Peter Carey - Collected Stories

You said, you don’t look as if you work in insurance. And I wasn’t sure what you meant.

Border

I prepare for Jorge as the bus groans around the mountain road towards the border. It is full of old women and stops constantly to let them off. There are also a few men who wear squat hats, heavy farmers’ boots, and black umbrellas. The heat is intense. You gaze out the window and say nothing. We have not discussed the border or any of its implications. I do not believe in the war or Timoshenko.

The border post is at a break in the mountains. There is a small wooden bridge and two buildings that look like filling stations. Soldiers stand around the bridge with machine-guns hung casually from their limp shoulders. One kicks a stone. There is a woman and a child sitting in the dust by the customs house steps. The woman waves flies away from her face with a newspaper. The child sits stock still and stares at the bus with dull interest.

There are now only six of us in the bus. Three men with squat hats and black umbrellas and an old woman who carries two chickens by the legs, one in each hand. The chickens appear to be asleep.

We have been here before. Last Sunday. We wait for Jorge and the continuation of his little joke. You sit beside me in the bus and huddle into the window, alone with your reflection in the dusty fly-marked glass. I say, it is OK. You say, yes it is OK. Your eyes hide behind dark glasses and I see only my own face staring at me questioningly.

In the customs shed we form a line. There is an argument about the chickens and one is confiscated. A soldier tethers its feet to the bottom of an old hat stand from which a machine-gun hangs heavily.

Jorge stands at the head of the line looking along it like a sergeant major. He waves to us and waddles down, a riding crop tucked under his fat folded arm. The riding crop betrays his heroes but looks ludicrous and somehow obscene. He has two broken teeth which appear to be in an advanced state of decay.

You talk to him and he continues to look across at me. Finally you turn to me and say, he says it is OK … the war was nothing … an incident … they often have them.

You do not appear happy. Your forehead is wrinkled with a frown that I yearn to smooth with my palm.

I shake Jorge’s hand. I am immediately sorry. The chicken is in danger of upsetting the hat stand. The soldier removes the machine-gun and places it on the counter.

After

The bus travels through the flat grey granite as dusk settles. Large rocks pierce the gloomy surface of the earth. There are no trees but a few sheep who prefer the road to the country on either side, possibly because it is softer. It is cooler here on the other side of the border, on this side of the mountains.

Rain begins to fall lightly on the windows, making soft patterns in the dust. I open the window to smell the rain. You are frowning again. I hold my hand out the window until it is wet and then place my palm on your forehead.

I say, why do you frown?

You say, because I love you.

I say, why do you smile?

Because I love you.

Postscript

In Candalido I ask you about the first time we crossed the border and why you crossed separately.

You say, it is because of the underwear, because they always do that … at the small border posts … take out the underwear.

I say, why should I mind?

You say, it was dirty.

1.

Marie was critical of his ideas about flying. “You’re really in a bad way about this.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad way,” he said.

“It’s an obsession,” she said, “all this talk about flying and birds. I think you’re simply unhappy and want to escape.”

He lay on his back on the beach and watched a seagull ride the wind, dropping, sliding, turning. “I think it’d be good,” he said, “look at that seagull.”

Marie closed her eyes. “I’ve seen them,” she said. “They’re white and have orange beaks.” She was silent a moment. “And orange legs,” she added. Later she broke the silence to say, “If you could fly you’d want to do something else, like swim.”

“Seagulls can swim,” he said.

“Not under water.”

“They can dive under water,” he said, “but they can’t stay under for long.”

“That’s what I mean,” she said, “they can’t stay under for long. They can’t swim under water, not like a fish.”

“No,” he said, “that’s true, they’re not like fish.”

“Doesn’t that make you unhappy?”

“No,” he said, “I’m more interested in the flying.”

She turned on the sand. “You’re exasperating,” she said. “I know you’ll never be happy.”

“I’d be happy if I could fly.”

“That doesn’t seem very likely.”

“It isn’t impossible either.”

“No,” she sighed, “I guess it’s not impossible.”

2.

“You’re crying,” she said.

“No, not really.”

“I know why you’re crying. You’re crying because of your wife.”

“No, I don’t think that’s true.”

“I’m sure it’s true.”

“It’s not, really.”

“Then it’s because you can’t fly.”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I wasn’t crying.”

3.

After making love she was still restless. “What is it?” she asked him.

“What’s what?”

“You know.”

“No, really, I don’t. I feel good. Do you feel good?”

“Yes, I feel good, but what about you? What is it?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re staring at the ceiling in a funny way.”

“I’m lying on my back. I’m staring at the ceiling because I’m lying on my back.”

“You’re thinking about flying,” she said accusingly.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can tell you are. I always know when you’re thinking about flying. Will you stop, please.”

“OK,” he said.

Later she said, “You were thinking about it, weren’t you? Tell me honestly.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t think I was.”

“You frighten me when you think about flying. Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise,” he said.

4.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

“It’s a water pump,” he said.

“It has wings.”

“No, they’re not wings. They’re the blades of the wheel. They lift the water. It’s a water pump.”

“I think it’s about flying,” she said. “You promised me you wouldn’t.”

“It’s a water pump,” he said, “really.”

“Well,” she said, “in any case, there are little eggs all over the cabbages. I came in to tell you.”

5.

No one had said anything about flying for a long time. They were drying the dishes one night when Marie broached the subject: “If you built something for flying in,” she said, “just say you did …”

“Yes,” he said.

“Well, if you did, how many people would it carry?”

“The two of us.”

“It could fly with the two of us?”

“Of course.”

She looked happy and kissed him suddenly. Her hands left lumps of soap suds in his hair. Then she became thoughtful. “If you built it,” she said, “would there be room for the dog?”

“Yes,” he said, “that could be done. I hadn’t thought of it, but that could be done.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult?”

“No. It’d be easy.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said.

6.

“Well,” he said, “where do you want to go?”

Marie buckled up her helmet and picked up the dog. “I don’t know,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”