, brightly-lit stage was a long table with a high-backed chair on its opposite side. Since there were no actors, she assumed the show had not yet begun.
It was not immediately clear to her why the moderately large audience suddenly started clapping. Then a spotlight hit the middle seat in the front row and she saw Madam Vera stand up and head towards the stage. The spotlight followed her, and the applause did not subside until she was sitting at the table with the box in shiny paper placed in front of her.
Just as Madam Olga was wondering what had happened to the bag of bananas, the spotlight glided back down to the front row and stopped at a small figure sitting there. She couldn’t make it out properly standing at the back of the auditorium so she started down the aisle. When she had got more or less halfway, she realized she’d been mistaken.
She dropped into the nearest seat in surprise. That wasn’t a child in the front row, as she’d first thought, but a monkey. He had just taken a banana out of the bag on the seat next to him and was starting to peel it. When he brought it to his mouth, a chime sounded on the stage. Madam Olga raised her eyes and saw a silver bell in Madam Vera’s hand.
A liveried servant in a bushy gray wig approached the table from the left side of the stage. He untied the purple bow, unwrapped the shiny paper and raised the lid, then started taking tableware out of the box. He placed a porcelain plate, tall glass, silver knife and fork and a pink silk napkin in front of Madam Vera. Then he picked up the packaging and left.
The moment he disappeared, an aged butler appeared on the other side of the stage. He was wearing a dinner jacket with a white vest, white bow tie and white gloves and was carrying a bottle of some green beverage. Dragging his feet, he reached Madam Vera, showed her the label on the bottle and waited for her to nod her head.
He had a rather hard time removing the cork, and then poured a small amount of liquid into the crystal glass. The foam that formed could be seen even from the middle of the auditorium. He waited once again for Madam Vera’s approval after tasting it, then poured the glass about three-quarters full. He placed the bottle on the table, bowed, and headed back the way he had come.
Before he disappeared, a double door opened at the bottom of the stage and two men emerged. One was red-skinned, naked to the waist, wearing only brown leather breeches and moccasins. A feather was stuck into his hair, which was pulled back into a topknot, and his face was streaked with war paint. The other was wearing polished armor that glistened in the bright light. His visor was lowered and a sheathed sword hung from his waist; he rattled when he moved.
They were carrying an oval tray between them at least a meter and a half long. It contained an enormous roast bird. Madam Olga first thought it was a swan, but it must have been something larger. An ostrich, perhaps? They stopped in front of the table and placed the tray in the middle. The Indian gave a warcry, hitting his mouth with his hand, while the knight stamped his left foot thunderously on the floor three times.
As they headed back to the door, a tall ballerina in a long, fluttering, orange dress as transparent as a veil passed between them. She started to jump and pirouette, zigzagging towards the table. When she finally landed next to Madam Vera, she bowed deeply. She took something resembling a sword from the tray, cut a huge chunk of meat off the leg and put it on the porcelain plate, covering it completely. Then she seemed to float away.
When the double doors closed behind her, a gong sounded and then faded into the reverberations of an aria. The soprano sang a cappella, as though musical accompaniment would have sullied the crystal clarity of her voice. At the same time, something quite boorish had started: gorging.
You couldn’t tell who was faster: Madam Vera wolfing down the roast meat or the monkey gobbling the bananas. Her cheeks puffed up in an instant but this didn’t stop her from cramming more meat into her mouth, stopping just a moment to sip a little of the green beverage. Her eyes grew as big as saucers whenever she swallowed the under-chewed bites. The monkey soon stopped peeling the bananas. He simply shoved them down his throat along with the peel.
As the feast proceeded, the tempo of the aria sped up and the audience started to clap to the beat, shouting encouragement to the competitors. Madam Olga was the only one unable to get into the spirit of the show. This would not end well. Madam Vera had often complained to her of indigestion. She had had to be very careful about what she ate and particularly how much she ate. Death certainly had not improved the situation. Bolting food in such a manner would soon result in nausea. She didn’t know about the monkey, but its stomach would certainly have a hard time with so many bananas, particularly the unpeeled ones.
Just as she was feverishly searching for a way to put an end to this madness, the gong suddenly sounded and stopped the aria at its peak. The brief silence that ensued was interrupted by the monkey’s screeching. He was jumping up and down on his front-row seat, tearing apart the empty bag in rage.
