Water over Stones by Bernardo Atxaga

Author:Bernardo Atxaga [Atxaga, Bernardo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Graywolf Press
Published: 2022-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

3

It was a rainy day, the blinds diffused what little light entered from outside. In spite of this, the objects on the walls – the graduation photograph, the other photographs and the diplomas – stood out more clearly than on previous occasions. The floor lamp had a new, brighter bulb in it. The circle it cast on the rug was almost white.

“Last week you asked me to tell you about my parents. That shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve been thinking about them every week recently, especially on Fridays.”

He giggled. He had resolved to begin the session with a touch of humour.

“As you know, Nadia, I usually take the A63 to get here. Well, every time I go past Biarritz, I see those big hoardings with ads for the golf courses. My parents worked at one of them, Golf Le Phare, my father as an instructor and my mother doing administrative tasks.”

The woman had the notebook and the Montblanc pen on her lap, her hands resting on top. The green numbers on the digital clock showed three minutes past five; 17.03.

“My father met a young woman in Le Phare, and the two of them ran off to Paris when I was five. Then my mother returned to Dax and took a job as general manager at a big hotel there, Hotel Le Splendid, I don’t know if you know it. It’s a very attractive art deco building, built at the beginning of the century, and it has a spa too. Pierre Irissou and I often used to play around the thermal pool there. That was where we became friends. His father was the hotel chef. We were both pretty lonely. He didn’t have a mother, and I didn’t have a father. We lived on site, in apartments on the top floor. Really nice apartments. With views over the river.”

He was speaking in short bursts, as though his lungs were only supplying his throat with air in fits and starts.

“Tell me first about your mother, Antoine,” said the woman. She now had the notebook in one hand and the Montblanc pen in the other.

“Are you a mother, Nadia?”

The woman’s eyes glinted, like those of a cat watching in the darkness. She gave a slight nod.

“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you.”

He shuffled forward in the leather chair, his gaze settling on the bright circle of light on the rug.

“I’ve never seen it myself, but from what I understand, the first thing a mother does when her newborn baby is handed to her is to check it has all its fingers and toes, that it doesn’t have any blemishes … Which must have meant it was very tough for my mother. Poor Chantal!”

He gave a resigned sigh.

“She didn’t notice anything at first; everything seemed normal, and she fell happily asleep. But then, a few hours later, the doctor gave her the news. Her baby’s little body had a defect, the left leg was slightly shorter than the right. The boy would be lame.

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