Читать книгу Impurity - Larry Tremblay - Страница 7

She would like to believe in God, in the immortality of souls. She cannot. She lights a candle in the columbarium chapel. She doesn’t cry. Her tears have dried up. All that’s left to her are memories. The beautiful, radiant ones. And those that tear her apart. She doesn’t know how she was able to close her eyes for so long to what truly mattered. There were hints, however, details that could have awakened suspicions before it was too late. She also is to blame, that she knows.

Nervous, she looks at her watch. Six o’clock. There, now he’s back from the college. He’s parking in front of the house, climbing the front steps, taking his key, opening the door, immediately sensing that there’s something different. It’s the silence. The silence that is born from absence, from emptiness. He takes a few steps, enters the living room. There is no more furniture, no carpet, no paintings on the walls except for one, which is now immense. His heart is beating faster. She’s certain that at that moment his heart is beating faster. On the floor, he sees a book. He bends down to pick it up. On the cover there is a reproduction of the same painting, a maelstrom of blotches that suddenly makes him afraid. He closes his eyes for a moment.

Then he opens Impurity.