The Fox Was Ever the Hunter

I can’t stand looking at the water when it’s so cold out

I know what I know, Clara says out loud, the streetcar whooshes close to the barrier, Ilie is sensitive, she says. The bridge shudders, the trees push into the park. I knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand the fox, she says quietly, sinking her red fingernails into her hair, and I also know he won’t try to escape. The wind fans her hair out over her forehead. You don’t know that, says Adina, how can you know that. She sees Clara’s cheek, the sharp black corners of her eyes.

Without the fishermen the river is just a stripe of water in the city, with its smelly, lazy gullet lurking midway between the reflection and the river bottom.

Clara’s shoes clatter on the pavement. Adina stops but Clara doesn’t notice and takes another three steps, walking on the middle of the paving stones. Then she turns around and says to Adina, come on, I can’t stand looking at the water when it’s so cold out. Her hair is dark like the grassy weeds in the river. It’s the kind of cold that makes you naked, says Adina. Clara tugs Adina’s arm, I feel dizzy, she says. Then she takes a few steps down the footpath, away from the bank. Adina tosses a dried leaf into the water. But it’s not the river that’s making you nauseous, is it, she says. She watches the leaf get so wet and heavy the little waves can no longer move it along. Paul saw you in the hospital, she says.

I know, says Clara, and I knew he’d tell you all about it, too. She sinks her red fingernails into her pocket and pushes her coat out to form a belly. I was pregnant, she says. The curved white wrists resurface, but not the fingernails. How did you manage an abortion, Adina asks. A wet leaf sticks to Clara’s thin heel, Pavel knows the doctor, she says.

The grass in the park is frozen and matted down, it lies in thick empty clumps along the path. Even without their leaves the branches overhead are listening in.

Clara picks up a grass straw, she doesn’t have to pull, it’s just lying there, unattached. The straw has snapped in the middle and doesn’t stay upright between her fingers. Adina turns around, but the cracking sound she hears is only a twig breaking under her shoe and not some stranger’s footstep. Is he a doctor, asks Adina, and Clara says, he’s a lawyer. Adina turns around, but the noise is only an acorn falling on the path and not some stranger’s footstep. Why didn’t you tell me, asks Adina. Clara pitches the grass straw, it’s too light to fly and lands on her shoe. Because he’s married, she says. They hear steps on the path and sand chafing against the stones, a woman walks by wheeling a bicycle with a sack slung across the handlebars. Why are you hiding him from me, asks Adina. Because he’s married, says Clara. The woman looks back. We rarely see each other, says Clara. How long have you known him, asks Adina.

* * *

Nine soldiers and one officer are standing outside the cinema. The officer hands out tickets. The soldiers compare seats and rows. The poster shows a laughing soldier and a closed railroad gate stretching from one cheek to the other. A blue sky is over the soldier’s cap, and under his face is the title of the film: THEY SHALL NOT PASS.

Clara elbows Adina and points her chin at the soldiers, look at them, the way they’re standing there, she says. Adina’s eyes stray into the dark green yews, I see them, she said, Ilie isn’t with them.

A voice greets, the dwarf on his tall, half-brick shoes.

Clara smiles. It’s cold here in town, says the dwarf. Clara nods. His head is too large, his hair is thick and looks so bright against the dark green yews, like the frozen matted grass in the park. It’s already cooled down, says the dwarf, it was still warm when I bought it. He is carrying a loaf of bread under his arm.