by Marianne Urth
“It's no good trying to keep up old
friendships. It's painful for
both sides. The fact is, one
grows out of people, and the only
thing is to face it.”
~Somerset
Maugham
“Hello darling, so good to see you.”
Ingeborg gave me a stiff polite hug, patting me on the shoulder,
smiling. She had managed to get through customs after they had realized that
the five oversized bottles in her suitcase contained water. Her mouth was the first
thing you noticed. It was big with expressive lips and her overlapping front
teeth added a forgiving feature to her smile.
“You made it! I am so happy,” and I was, because it was the first
time a friend had travelled that far to see me.
I had watched her go through customs from the platform above the
arrivals. I hadn’t seen her for fifteen years but I recognized her immediately.
She was wearing jeans and a loose fitting linen blouse, a poor attempt to hide
the bulging stomach, a sure sign of too little exercise and probably too much
wine. Her hair was cut in a short and practical way. The green glasses,
matching her eyes, were shaped like polygons, indeed appropriate for an
elementary school math teacher.
She had announced in an email that she had finally found time and
money to come and see how I lived. The news had caught me off guard so I had
agreed to her visit with an encouraging invitation. Maybe I felt I owed her a
favor? I wasn't sure if we still had anything in common after so many years.
After I moved away I had lost all contact with her. I knew she had
married and had a kid. Back when we were students we often went to an Irish Pub
with live rock music. On Saturday nights the bar would be packed with loud
dancing people. We sat in a corner until the early hours, trying to have a
conversation over the blasting music, drinking exotic drinks Ingeborg had paid
for.
I started our conversation in the car by excusing the lack of
water in the city caused by a landslide in the mountains near the water
reservoirs.
“You might not be able to get a shower immediately,” I explained.
“Luckily I brought my own water,” she waved her water bottle in front
of me, smiling but it wasn’t a joke because her suitcase was literally full of
water bottles. As we drove off to the lake house, Ingeborg didn’t pay much
attention to the landscape, she was absorbed in telling me about her son.
“Jonas is a wonderful clarinet player,” she said, unscrewing the
lid to her water bottle. “Last year he played at a Christmas market and after
only half an hour he had earned enough money to buy himself a new computer
game.”
“He must be good,” I said.
“He wants to become a musician.” Without having to look at her
face, I could hear she was proud of him.
“Hmm, what does your husband say to that?”
“You mean ex-husband, right?” She turned her head towards me.
“Oh, I am sorry … I didn’t know,” I said.
She looked over the brim of her glasses with one eyebrow lifted.
Her voice was matter-of-factly when she said; “Well, that´s all right, he just
wasn’t the right guy. We got divorced when Jonas was only a year old.
Anyway...,” she sighed, “he would prefer Jonas went to university, obviously.”
She drank from her water bottle but her hand had moved too briskly
and she had spilled on her blouse, leaving a visible wet stain; her rubbing it
only made it worse. “But I have this very close friend, she is a doctor. Her
son wants to go to the music academy and she supports his idea one hundred
percent,” Ingeborg said. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Well here in Chile it’s different. It’s hard to live a comfortable
life as a musician,” I said.
We were driving behind an old pickup truck loaded to the brim with
mattresses, plastic chairs and blankets. I even saw the glimpse of a stove.
Inside the car, four adults and a child were squeezed together on the back
seat. The driver’s hairy, fleshy arm lay comfortably in the open window, as the
pickup advanced slowly on the hot asphalt road towards the lake.
“I think one should choose the career that makes you happy. After all
money is not everything.” Ingeborg screwed back the lid of her water bottle
with a determined expression.
I finally managed to overtake the pick up truck. Ingeborg examined
the load as we passed it.
“Where are they going with all that stuff?” She said.
“Camping.” I said.
“Geez. Do they have to bring their own stove? It looks like they
are moving. Why don't they just rent a bungalow?
“I guess they can't afford that, so they take everything they own
with them when they go on vacations.”
I could sense she wasn't really interested because she changed the
subject, telling me about her life in Brussels as a teacher in the European
School. Being far away from home obviously inspired her to talk about her own
experiences abroad but she didn't seem to grasp the reality she had right in
front of her eyes. It was like she was inside a huge air bubble and didn't want
anybody to burst it.
We finally reached the lake house. Roberto and the kids had
cleaned the whole house and put flowers in a vase on the dining table. They had
all come to the front door to welcome the guest, wary about having a teacher
visiting them during their vacations but also curious to see who this Danish
friend was.
