Mother Night by Mother Night

Author:Mother Night
Language: it
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-12-07T21:05:45+00:00

We rolled apart. .

We spoke coherently to each other for the first time since bedding down. 'Hello,' she said.

'Hello,' I said.

'Welcome home,' she said.

End of chapter 643.

The city sky was clean and hard and bright the next morning, looking like an enchanted dome that would shatter at a tap or ring like a great glass bell.

My Helga and I stepped from our hotel to the sidewalk snappily. I was lavish in my courtliness, and my Helga was no less grand in her respect and gratitude. We had had a marvelous night

I was not wearing war-surplus clothing. I was wearing the clothes I had put on after fleeing Berlin, after shucking off the uniform of the Free American Corps. I was wearing the clothes — fur-collared impresario's cloak and blue serge suit — I had been captured in. I was also carrying, for whimsy, a cane. I did marvelous things with the cane: rococo manuals of arms, Charlie Chaplin twirls, polo strokes at orts in the gutter.

And all the while my Helga's small hand rested on my good left arm, creeping in an endless and erotic exploration of the tingling area between the inside of my elbow and the crest of my stringy biceps.

We were on our way to buy a bed, a bed like our bed in Berlin.

But all the stores were closed. The day wasn't Sunday, and it wasn't any holiday I could think of. When we got to Fifth Avenue, there were American flying as far as the eye could see. 'Good God Almighty,' I said wonderingly.

'What does it mean?' said Helga.

'Maybe they declared war last night,' I said.

She tightened her fingers on my arm convulsively. 'You don't really think so, do you?' she said. She thought it was possible.

'A joke,' I said. 'Some kind of holiday, obviously.' 'What holiday?' she said.

I was still drawing blanks. 'As your host in this wonderful land of ours,' I said, 'I should explain to you the deep significance of this great day in our national lives, but nothing comes to me.'

'Nothing?' she said.

'I'm as baffled as you are,' I said. 'I might as well be the Prince of Cambodia.'

A uniformed colored man was sweeping the walk in front of an apartment. His blue and gold uniform bore a striking resemblance to the uniform of the Free American Corps, even to the final touch of a pale lavender stripe down his trouser legs. The name of the apartment house was stitched over his breast pocket. 'Sylvan House' was the name of the place, though the only tree near it was a sapling, bandaged, armored and guy-wired.

I asked the man what day it was.

He told me it was Veterans' Day. 'What date is it?' I said. 'November eleventh, sir,' he said.

'November eleventh is Armistice Day, not Veterans' Day,' I said. 'Where you been?' he said. 'They changed all that years ago.'

'Veterans' Day,' I said to Helga as we walked on. 'Used to be Armistice Day. Now it's Veterans' Day.'

'That upsets you?' she said.

'Oh, it's just so damn cheap, so damn typical,' I said.

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