You Won t Make It

YOU WON’T MAKE IT
                перевела Мария Миллер Стоун

She lies with her eyes closed, thinking, He’s coming today, at twelve.
Suddenly, a comforter is being yanked off her. “Wake up!”
She opens her eyes and sees the gray walls of the ward, the metal beds. A nurse is drifting from one bed to another, yanking the comforters off the patients who vainly wish to continue sleeping.
She sits up and swings her feet to the floor. It’s seven a.m. Five more hours before he arrives.
The other patients also wake up. Everyone has the same baggy shirts. Threadbare man’s slippers are placed under their beds. She has the same ones. She looks at her slippers. Their rigid sole is attached by tiny nails. There’s a nail peak sticking out of her right shoe. With each step she takes, the nail cuts into her foot. But she doesn’t want them replaced. The warehouse woman only has size twelve. These ones, even if with a nail, are an eight. He shouldn’t see her wearing size twelve slippers.
She goes to the bathroom. There she stands gawking at the robe-clad backs, waiting for her turn.
Then she joins the slow-moving cavalcade, which goes around in the corridor, always circle-wise. There’s a window at each end of the corridor. There’s a bar behind the window. Outside one of the windows, there’s a young dwarf birch whose leaves had just turned green, and the other window overlooks the gray checkpoint booth. There, through that door, he’s supposed to emerge in five hours. In the middle of the corridor, hangs a clock in a cheap wooden frame.
The round. Another round. The birch. The clock. The booth. The clock. Seven twenty. The booth. Seven twenty two. The birch. Seven twenty four… The nail. The nail cuts into my toe with every step. Seven twenty eight. The birch. The booth… Two minutes to nine…
“Breakfast time!”
She stands at the end of the line, waiting for a metal cereal bowl to come through the trapdoor. She gets her bowl and takes a seat at the table. She tastes her cereal, thinking, He’ll be here at noon. She rises from the table.
A ward attendant blocks her way.
“Hey, where are you going? Finish your cereal.”
Everyone had his breakfast. She’s the only one sitting at the table.
“Eat,” says the attendant. “Eat!”
The round. Another round. Twenty minutes to nine. The birch. The booth… Two minutes after ten… Eight minutes after eleven…
She stills by the window and watches the narrow gray door of the booth. In fifty two minutes, he’s supposed to materialize there.
“Waiting?” asks one of the patients behind her back.
“Waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“Waiting.”
“Waiting?”
“Waiting.”
The checkpoint door opens. The first visitor has arrived. It’s not him. The front side of the door has faded. The inner side of the door is dark gray.
Light gray. The door yanks open. Dark gray. It’s not him. Light gray. Dark gray. Not him… Light gray. Dark gray. Not him… Light gray. Dark gray…
It’s him!!!
There’s a bunch of lilacs in his hands. He looks up, at the window where, behind the glass, there’s her pale face, and he hold the flowers aloft, saluting her, raising it high above his head. She waves at him and dashes towards the entrance.
Oh God, I love him so much!
The door swings open. He steps in, already a little tanned, smiles happily, reaching out the flowers. She clutches them to her chest. Those flowers belong in another world, the world where there’s no wandering in circles, and suggest that that world still exists. Even if without her. The vernal, fragrant, beautiful world.
She looks at him, so beaming, stunningly handsome, standing there before her when, suddenly, a bad feeling builds up inside her.
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Yeah, sorry, I dropped by for a couple minutes. We’re going out of town today.”
“No,” she says.
He looks at her intently then says, “We can sit down for fifteen minutes.”
They head towards the window. He slouches into an armchair; she sits down on a chair opposite him.
Outside, the birch is lit with sunshine. Today is one of those spring days when the girls would wear sandals for the first time since winter.
“Who are you going with?” she asks, watching him tensely.
“With Oscar.”
With that letch, she thinks.
“You’re going with girls?”
“No. Just the two of us.”
“You’re going with girls!”
“Just the two of us.”
“No, I know it – you’re going with girls.”
“Listen, you already said that…”
“No, you already said that!”
He rises from the armchair. “I have to go now. Oscar’s waiting in the car.”
She doesn’t reply. He turns and leaves.
She stands there, staring in his wake. The door closes behind him.
God, I hate him so much, she thinks. I wish he died! He’s with them now. I hate him! He’s getting in the car. He’s starting the engine. The car takes off… Oscar’s sitting in the backseat. Next to him is what’s-her-name, Silvie. No, Malle... No, it’s Silvie. She’s wearing white sandals. And next to him…Who’s sitting next to him? She’s a blur. I can’t make out her face. I’ve never seen her before. For all I know, she’s also wearing white sandals. God, I hate her! I hate Oscar, Silvie, those white sandals, and this stranger. But above all that – I hate him. Yes, him! No, you’re not going to make it there!
“Needle time!”
She flinches then obediently stands up and follows the nurse to the treatment room.
They got off, she thinks. They escaped from me. I’ll never see them again.
After the needle, she resumes her spot by the window.
I have to get them! I’ll find them… Where…where are they? There they are! There he is, there’s Oscar, and there’s Silvie. I only can’t make out the girl sitting next to him. Gotcha! He’s overtaking. Overtaking. An oncoming car… You’ll never torment me again! An oncoming car…He passes… Oh no, you’re not going to make it! There! He’s overtaking again! An oncoming car…Oh God, what am I doing… No! Please not! PLEASE NOT!
***
Light gray. Dark gray. It’s not him… What have I done… Light… Dark. Not him. I killed him. Light. Dark. How could I? I don’t want to live… Not him…Him? It’s him!!!
“Hi.”
“Hi!”
She takes in his grim face. “What happened?”
He’s quiet. They approach the window and sit down.
“How was your trip?”
Silence.
“What happened?”
“I didn’t make it there. There was an accident.”
“An accident?”
“I didn’t notice the oncoming car. You know, I was thinking about you. And suddenly, I clearly saw you before my eyes.”
“Oh… So how’s Oscar and Silvie?”
He sighs heavily.
“They’re fine, more or less. Rita has a minor bruise. I sent the car to repairs.”
“What about your girlfriend?”
“What girlfriend? You’re my girlfriend.”
“So there wasn’t anyone with you? I’m sorry!”
“For what, honey? No, there was nothing with me. I mean no one…”