“You have absolutely beautiful kids,” she commented, shaking hands
with each of them. They were expecting the customary cheek kiss but had gotten
the Danish stiff and rather impersonal handshake instead. The physical
awkwardness of the situation, combined with the outspoken compliment, left
everybody bashful and without words.
“They take after their father,” my husband said jokingly, he knew
how to keep a conversation going. I looked at him. His two weeklong beard
matched his brown eyes in a relaxed way. It was going to be easier entertaining
Ingeborg with him around.
“Of course they do,” Ingeborg said and winked at him. A teacher
knows how to handle a proud father or maybe she was flirting with him? That was
something I hadn’t considered.
At the lake there wasn’t any shortage of water so Ingeborg had a
long shower. Hearing the water pump run and thinking helplessly about the
shortage of water back in town, an uneasy feeling started to stir inside me,
even though I didn’t want it to surface just yet.
Ingeborg finished her shower and came out of the bathroom wrapped
in a towel, leaving a cloud of hot steam trailing after her. Her hair had
disappeared in a white towel turban.
She stood in front on me with her hairdryer in one hand, silently
holding my gaze. Her skin was still moist. I noticed a water drop trickle down
her neck. We used to go swimming together back then. I remembered her body had
been lean and strong and I had often wished we could have switched bodies. I
shuddered, now I didn’t want to switch.
“Do you have an adapter for this one?” She said.
I brought the adapter to her room. I couldn’t help noticing the
water bottles in her suitcase, which was spread wide open on the bed. The water
bottles took up most of the space. How could she honestly think she needed to
bring her own water? Why had I never noticed how unpractical she was. I guess
because we had never travelled together.
“Sorry, I didn’t have time to buy any presents for your kids.” She
explained in a low, conspiratorial voice so the kids wouldn’t hear “I wasn’t
sure if my luggage was going to be overweight.”
“Sure,” I nodded, bewildered. I couldn’t believe her lack of
education; I felt once again how different we were and it made me realize how
much I had changed during my years abroad. Having visitors was like looking
into a mirror but what was reflected wasn’t the image you had grown into.
Meeting up with people from the past transported you back in time to when the
friendship started and that was how you were expected to behave.
Ingeborg had joined me in the kitchen. I was preparing dinner as
fast as I could, sensing everybody was hungry.
“This is a wonderful place. You have all the toys one could
possibly wish for, don’t you?” She pointed at the floating wharf in front of
the house where several watercrafts and boats were tied up. “I see why you like
coming here.”
I took the plates out so the kids could start setting the table.
“But don’t you ever get bored? I mean, don’t you miss travelling?”
Ingeborg´s voice sounded as if she was having trouble breathing. “At one stage
I also thought about buying a holiday house,” she continued, her voice more
controlled now. “But then again, it ties you to one place, doesn’t it?” She
moved restlessly on the chair. “Do you have a beer? I need a beer.”
“I guess you just can’t do it all, can you?” I said and gave her a
beer.
I was wondering if travelling really was what I wanted to do at
this stage of my life. There had been a time where globetrotting had been my
only aspiration, getting to know the world, meeting new people. Now it didn't
seem so meaningful.
Dinner was ready. The table had been set outside on the terrace.
It was late and already dark. A night breeze made the candles flicker and
mosquitoes landed on the plates. The kids were agitated, tired and anxious to
eat. Roberto was about to sit down at his usual spot at the end of the table
when Ingeborg dragged his chair away from the table.
“These dining chairs are so similar to the Danish design chairs I
have at home,” Ingeborg said, turning the chair upside down to see the
manufacturing label. “These are copies, aren’t they? Made in China I suppose.”
She laughed as if she had just told a funny joke.
Roberto looked at me as if he suspected something had gone wrong
in the translation from Danish to English. I could almost hear him say, is this
woman out of her mind? What is she doing checking out my chairs? I ignored his
look and urged him with my eyes to take a seat. I knew this was her style. Not
that I wanted to excuse it. She had always been excessively bold and outspoken.
Fifteen years ago I had found it refreshing and provocative but now I wasn’t so
sure.
Roberto helped me pass the food around. Everybody was hungry and
the meal was a pleasant distraction from the tense atmosphere. For a while I
let the kids do the talking to fill in the empty spaces in the grown-ups’
conversation.
“This is truly scrumptious,” Ingeborg said, licking her fingers
loudly. “In Brussels I went to this famous Michelin restaurant, L’Epicerie.
They had the most exotic dishes.”
