The Path to a Lighted Room
The frigid sunshine was pouring down on the street, driven by the wind.
I was walking along the sidewalk. Even though I was wearing white wool socks that clung to the hairs on my legs, my feet still felt cold and numb. Mathilda and I were walking in step; our joint tread sounded like pebbles being thrown into a stagnant river, or, at the very least, like the echo of somebody beating a drum—sad and remote, resounding beyond gloomy, distant forests, limitless labyrinths.
I watched my black shoes and Mathilda’s sandals forming strange shapes as they moved along the asphalt; I found that exciting. While the wind was blowing straight at us, it managed to turn Mathilda’s blond hair into something from a fable, like the hair of a lonely fairy on a desert island.
“The fairy’s been waiting for a long time in the jungle,” I told myself, “and now I’ve arrived on my small boat to rescue her and take her to safety.”
The whole crazy idea made me laugh. I wanted to tell Mathilda the fable about the fairy with mythological hair, her very own story, but then I was afraid she would just laugh at me.
“It’s getting cold,” she said as she stared at an ad on the wall. “We’re going to freeze tonight.”
I looked at her hair flying in the breeze, but said nothing. Instead I looked at her black coat with its wide collar turned up. She was holding it tight around her marble neck as she continued to stare at the ad.
Now she looked straight ahead and pressed against my thin body. “Look,” she said, “there are some wonderful things in Lillian’s shops.”
I stared at her through my cigarette-smoke. “They’re of no value to anyone,” I said, throwing my cigarette butt away.
Mathilda looked at me calmly and stared until I too turned toward Lillian’s shops.
“Let’s just have a look, okay?” she said with a smile, her hair covering part of her lower lip.
Tugging me toward her, she led me as we both walked down toward the shops. I kept stumbling because it was so steep. Finally, at the bottom were Lillian’s shops, hidden behind clean display-windows that glistened in the sunshine. As we browsed among the various items and clothing on display, it kept getting colder and colder. Mathilda was shivering, and put her hand in my pants pocket.
“Look, there are wonderful things for kids inside,” she said, looking at what was beyond the display-window.
“Toys?” I asked.
“Yes, toys. Tractors, trucks, and . . .”
“That bike would be good for you,” I interrupted with a chuckle.
She eyed me, her hand still clasping mine inside my pocket. “Okay then,” she said with a shrewd laugh, “I’ll choose a toy for you, too!”
I squeezed her fingers inside my pocket and pulled her back toward the main street again. By now the sun was looking pale and sickly. “No way!” I said to her.
“Come on,” she begged “Let’s go inside.”
She kept tugging, and I had to control my temper. Once we were inside the shop, we found that everything was arranged in an attractive and captivating fashion.
Mathilda drew my attention to a black scarf. “That scarf would suit you,” she said as she walked over to it.
“And you too . . . but it’s expensive.”
“It would suit you more. You’re wearing black pants and a white pullover. It would look beautiful around your neck.”
“It’s too expensive.”
We kept browsing in the shop, and eventually we discovered the back door. I asked Mathilda to leave with me, and she agreed nonchalantly, as though it didn’t bother her at all. Once outside, I wanted to kiss her in the empty, forked street. She put her cheek against mine, and I felt her soft blond hair playing with my face. I put my lips on her hair.
“Can we see the Ibsen play tonight?” she asked as she took her hand out of my pocket.
“We don’t have enough money.”
“I think I have enough on me. Besides, I’ll get my weekly check tomorrow.”
“Your boss will apologize to you, just like last week.”
“This time, I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Positive. So, are we are going to see the play, or what?”
The pale sun was still brightening our autumnal stroll. The yellow, shining trees kept reflecting the light and seemed high up in cold space. We were heading west. Mathilda loved autumn; in fact, she adored and even worshipped it. She liked to wear this coat, pants, and light sandals. In spite of it all, when the wind disheveled her hair, it never seemed to bother her. It seemed to be able to arouse within her a shiny past, present, and future as well. I watched Mathilda chewing something. I assumed that she was thinking about my being there by her side, because her eyes kept darting erratically between the walls, display windows, and passers-by. I veered to the left, but Mathilda still held me tight.
“Look there!” she said with a loud laugh. I looked where she was pointing, and saw an old man urinating on a clean wall. Some children were laughing at him while a few grown-ups were acting disgusted at his obscene behavior.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked, with feigned annoyance.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she said. “Aren’t there any public toilets?”
She clasped my hand and kept looking at the old man. Finally she looked away. I was staring at the display window to our right, which reflected the image of the two of us close together.
“It’s getting very cold,” I told Mathilda.
“You’ll catch cold,” she replied, “and we won’t be going to the theatre.”
Going upstairs, we met the janitor on the second floor. She greeted Mathilda and ignored me. When I pointed that out to Mathilda, she told me that the woman was simply jealous. I said that she shouldn’t be; she was old, and we were young. Once inside the warm room, Mathilda took her coat off and hung it up, then went straight to the kitchen.
She made coffee while I changed. As soon as I opened the window, the sunshine came in and lay down on the bed and floor. I lay down on the bed, too, and leafed my way through the daily newspaper, which I hadn’t been able to read in the morning as I usually did. Mathilda brought in the coffee. Her hair was now neatly arranged.
“Listen,” she said, smiling happily, “I’ve something to say to you.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Why don’t we get married?”
“Don’t you think we’re better than married?!” I replied immediately.
For the second time she kissed me, then raised her cup to her lips. I got out of bed, walked over to the window, and stared at the sun’s pale, sickly face.
The sky looked like a sad slate, and gray clouds were trailing away somewhere.
“Come on,” I told Mathilda. “Let’s watch the sunset. The sun’s nearly gone.”
Sipping my coffee, I turned to call her over, but she was already by my side, her eyes reflecting the colors of the sunset.