The Wedding Party Read Online Free PDF

said:
    â€˜â€œNever speak to strange men,” my English governess used to say. No good can ever come of it. But it isn’t always quite true, is it? It’s been a great comfort to talk to you.’
    He laughed and sipped at his wine. ‘When I came out of that bar I didn’t exactly see myself in the role of comforter.’
    â€˜Well, here you are anyway.’
    As she said this she leaned forward, put her arms on the table and looked him quietly full in the face. For a second or two he caught sight of the shadow between her breasts. Against the dark green-and-purple of her dress the skin of the upper curves of them looked paler than ever.
    For some time after that they sat without talking, simply sipping wine and looking at each other. All the time he felt a gentle tension building up inside himself, whereas she, by contrast, seemed to grow a little more calm, the cynical restlessness dropping away.
    It was she who broke the silence at last by saying:
    â€˜I don’t think I’ve ever met a man before who was interested in butterflies.’
    â€˜Oh! I just like them, that’s all.’
    â€˜I think you’re a sensitive person. By the way, what is your name?’
    He told her. ‘Mike. And you?’
    â€˜Heidi.’
    A quick spasm of hunger, kindled by the wine, suddenly rippled through him.
    â€˜Would you care to have something to eat?’ he said. ‘They serve a few things here. Or couldn’t you face it after that feast on the steamer?’
    â€˜I didn’t eat much. Yes: perhaps a sandwich would be nice.’
    â€˜I’ll call the girl.’
    Then she said: ‘And afterwards perhaps we might walk a little way and listen to the waterfalls?’
    â€˜I hate to bring up the subject of the party again,’ he said, ‘but are you really not going back?’
    â€˜Really not.’
    â€˜In that case I’ve got a better idea. We’ll ask the girl to pack the sandwiches and I’ll buy a bottle of Niersteiner and borrow some glasses. It’s such a warm evening. There’s a hut up there.’
    For some distance up the path going up by the waterfall there were lights at intervals but beyond the last of the houses and the wooden cattle barns the steep little valley was all darkness except for a great spread of summer stars and the candescent flash of the thundering falls.
    As the sound of the falls finally died away a great silence clenched itself on the hillside, broken only by an occasional plop! of water falling from a bough in woods still drenched with rain. In that profound singing silence he stopped once and said:
    â€˜Do you notice anything strange?’
    â€˜No. I don’t think so. What?’
    â€˜You can’t hear the water any more. You see, the stream comes out of the mountainside.’
    The hut was no more than an open wooden shelter. The air was damp and warm and sharp with the odour of pines. The sandwiches, of ham and
Leberwurst
, were laid on thick open panels of half-dark bread.
    â€˜Venice. Tell me about Venice.’
    He talked for a time about Venice. It was always about to change, everyone was always telling you, but really it never did. Since the war he had been there half a dozen times and really it hardly changed at all. He told her of an island, across the lagoon, where a big old
trattoria
, cool as a cellar, sat in a garden of vines, oleanders and pomegranate trees. You could eat in the shade of great walnut trees and drink ice-cold wine with peaches floating in it.
    â€˜That sounds exciting.’
    â€˜It is. Why don’t you go and see it for yourself?’
    â€˜I!—’
    â€˜With me, I mean. I’d go tomorrow if—’
    She gave a positive crow of laughter.
    â€˜We meet on the hotel staircase. Total strangers. You English, I German. And in ten minutes you are asking me to run away with you.’
    â€˜And why not?’
    â€˜Eat your sandwich. You said how