Rodney Whitaker - The Summer of Katya

“With pleasure.” I signaled the waiter.

“I should warn you,” Paul said, “that she has the gastronomic indiscretion of a Pygmy. I wonder we have any furniture left in the house.”

“Oh, really, Paul!”

“Don’t ‘oh, really’ me. I’ve seen you glance covetously at the ottoman when you’re feeling peckish. Don’t try to deny it. Do you know what she did on the way here, Jean-Marc? With total disregard of my social embarrassment, she pushed her way through a hedge and snatched an apple from a tree—a vulgar apple from a living tree! And she ate it. Fell upon the wretched vegetable and manducated it. Chomp, grind, munch, gnash… and all that was left was a disgusting core.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “she has an appetite for life that ought not to be denied expression.” A slight movement of his eyebrows told me that he had read my meaning.

“It was delicious, actually,” Katya said. “A little green and tart, but delicious.”

“Then what did she do?” Paul asked, all mock outrage. “In emulation of perfidious Eve, she offered to fetch one for me. For me! Can you picture Paul Etienne Jean-Marie de Treville trudging along the road, pushing pome fruits into his mouth? Then for the next two or three hundred kilometers she babbled on about the glories of nature, cooing over garish weeds that choked the roadside—”

“Wildflowers,” Katya clarified.

“—and pretending that the damned things had names (both Latin and vulgar) and that there was some unstipulated virtue in my learning them. As though I intended ever again to submit my body to the tortures of an overland trek! Now, I will concede that some of the names had a kind of ironic rightness… goatsbreath, frogsbane, stenchpoppy—”

“He’s making those up.”

“—but others were as stickily saccharine as her gushing enthusiasm. Sweetheart’s joy, love’s sigh, passion’s heart, lust’s elbow—”

“Didn’t you promise us that you had to run off to perform errands?” Katya asked.

“And indeed I have. I must haggle with the local merchants about the storage and shipment of our impedimenta. You two will have to suffer along without my company for a quarter of an hour. But I warn you, Montjean. Feed her quickly, or be prepared to stand guard over treasured family knickknacks, porcelain vases, umbrella racks, that sort of thing. Anyone who would eat an apple in its raw state, with the stench of tree all over it, would eat anything.” And with a wave of his hand he departed down the arcade.

Katya smiled after him.

“Your brother seems chipper enough,” I said, after the waiter had brought her plat du jour and departed.

“Hm-m. We had a delightful walk. He knows how it makes me laugh when he plays at being shocked and horrified by everything pertaining to nature.”

“Katya, I am so sorry that things came up to interfere with our plans. I know I’ve ruined your father’s hopes to attend the fкte d’Alos. You did get my message, I hope?”

“Yes, we did. And your Dr. Gros… what a charming man.”

“You found him charming?”

“Hm-m. Don’t you?”

“If I were asked to list a thousand words describing him, ‘charming’ would appear nowhere.”

“Why is that?”

“Because his philandering has cost me two days with you. Two precious days, when we have so few that—”

“—Don’t let’s talk about the time we shall not have together. It’s pointless and saddening. Let’s talk about the time we shall have. Our trip to the fкte d’Alos is not ruined. We’ve simply decided to delay it until tomorrow. And I’ve heard that the last day of a fкte is the most exciting anyway.”

“Well… it’s the least inhibited. It’s quite common for birth dates in Basque villages to fall nine months after the last day of the fкte, with hasty marriages sandwiched in between.”

“Speaking of sandwiches, I’ve planned out the picnic we’ll have on our way. We’ll eat out in the fields—perhaps in an orchard.”

“I’m sure Paul is bursting with anticipation.”

“Oh, he’ll grouse and complain to amuse us, but I don’t care how he feels about it. We must take advantage of this magnificent weather. As soon as the idea occurred to me, I had to come into Salies to tell you. When I asked Paul if I might, he was hesitant, but then he offered to accompany me. I know you don’t like him, but he’s always been very kind to me. And, do you know what? I really think he likes you… in his own reluctant way. Does that surprise you?”

“It does indeed. He’s uniquely skillful at concealing his affection.”

“Oh, Paul’s like that.” She smiled at me, and my heart expanded in my chest.

“I thought about you constantly all through yesterday, Katya.”

“Constantly? Your attention wasn’t on your work for even a single second?”

“Well, almost constantly, then.”

“Relatively constantly?”

“Almost relatively constantly, at least.”

“I’m pleased. I thought about you, too. Not quite constantly, or even relatively constantly, but often… and with pleasure. I sat for hours down in my library at the bottom of the garden, reading a book… well, not exactly reading it. More reading at it. Staring through the words and letting my mind wander. The garden was so lovely… tangled, overgrown… the warmth of the sun on my face… the somnolent hum of insects. It was so peaceful.”

“And your little ghost? Was she peaceful too?”

She set her fork down and looked at me. “How on earth did you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That the young girl was… not happy, exactly… peaceful. Several times I felt her presence. Like a melody sung just out of hearing. But there wasn’t the sweet sadness that I used to feel flowing from her. There was a kind of… of muted joy. But how could you have known about that?”

“I didn’t really.”

“What are you trying to convince us you didn’t do?” Paul asked, appearing from behind the arcades and joining us at the table. “Don’t believe him, Katya. I am sure he did it. It’s just like him to do that sort of thing—whatever it was. Tell me, do you think the waiter might be prompted to give me a glass of the fluid that passes locally for wine?”

I beckoned the waiter and gestured for the wine. “Would you like some coffee, Katya?”

“Yes, please. No, on second thought, I must go around to the shops. There are a few things I want to get for tomorrow’s picnic.” She rose. “No, don’t get up. Thank you for the luncheon, Jean-Marc. That coat rack was particularly delicious.”

Paul and I smiled her away; then I turned to him. “Katya tells me she finally gave in to your begging and arranged a picnic for tomorrow.”

“I can hardly wait. Crouching uncomfortably on the ground, nibbling at dry sandwiches, dust blowing into the food, to say nothing of the small creatures that will attend as uninvited guests. In my view, eating out of doors is like fornicating on a busy boulevard. The basic biological impulses should be satisfied in private—or at least in company of a few understanding friends.”

The waiter brought his wine. “Ah,” he said, draining the glass then shuddering with a grimace. “It’s sometimes difficult to recall that, with the benefit of a few incantations, this swill can become the blood of Christ.”

“Katya tells me we shall all be going to the fкte d’Alos after all.”

“Katya tells you everything, it would seem. Yes, we shall be going. Father is looking forward to it with the anticipation of a child.”

I was silent for a moment. “Paul,” I began—

“—There’s something in your tone that suggests you’re preparing to give me advice… the only thing genuinely more blessed to give than receive.”