Free Alice by Judith Hermann Page B

would have to force herself to go into the water. He had said, But you’ll go into the water in spite of that. And you won’t regret it. You’ll never regret it.
    What did he mean by that? And what did it mean for everything else? Alice’s feet left the bottom; she dove down and swam out.

III
Richard

    Margaret phoned saying she needed cigarettes and water. Otherwise nothing, but she really did need the cigarettes and the water. It was urgent.
    What kind of cigarettes?
    Those long, slender ones, for women; Slims. And carbonated water.
    Nothing else, really?
    No, really, nothing else. Thanks.
    I’ll be over in about an hour, Alice said. I’ll hurry.
    It was an afternoon in early summer. A Saturday. Actually Alice
had
been intending to do something else, nothing specific, just something else. It was also Raymond’s day off.I have to go now, she said to Raymond, and Raymond who was lying on the bed, reading, only nodded absent-mindedly and didn’t ask any questions. She put on flat shoes and a light-coloured jacket. She didn’t really need the jacket, didn’t know when she’d be back, maybe late; it might be colder by then. She stood next to the bed, looking down at Raymond’s bare back, at the band of tattooing on his left arm, decorations and words in indigo blue on his always-pale skin. She said, Raymond – he turned round – I’m leaving now.
    He nodded. Don’t come back too late. Give them my best wishes.
    Alice put on her sunglasses before she stepped outside. She hadn’t been out of the house all day. The street was teeming with people; she held her breath. Lots of people, sitting at long rows of tables under awnings or sun umbrellas beneath the heavy green trees. Talking to one another, without let-up. Nodding, talking, gesticulating people. Loud laughter. The wooden ship in the middle of the park was occupied by a cluster of children. Crying, screaming, overheated children. A nimbus of mothers sitting on benches surrounding the ship. Alice walked by, her hands in the pockets of her too-warm jacket; there were coins in the pockets, her keys, the cellphone, an old movie ticket, sweet wrappers. The sound of basketballs hitting the fence of the basketball court, a sound that, now that it was summertime, could sometimes be heard as early as six in the morning – at six a.m. somebody was already on the court tossing a ball into the basketor against the fence, again and again. Sometimes it woke Alice up. Still tired but astonished at the morning light on the white walls of the room.
    The way to Margaret’s, to Margaret and Richard’s, led past the flower stand in the Prenzlauer Allee station. The station hall was large, and there under its arched windows were flowers in plastic vases, an amphitheatre of flowers, in front of which, on a folding chair in the exact centre, sat the Vietnamese flower seller. Sitting there day in and day out. The hall was shadowy; the colours of the flowers were dark, the dark white of lilies, the dark pink of gerbera daisies, and dark iris purple. Chamomile. Snapdragons. Sunflowers. The Vietnamese flower seller was asleep. She slept the sleep of travellers; whenever her head would fall to one side, she would straighten up again with her eyes still closed. In her dreams, Alice thought, the trains come and go; it must be a constant vague noise. Alice stood there, undecided; waking up the flower seller was out of the question. Actually she didn’t want to bring any flowers today, only water and cigarettes, nothing else. There was nothing else she could bring them.
    The last time she visited Richard and Margaret she’d bought peonies at this same stand, having first thought about it for a long time: Seven peonies, please, and don’t add anything. An uneven number, a superstition. Five were too few, and she didn’t have enough money for nine. Richard didn’t have a vase. Margaret, who was now staying with