"The Sheltering Sky" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bowles Paul)

III

He sat up in bed reading, wearing only a pair of shorts. The door between their two rooms was open, and so were the windows. Over the town and harbor a lighthouse played its beam in a wide, slow circle, and above the desultory traffic an insistent electric bell shrilled without respite.

“Is that the movie next door?” called Kit.

“Must be,” he said absently, still reading.

“I wonder what they’re showing.”

“What?” He laid down his book. “Don’t tell me you’re interested in going!”

“No.” She sounded doubtful. “I just wondered.”

“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a film in Arabic called Fiancée for Rent. That’s what it says under the title.”

“It’s unbelievable.”

“I know.”

She wandered into the room, thoughtfully smoking a cigarette, and walked about in a circle for a minute or so. He looked up.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She paused. “I’m just a little upset. I don’t think you should have told that dream in front of Tunner.”

He did not dare say: “Is that why you cried?” But he said: “In front of him! I told it to him, as much as to you. What’s a dream? Good God, don’t take everything so seriously! And why shouldn’t he hear it? What’s wrong with Tunner? We’ve known him for five years.”

“He’s such a gossip. You know that. I don’t trust him. He always makes a good story.”

“But who’s he going to gossip with here?” said Port, exasperated.

Kit in turn was annoyed.

“Oh, not here!” she snapped. “You seem to forget we’ll be back in New York some day.”

“I know, I know. It’s hard to believe, but I suppose we will. All right. What’s so awful if he remembers every detail and tells it to everybody we know?”

“It’s such a humiliating dream. Can’t you see?”

“Oh, crap!”

There was a silence.

“Humiliating to whom? You or me?”

She did not answer. He pursued: “What do you mean, you don’t trust Tunner? In what way?”

“Oh, I trust him, I suppose. But I’ve never felt completely at ease with him. I’ve never felt he was a close friend.”

“That’s nice, now that we’re here with him!”

“Oh, it’s all right. I like him very much. Don’t misunderstand.”

“But you must mean something.”

“Of course I mean something. But it’s not important.” She went back into her own room. He remained a moment, looking at the ceiling, a puzzled expression on his face.

He started to read again, and stopped.

“Sure you don’t want to see Fiancée for Rent?”

“I certainly don’t.”

He closed his book. “I think I’ll take a walk for about a half an hour.”

He rose, put on a sports shirt and a pair of seersucker trousers, and combed his hair. In her room, she was sitting by the open window, filing her nails. He bent over her and kissed the nape of her neck, where the silky blonde hair climbed upward in wavy furrows.

“That’s wonderful stuff you have on. Did you get it here?” He sniffed noisily, with appreciation. Then his voice changed when he said: “But what did you mean about Tunner?”

“Oh, Port! For God’s sake, stop talking about it!”

“All right, baby,” he said submissively, kissing her shoulder. And with an inflection of mock innocence: “Can’t I even think about it?”

She said nothing until he got to the door. Then she raised her head, and there was pique in her voice: “After all, it’s much more your business than it is mine.”

“See you soon,” he said.