Let the Old Dreams Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

course. People can be this happy.
    Tina made a conscious effort not to hate her neighbours because they were happy. For a moment she sat there at the desk staring out of the window and wishing that Elisabet’s child would be stillborn, just so that she could have a taste of the other things life serves up.
    Then Tina excised the thought because she wasn’t that kind of person.
    But Tina is exactly that kind of person.
    No I’m not. Haven’t I promised to drive them to the hospital when the time comes, if I’m home?
    You’re hoping you won’t be home. You don’t want to do it.
    Because I don’t like hospitals, that’s all.
    You saw it so clearly: Elisabet bent double by the washing line, clutching her belly. The sheet torn free, entangled in her flailing arms. Her screams, her—
    Stop it, stop it, stop it!
    Tina got up and pressed her hands to her temples. The wind, gaining strength, tore a flurry of leaves from the trees, set them whirling in the air outside the window. The small television aerial on the roof shook and swung like a tuning fork, sending a single long, mournful note through the house as if it were a sound box.
    With her hands still pressed to her temples Tina fell to her knees and sank down until her forehead was resting on the floor.
    Help me, God. I’m so unhappy.
    No reply. Prayer requires humility, self abasement. That was what her mother had told her in front of a picture in the church.
    The picture showed Jesus and three fishermen. They were out at sea in a small boat. There was a storm. The three fishermen, portrayed in the time-honoured way, with seamen’s caps and beards, had fallen to their knees in the boat and were gazing at the bright figure in the stern.
    Her mother explained what the picture meant: the fishermen had placed their fate in the hands of the Lord. They had let go the oars and the rudder, abandoned all attempts to save themselves from mortal danger. Now only Jesus could save them. And that is exactly what man must do if his prayers are to have any power: let go of everything, hand it over to the Lord.
    Tina had disliked the idea even at that early age, and as an adult she had decided that holding onto the rudder and the oars was her preferred option, not falling to her knees.
    But help me anyway.
    It took another ten minutes before there was a knock at the door. Roland was standing outside with an umbrella.
    ‘Are you there?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes,’ Tina replied. ‘Where else would I be?’
    Roland had no answer to that. He held out the umbrella towards her, exposing himself to the rain.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ve locked her in my bedroom.’
    ‘You take the umbrella,’ said Tina, holding up the towel she had used to dry her hair. ‘I’ve got this.’
    ‘Don’t be silly. Here.’ He shook the umbrella, wanting her to take it. The rain had already soaked his hair, plastering it to his scalp.
    ‘Roland, you’re getting wet. Take the umbrella and get inside.’
    ‘I’m already wet. Here.’
    ‘I’ve got the towel.’
    Roland stared at her for a few seconds. Then he closed the umbrella, placed it at her feet and walked back to the house. Tina waited thirty seconds then followed him, using the towel to protect her. When she was a few metres away from the cottage, she stopped.
    Silly. Now who’s being silly?
    But she still didn’t take the umbrella. The rain was so heavy that it had soaked through the towel before she got back inside the house. Roland was standing in the hallway pulling off his wet clothes so that he could drape them over the stove. He pulled a face when he saw her arrive without the umbrella, but said nothing.
    She put her blouse on a hanger in the bathroom and thought it was going to be one of those evenings. Just as they hadn’t huddled together to share the umbrella, so they had no way of dealing with conflict.
    They didn’t
want
to solve their problems, so disagreements always ended up in a mutual silence that went on until it ebbed