Dreams of Bread and Fire by Nancy Kricorian

Author:Nancy Kricorian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 2013-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

be neither sweet and swallowed nor sour and spurned

After breakfast Ani and Van headed south in the car. In the backseat was a wicker hamper of food that Isabelle had pressed on them as they left. They drove on winding roads lined with terraces bordered by ancient stone walls. Wooden beehives sat in the middle of the terraces. Ani stared out the window, the landscape a sad sweet thing like the frail leaves of an old book dipped in syrup.

Van paused several times as flocks crossed the road accompanied by craggy-faced old men. The sheep walked on their haunches like women in high heels. The goats were bearded and sarcastic. We own this road, they said, and you are merely passing through history. Our history. Ani wondered if the gray shepherds spoke Italian, French, or Corsican.

This was the kind of place people should go on their honeymoon, where the landscape’s beauty is sharp and melancholy. It made you feel that life hadn’t changed much in a thousand years. It reminded you how short your own life was and how small you were on the face of the spinning planet. Suddenly an image of herself turning in Van’s embrace flickered through her mind. It made her weak.

“Reminds me of Armenia,” Van said.

“When were you there?”

“A few years ago.” His terse reply didn’t invite further questions.

Higher up the mountain a snowstorm fell upon them. Slowly wending through the blizzard, they stopped at a small ski lodge at the summit for coffee and hot chocolate and then drove down the mountain, heading toward Ajaccio. A few hours later in the port town the azure ocean glittered under a brilliant sun. They parked the car on a street lined with expensive boutiques.

“First it’s nineteenth-century peasants and now we’re in a fancy resort,” Ani commented.

“There is a certain grimness in the contrast,” Van replied.

Entering the lobby of a modern building, they took the elevator to the sixth floor. The apartment, which belonged to one of Pascal’s friends, had white walls and spare, angular furniture. There were two rooms, a small kitchen, and a bath. Van said he had some errands to do so Ani set herself up on the balcony with a book. It didn’t occur to her to ask where he was going.

When darkness began to fall, Ani set the glass-topped dining room table with dishes she found in the kitchen and the provisions from Isabelle’s hamper. She rummaged in the cabinets, coming up with a pair of candles and some matches. She turned off the lights and lit the candles. It was so romantic. There was too much expectation in that kind of light.

When Van arrived, the floor lamp was on and the candles back in the drawer.

“You get everything done?” Ani asked.

“Yup,” he answered.

“Isabelle packed a banquet. She even put in a bottle of wine.”

“Looks good,” Van said, taking a seat at the table.

“Do you want some wine?”

“No, thanks.”

Ani stared at the roast chicken on her plate and felt her stomach ball up on itself.

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