Madam Vera stood up. The plate in front of her was empty too. She walked around the table, stood before it and bowed deeply. The audience jumped to their feet and gave her an ovation sprinkled with shouts of “Bravo!” The monkey sank back into its seat dejectedly.
Turning towards the bottom of the stage, Madam Vera signaled with her hand. The door opened and those who’d been part of the show came out in pairs and took their place around the leading actress. First came the liveried waiter and the butler, then the Indian and the knight. The ballerina received the most applause as she graciously jumped over the table and settled at Madam Vera’s feet like a sleeping swan.
The curtain started to fall. The applause sped up when it completely hid the stage, and shouts of “Encore!” rose throughout the auditorium. But the curtain did not rise. When the lights came on, the audience sat down. A heavy-set young man in a firefighter’s uniform entered through the side door next to the stage. He went up to the monkey, grabbed it around the waist and lifted it with one hand. It offered no resistance and hung there limply. As the young man took it out, whistles sounded from several parts of the audience.
When Madam Vera soon appeared at the same side door, the audience said not a word, as if they didn’t recognize the leading actress of a moment before. Now empty-handed, she went along the aisle towards the exit.
As soon as she passed by, Madam Olga turned and started after her. She didn’t know why the rest of the audience didn’t leave too. Were they waiting for a second act, perhaps? As far as she was concerned, she’d had enough. She’d seen more than she wanted. In any case, she couldn’t lose sight of Madam Vera.
When Madam Olga reached the vestibule, the fat woman at the entrance to the auditorium stuck a leaflet in her hand, once again without a word. If there had been time she would have handed it back and explained that she no longer intended to frequent a theater with such a repertory. But since Madam Vera had already gone out into the street, she simply took the leaflet and rushed after her.
How can she even move, let alone so quickly? wondered Madam Olga, doing her best to keep up with Madam Vera who was walking as though her stomach wasn’t the least bit bothered by all the meat she’d crammed into it. It must have been at least a kilo and a half. And why had she competed with a monkey? That wasn’t at all like her.
They crossed three intersections before Madam Vera finally stopped. Madam Olga felt relieved. She didn’t have a heart condition, but she hadn’t walked so briskly in a long time. She was quite short of breath and had started to sweat. She was just too old to be shadowing anyone. Hopefully it would soon come to an end.
This time Madam Vera entered a large department store. Madam Olga went in after her without a second thought. Waiting outside was out of the question. She might leave by one of the other entrances. Luckily, the department store was full of people so her shadowing would not be conspicuous.
They took the escalator up to the third floor, where Madam Vera headed to a big section selling musical instruments. Madam Olga stopped at the toy department not far from it. She pretended to look over the little cars, plush bears, toy guns, dolls, puzzles, tricycles, lighted plastic swords and wooden building blocks. The awkwardness of feigning was mitigated by a sudden feeling of tenderness. She hadn’t been in a toy store in decades.
Assisted by a saleswoman, Madam Vera was trying out the instruments. How strange, thought Madam Olga. She’d never mentioned an affinity for music, let alone that she played an instrument. She first sat at a drum set and drummed a little. After that she took a violin and drew the bow over the strings several times, then set it down. She raised the cover on the piano keys and played a few notes, but this didn’t satisfy her either. She gave up on the double bass before making any sound, realizing it was too big as soon as she took hold of it.
She finally chose an oboe. She held the reed in her mouth for a while, her cheeks puffed out. She seemed to be playing, but there was no sound. She nodded her head in satisfaction and gave it to the saleswoman, then they headed towards the cash register. Madam Olga felt a pang of sadness as she left the toy department.
Taking the bag with the oboe, Madam Vera went up the escalator again. The entire fifth floor was filled with summer and winter sports equipment. It was no accident that Madam Olga went up to the long table with the skis. Until late middle age she’d gone skiing regularly. Glancing over the new models that had become too extravagant for her taste, she kept her eye on Madam Vera.
Of all the departments on this floor Madam Vera chose the last one Madam Olga would have expected. Why did she need a swimsuit? Who else her age still went to the beach or swimming pool? Well, maybe points of reference changed after death. One shouldn’t be a slave to one’s opinions.
