Читать книгу The Foreign Girls - Sergio Olguin - Страница 25

She woke up at first light. Frida was sleeping deeply. Verónica breathed in the smell of her again. It had been an incredible night. She wondered how it would be when they woke up in the morning. She didn’t like the idea of waking up next to Frida and talking about inanities. Or rather: she was scared to think that Frida might not like waking up next to her and having to talk about everyday things. Better to go now, in the afterglow of their kisses, their caresses. Yes, better to go. She picked up her clothes, or at least the few items she could find in the dark, and went to her room. There was no sound in the house. Was Petra back? Could she have heard them?

Verónica went to her bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror: her hair was all over the place, her expression was dazed, as if she had smoked a joint, and there was a bruise under her left breast. She smiled to think that Frida was unlikely to have fared any better. She drank a glass of water, went for a piss and climbed into bed.

At midday she got up. She put on shorts and a T-shirt and went to the kitchen. Petra and Frida were already there having coffee. Petra poured her a cup and they all sat around the table. There was no word or gesture from Frida to hint at what had taken place between them. But this time such behaviour didn’t surprise Verónica, so she concentrated on enjoying her coffee and the musical lilt of Petra’s voice as she talked them through the events of the previous night. She had gone to meet the boy at the house of his parents, who were away in Buenos Aires.

“There’s nothing like young men. They’re tireless. He barely let me sleep. At dawn I had to ask him to call me a taxi because I had nothing left to give.”85

“So what plans have you made with this teenager? Are you going to take him to the zoo, or to a museum?”

“He’s not really a teenager. He’ll be twenty in two weeks. I haven’t made any plans – how could I? I told him I was travelling onwards with my friends, that we were bound to see each other again in the future.”

“So are you thinking of seeing him again?”

“I don’t think so, but he seemed smitten and I felt bad. It’s been a long time since a man looked at me with such love.”

“A man … a boy, you mean.”

“Whatever. He insisted on taking my mobile number and I said it would be better if he wrote to me, that I don’t like talking on the phone.”

The day spun out its usual routine of pool, food and sun worshipping. Verónica observed everything as though taking part in a game, as if she knew Frida was waiting for her to react. She wasn’t willing to give her that pleasure, despite being willing to give her every other pleasure that came to mind. As she dozed on the lounger, Verónica thought that she’d had a very good time with Frida the previous night but that, save for the minor details, it hadn’t been all that different from being with a man. And this difference was nothing to do with the presence or absence of a cock, but with a certain intimacy that she could share with a woman but had never managed to achieve with a man. That was what she had most liked about Frida. That feeling of a shared essence. There was no artifice between them like when she was with a guy. The word honesty came to mind. She wondered if perhaps it was a more honest experience – but that word didn’t seem quite right either. It wasn’t a question of honesty but of comprehension. A woman would always understand another woman better.

For dinner they ate oven fries with hamburgers made by Petra and drank beer before moving on to vodka and whisky. 86They listened to music, went out to the garden to gaze at the night sky and at some point Frida said she was going to bed because she was very drunk, she had had too much. Petra and she were alone again. Verónica asked if she really believed the boy was in love with her.

“At that age it’s all love and sex. And I sometimes feel a bit old for both those things.”

They also went to bed soon afterwards. The next morning Verónica woke up feeling annoyed that she didn’t know what Frida was playing at, so the first thing she said when she saw the girls in the living room was that they would leave for Yacanto del Valle the next day. They both agreed.

Perhaps as a result of this announcement, Frida seemed much more affectionate, at one point walking over to Verónica to give her a shoulder rub. When they crossed paths in the kitchen, she gave her a quick kiss on the lips as she took drinks to the living room. A couple of times she shot her complicit looks, and Verónica imagined they would be together again that night. So she was surprised when Frida and Petra both agreed that they would like to have dinner out that evening. She had expected that they would all eat together in the living room, as on the previous nights, especially since this was their last day in the house. Although she put up mild resistance, Verónica didn’t want to push the idea of staying in. Instead she went off to her room in a bad mood and struggled to concentrate on Hemingway’s stories. Then she had a shower and put on moisturizer and clean clothes. Jeans and a shirt.

