Turning Back the Sun(28)

Zo? listened. Rayner intrigued her when he tried to imagine people”s lives, because that was not the sort of imagining she could do. She embraced or rejected people on instinct.

“I think my aunt must be dying. She owned this house on the same street as ours. It”s valuable.” But when he thought about how little it interested him, he felt distantly sad for her: this old woman, who would die out there on the fringes of his memory, leaving nothing to anybody loved. All at once he asked Zo?, “Do you need money?”

“No!” She laughed, suddenly tender. “What would I need money for?”

“Cat food?” How strange, he thought. Money could do so little for either of them. The recognition of this must separate them from almost anybody else in the town. “My aunt must have more influence than I thought,” he said. “She says she can get me a two-week residence permit.”

“It”d be good for you to go back. You”ll see your old friends.” But Zo? said this gravely, as if after long silence, touching his chest with her fingertips, and he realized that the idea unnerved her. “You”ll see the sea.” He sensed her apprehension. He was going away to the city most natural to him, from which she had been banished. She took up the letter to reread it, then tossed it back onto the table. “You”ll pick up old threads.” But she could not keep still, as if the carpet were shifting under her feet.

Rayner felt a warm, selfish relief at these symptoms of her love, her dependence. But a growing wretchedness too. Because he knew that one day he would go back for good. He said, “Do you have any family or contacts left there?”

“No.”

“I wonder how much things have changed.” He began to sound falsely jocular, because he felt guilty. “There might be new job openings for you, something you could get a residence permit for.” But the moment he said this he realized it was fantasy. Who ever went up to the capital from a provincial cabaret? Yet guilt and sadness drove him on: guilt that it would be this city—perhaps soon—which would separate them. He did not want to think about it. He wanted to believe that she would be there too. “I could look around for you.”

But Zo? was suddenly angry. All the lines of her face converged on her eyes. “Why the hell should I go back there? What”s the point? They killed off their floor shows years ago. There”s nothing left but puppets and ballroom dancing!”

He said, “You”ve kept so fit, you could go back into ballet.”

“Ballet!” She spat out the word. “Why should I go back into the ballet? I left the capital to get away from all that. Christ. Dying swans and Sleeping Beauties! I just don”t feel like that. I”m not a swan, and I”m not beautiful.” She washed a hand across her face as if wiping off its mask. “At least the dancing here is true. It”s mine. Why should I dance falsely there when I can dance properly here?”

“For one thing, you”d get a better kind of spectator …” Rayner was starting to hate himself. But he could not believe that in her heart she did not want to return.

“God damn the spectators!” She glared at him. “I”ll dance just for myself if I have to. At least that”d be better than pretending!” She stared down at her feet. “I couldn”t go back to that bloody ballet. I haven”t done an entrechat in ten years. Anyway, how do you know a theater audience is any better? Those posh people. They”re probably wanking in their pants just like in the nightclub.” Once, in a priggish moment, Rayner had attributed her swearing, when she became excited, to “the coarseness of her profession.” She had not forgiven this. “Yes, I know what you”re thinking, they”d never talk like that in the capital.”

“You were born near the capital. You should know.”

“I don”t give a fuck for the capital. I”m here. Now. And that”s okay with me, except that you”re … you”re …” She faltered. She made as if to face him, but did not, and he saw that her cheeks were shining with tears, “… Except that you”re obsessed with going back.”

Then she thrust back her shoulders, uncaring of her face for once, which was bleeding mascara and tears, and faced him squarely. “How long have we been lovers? Three months now. And you haven”t understood a thing.”

But they both knew that beneath his speciousness he was saying: I mean to return to the capital for good. I wish you could come too.

And that she was answering: You know I can”t.

She went off into another room, slamming the door behind her. Rayner stayed where he was, kicking at the table leg, too proud to follow and apologize. Sometimes, he thought, Zo? appeared to have lost hope, and was just angrily resigned to where and who she was; but at other times, as now, she simply seemed realistic, and made him feel a child.

He pushed open the door. She was perched on the kitchen table, inspecting the cat. She had let her hair down in an act of unconcern. The cat”s claws were tangled in it. The mascara had dried on her cheeks.

She looked up and said at once, “How can I explain to you? I”m not happy with what I”m doing, but it”s the best I have to go on with. If I could, I”d make the world different, but I can”t. So I dance my kind of dance in the only place that will accept me.” She detached the cat”s claws. “I”m sorry it”s not the state opera house.”