Last Night Read Online Free PDF Page B

times over the years, believing that love never died, dreaming foolishly of seeing him again, of his returning, in the way of old songs. To hurry, to almost run down the noontime street again, the sound of her heels on the sidewalk. To see the door of the apartment open . . .
    If you are coming down the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you.
As far as Chô-fu-Sa
    There she sat by the window with her young face that had a weariness in it, a slight distaste for things, even, one might imagine for oneself. After a while she went to the desk.
    — Do you happen to have anything by Michael Brennan? she asked.
    — Michael Brennan, the woman said. We’ve had them, but he takes them away because unworthy people read them, he says. I don’t think there’re any now. Perhaps when he comes back from the city.
    — He lives in the city?
    — He lives just down the road. We had all of his books at one time. Do you know him?
    She would have liked to ask more but she shook her head.
    — No, she said. I’ve just heard the name.
    — He’s a poet, the woman said.
    ON THE BEACH she sat by herself. There was almost no one. In her bathing suit she lay back with the sun on her face and knees. It was hot and the sea calm. She preferred to lie up by the dunes with the waves bursting, to listen while they crashed like the final chords of a symphony except they went on and on. There was nothing as fine as that.
    She came out of the ocean and dried herself like the gypsy girl, ankles caked with sand. She could feel the sun burnishing her shoulders. Hair wet, deep in the emptiness of days, she walked her bicycle up to the road, the dirt velvety beneath her feet.
    She did not go home the usual way. There was little traffic. The noon was bottle-green, large houses among the trees and wide farmland, like a memory, behind.
    She knew the house and saw it far off, her heart beating strangely. When she stopped, it was casually, with the bike tilting to one side and she half-seated on it as if taking a rest. How beautiful a lone woman is, in a white summer shirt and bare legs. Pretending to adjust the bicycle’s chain she looked at the house, its tall windows, water stains high on the roof. There was a gardener’s shed, abandoned, saplings growing in the path that led to it. The long driveway, the sea porch, everything was empty.
    Walking slowly, aware of how brazen she was, she went toward the house. Her urge was to look in the windows, no more than that. Still, despite the silence, the complete stillness, that was forbidden.
    She walked farther. Suddenly someone rose from the side porch. She was unable to utter a sound or move.
    It was a dog, a huge dog higher than her waist, coming toward her, yellow-eyed. She had always been afraid of dogs, the Alsatian that had unexpectedly turned on her college roommate and torn off a piece of her scalp. The size of this one, its lowered head and slow, deliberate stride.
    Do not show fear, she knew that. Carefully she moved the bicycle so that it was between them. The dog stopped a few feet away, its eyes directly on her, the sun along its back. She did not know what to expect, a sudden short rush.
    — Good boy, she said. It was all she could think of. Good boy.
    Moving cautiously, she began wheeling the bicycle toward the road, turning her head away slightly so as to appear unworried. Her legs felt naked, the bare calves. They would be ripped open as if by a scythe. The dog was following her, its shoulders moving smoothly, like a kind of machine. Somehow finding the courage, she tried to ride. The front wheel wavered. The dog, high as the handlebars, came nearer.
    — No, she cried. No!
    After a moment or two, obediently, he slowed or veered off. He was gone.
    She rode as if freed, as if flying through blocks of sunlight and high, solemn tunnels of trees. And then she saw him again. He was following—not exactly following, since he was some distance ahead.