She stabbed the fork into the last piece of meat on the serving
plate and scooped it onto her plate. I was about to tell her to cut it into
smaller pieces, as she stuffed it all into her mouth and continued talking.
“Watermelon jelly on linseed biscuits. I am telling you, it was
delicious!” She was finished and leaned back in her chair with an exhausted
sigh. “Could I have another glass of that wonderful wine?” She held up her wine
glass with a nonchalant move of her wrist. My husband filled it again. The kids
cleared the table, they were happy to leave us alone.
“In Brussels it was packed with these filthy rich people driving
their kids to school in golden Porsches. They think just because they have
money they can treat you like rubbish.” Her cheeks were becoming red and her
polygon glasses sat a little crooked on her nose. “Once a father asked me how
much he had to pay me to get his kid through Middle School. Geez! I told him
money is not everything.”
“Money doesn't buy you happiness but it does bring you a more
pleasant form of misery,” Roberto said in an attempt to bring humor into the
conversation.
That didn't go down well. Ingeborg placed her wine glass in front
of her with an aggressive gesture, and leaned forward resting her elbows on the
table. She looked straight at Roberto with squinting, defiant eyes as if she
had discovered some connection between that father in Brussels and my husband.
“How many employees do you have, Rob?” Her voice was low, almost a
growl. “How much is your yearly profit? Do you share it with your employees? Or
do you keep it all to yourself?”
I looked at Ingeborg. What was this thing about money? Why did she
get so upset all of a sudden? And why was she attacking Roberto?
“I think I will go to bed.” Roberto stood up to put an end to
Ingeborg´s inquisition, his face all red. I could see he was about to explode.
“Well, that’s too bad,” Ingeborg looked at me. “We were having
such a nice conversation.”
I wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or if she really meant
it. She reminded me of an angry dog which successfully had chased an enemy off
his territory. She clearly had had too much to drink. Roberto kissed me
goodnight and left me alone with her.
She got up and sat in Roberto´s chair, so she was right next to
me.
“I suggest we call it a day,” I said, folding my napkin and
shuffling my feet to get up.
“No, wait,” Ingeborg touched my arm so I would stay. She wiped her
mouth with her napkin, gathering herself with a profound exhale. I could smell
her damp breath, the alcohol had made her gaze unsteady, the eyelids closed involuntarily
whilst she tried to look into my eyes. “Are you happy here, darling?” she had
changed into Danish now.
“I guess….” I said. Why was I letting her go that far? I had to
throw the ball back into her court. “What about you? Are you…happy?” I asked.
“Darling,” her voice was smooth, like satin sheets. “Let´s go and
see the world. You and me together.”
“What do you mean?” I felt uncomfortable the way the conversation
was going. It bothered me how little she seemed to know about me. I pushed the
chair away from the table and stood up. “I can't just leave like that, don't
you see,” I said.
Ingeborg also got up and stood right in front of me “Darling, you
don’t want to stay here forever, do you?”
My arms were hanging limp by my sides. She took a step towards me,
reached out and grasped my wrists.
“You want to be a bored housewife for the rest of your life?” She
looked into my eyes and lowered her voice. “Do you remember when we used to
swim together?” A flirting smile appeared in the corner of her mouth. “And we
did this,” she lifted my chin with one finger and placed a light kiss on my
lips. I jolted back as if I had tasted a bitter fruit.
“What are you doing?” I tried to wrestle myself out of her grip,
but I couldn´t.
“Kiss me,” she moaned, hugging me. “I know you want to.”
“Let go of me. Ingeborg! You´re drunk.”
I struggled to get away from her but she was too strong. She
tightened her arms around my neck in a desperate cling as if I was a life raft.
The choking sensation made me even more desperate and I tried to push her away,
sending uncontrolled punches into her stomach and ribcage like a boxer held in
a clinch. She had to let go of my neck, and my fist landed hard in her face.
She slid down to the floor, covering her mouth with both hands, blood was
trickling out between her fingers.
“What´s wrong with you?” She sobbed. “I thought you wanted me to
come...you know I like women, don't you?” Her voice barely audible.
“But Ingeborg...” I was still panting. “Open your eyes, look
around. I have a life here, my family. I am not looking for anything else.”
“ I thought you were,” she said. “I am sorry.”
“I am sorry too.” I said.
It wasn’t until the next day when Roberto had taken her back to
town to find her a hotel and a dentist, I discovered the wounds on my knuckles.
I had punched her so hard in the mouth that the overlapping front tooth had
been knocked loose. There would be no more forgiving features to Ingeborg´s
smiles.
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