As they were about to leave, she asked if either of them could drive so that she didn’t have to be the one watching what she drank again. If not, they could order a taxi. Frida and Petra looked at her with surprise: they both drove and didn’t mind not drinking. It was decided that Verónica would drive on the way there and Petra on the way back. They ate 87in a restaurant that had looked nice from outside, but the food wasn’t great and the wine was very expensive. Petra drank only one glass. At about midnight they returned to the house and Petra opened a bottle of wine in the kitchen. Frida wanted a vodka and went to the study where the drinks were. Verónica followed her there.

“I’m impressed by how well stocked your cousin’s house is,” said Frida, as she hesitated between a bottle of Absolut and another of Finlandia. Verónica watched her from the doorway.

“Frida.”

“Yes?” Still hesitating between the bottles, Frida answered without turning round.

“I was going to say ‘we need to talk’ and now that sounds pathetic, even to me.”

Frida turned round with the bottle of Absolut in her hand and, putting on a serious voice, said, “Verónica, we need to talk.”

“See? It sounds stupid.”

“Shall I bring a bottle of whisky for you?”

Verónica nodded and walked towards Frida, who now had a bottle in each hand. Verónica kissed her. Not a very long kiss. Frida had no chance to put the bottles down or make any kind of gesture.

“Looks like you don’t want to talk after all,” she said, and laughed.

“It’s the first time I’ve ever tried to kiss a girl. Don’t make it difficult for me.”

Frida put the bottles down on a cabinet. “You are a beautiful soul.”

“I already know that. Now explain to me what we’re doing.”

“Enjoying ourselves, having a good time.” 88

“And Petra?”

“I imagine she’s having a good time too.”

“Are you two a couple?”

“No, we aren’t. And neither are you and I.”

“I know we’re not. But I want to know if you two are having the same sort of good time we did the other night. If today or tomorrow it’s my turn with her, or if we all have a good time together, like playing cards or something.”

“Petra prefers men. I like women. That doesn’t mean we don’t get on, or that we haven’t had good times together, to keep using this metaphor we’ve adopted. All three of us together? It could happen. Petra likes you. She thinks you’re great. Although I know my limitations: I like one person at a time.”

“And the day before yesterday it was my turn.”

“Is that a reproach? Next you’ll be telling me you were drunk.”

“I was a bit drunk, but that had nothing to do with it. I’m not used to this kind of thing and it’s —”

“Yes, I know, it’s the first time you’ve had to ask a woman to explain what’s going on. Think of it this way: it’s just the same as asking a man. Awkward.”

Frida laughed again and put her hand on Verónica’s face. Then she kissed her. “Shall I take you to the living room and get you drunk?”

If the question contained the promise of something more interesting, the reality was going to bring any such illusion crashing down to earth. They drank (wine, vodka and whisky, Petra, Frida and Verónica, respectively), they chatted, they listened to music. After an hour, Frida stood up and said she was going to bed, since they would be leaving early the next morning. Petra went soon afterwards and Verónica thought of following her to see if the Italian went to her room or Frida’s, 89but decided this would be a petulant gesture. She stayed in the living room on her own. She wasn’t tired yet. Verónica thought about the next day. They would go to Yacanto del Valle, she would meet the man of her dreams, she would spend the rest of her time off there or she’d continue on her trip with the guy in tow and the experience with Frida would just be something that had happened on vacation. Frida would send emails asking to see her again and Verónica would have to explain that they could have a drink some time, but that she shouldn’t get her hopes up. I’m rapidly turning into a massive jerk, she told herself.

Suddenly she remembered the dead rodent she had seen a few nights ago. What had happened to it? She hadn’t seen it the morning after finding it. Could the girls have picked it up and thrown it in the garbage? If so, it was strange neither of them had said anything. The animal’s appearance was too alarming not to mention. There was always the possibility that the disembowelled animal had never existed. That it had been a figment of her imagination. A dream, a nightmare, a message she had yet to decipher. As she walked out of the door leading to the garden, she felt as though she might find the animal’s body tossed on to the veranda. But there was nothing there. Just the chirping of crickets, a few stars above, the rustling of branches and the sensation that someone (a human, an animal, a divine being from another world?) was watching her from the shadows. Fearfully, she retreated.