Woman of the Dead Read Online Free PDF

says.
    ‘We’ll manage, my big girl.’
    ‘What, Mama? What will we manage?’
    ‘Come here, you two.’
    ‘What’s the matter with Papa, Mama? I want him to come back.’
    ‘Papa won’t be coming back.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Nela, don’t you know that Papa is a prince?’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So princes ride through the forest fighting dragons.’
    ‘Dragons aren’t real, Mama.’
    ‘Oh yes, Nela, there are dragons, and your Papa has gone away to fight them. Your Papa is a very brave prince.’
    ‘Why was there all that blood, Mama?’
    ‘That was dragon’s blood. The dragon wounded your Papa, but he’s better again now. Now he is riding through the forest on his white horse.’
    ‘You’re telling stories, Mama.’
    ‘Imagine it, Nela, think of him smiling as he rides.’
    ‘Papa doesn’t have a horse, he has a motorbike. And the motorbike is broken. It was lying in the road. Just like Papa.’
    ‘Your Papa is all right.’
    ‘Papa is dead.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Yes, Mama. Papa is a corpse now too.’
    ‘Hush.’
    ‘They’ve just brought him back.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘Papa is in the cool room.’
    Blum jumps up. Nela’s words are like ice-cold water into which she is falling, nearly drowning, while her heart almost stops because it hurts so much, because everything is suddenly real again. Because the idea that the children have seen their dead father is like a blow in the face. It mustn’t be real. Not like that, not before she has done what needs doing. She must get up, she must think clearly, she must see to everything, bring the sinking ship back on course. Where is Karl? Where’s Reza? Why does everything hurt so much?
    Mark. She is screaming inside, she is weeping, pleading.
Come back, please. I need you. I can’t do it without you. I can’t. The children. How am I to do it without you? I don’t know. Please, Mark. Look at them. They’re so small. Look at them clinging to me. I can’t do it, Mark. I can’t do it without you.
But all the same she gets dressed and goes into the kitchen with the children. All the same, she opens the fridge and makes them something to eat. All the same, she acts as if she had everything back under control. Never mind how loudly she is screaming inside, never mind if everything in her is collapsing; every piece of skin crying out, every centimetre of flesh. It hurts as if she were being torn apart by a herd of wild beasts. But she spreads butter on her toast and even tries to smile, to soothe the children’s fears. She mustn’t cry now. Mustn’t lie there motionless and desperate, never to stand up again, as if she were dead.
    They are sitting side by side at the table. The children are munching away; Blum watches them. Everything will be all right, she says, knowing that’s not true. Nothing will ever be all right again. Everything that was once all right is now lying in a cool room on the ground floor. He will never read the children a story again, never play with them again, never make them another bonfire in the garden. No more singing together, no more suppers together, no more outings, no holidays on the boat. The children were so happy when he put their life jackets on. In her mind’s eye Blum sees them on the loveliest beaches in Croatia, a month ago. They ran into the water, he tossed them up in the air, they were so happy, and nothing threatened their little world, Mama and Papa were there, and when they went to sleep Mama and Papa sat out on deck, drinking wine. She heard their voices, their giggling, there was such confidence that no storm in the world could make their boat capsize. Love was there, everything was all right. By night on the sea.
    ‘Do you still want more?’
    ‘Lots more.’
    ‘My dear young lady, you need to get your sea legs.’
    ‘I’m on holiday.’
    ‘You’re drunk, my flower.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And nothing.’
    ‘Well, there we are.’
    ‘I’m afraid you may molest me again tonight.’
    ‘You’re