Chapter 4

We left the pool infused with the kind of bone-penetrating warmth that only comes from spending a few hours at an overheated bathhouse. Outside, the temperature had cooled although the sky was clearer and sunlight glinted off window panes. Enide dropped me off by the cafe, almost exactly where she’d intercepted Andra and me coming out of Remond’s. The two then headed off to pick up Mirrla and Rebeka from school. I set off to fetch Mother from town and drive her back home.

Even though the afternoon had been convivial, I was keyed up by what had passed between the girls at the pool. I recalled the way Enide had brought up Andra’s brother and how it had beclouded Andra’s mood. Did Enide seem wistful as she spoke about this Oviau fellow? I sensed that there was more to the story than just a sister weighed down by the absence of a much-loved brother.

Notwithstanding all this, Andra had soon shed her sombre mood and spent the rest of the afternoon joshing and bantering with me and Enide. Likewise, Enide appeared to be in high spirits as we mucked around in the pool and relaxed in the steam room afterwards. Still, I felt certain that some unspoken thing blighted the atmosphere between us. Naturally, I couldn’t be certain about any of this which only served to further agitate me.

Also, our time together had done little to abate my growing attraction to Enide. With all this simmering in the back of my mind, I can’t claim to have been bubbling over with joy as I drove the short distance to my mother’s office.

I was still brooding over the afternoon’s events when I arrived at Togreg and Veijorc, the law firm where my mother worked and presented myself to the young receptionist. Although I didn’t know her, she appeared to thaw considerably on hearing my name and invited me to proceed inside.

Interiors in certain respects are like people. What I mean is that rooms are apt to develop eccentricities if left to their own whim. The interior of Togreg and Veijorc was a prime example of the phenomenon. Ever since I could remember, within the warren of rooms and hallways of this place, a form of orderly chaos had prevailed.

Every room had piles of notebooks, papers, ledgers and a few decidedly battered-looking books. Some stood stacked, tidied away in corners. Others were strewn on desks alongside ink bottles, pen holders and neat trays of pencils. The pervasive smell of pipe and cigarette smoke wafted about the premises.

In her capacity as general manager, my mother presided over the establishment with vim and influence. There was, however, no mistaking the fact that these offices were first and foremost the personification of the firm’s founding partners and their long-serving middle-aged colleagues.

Mother was still busy bustling about in her oak-panelled room when I walked in. After exchanging greetings, I waited a short while as she put away her things and we left the office soon after. Once she and I were in the car, Mother began to rummage through her briefcase.

“Do you have your identification card with you?” she asked.

“Yes — why?”

“You need to be registered with the doctors here. I have all the other paperwork they need,” Mother explained and extracted a thin folder from her case. “Could you drive over to the surgery first? I need to pick up a few things from the pharmacy anyway and I can register you while I’m there.”

The surgery had been a semi-regular destination for me and my sister during our childhood so I had no difficulty finding the way. Although Mother hadn’t explicitly stated it, I had the impression that she preferred to go inside alone. I assumed, absent-mindedly, that she wished to attend to some delicate matter and wanting to respect her privacy, remained in the car.

It wasn’t a short wait. These things typically necessitate the completion of all manner of forms and documents I suppose. Thank heaven for my mother. She approaches a stack of forms or an unruly pile of paperwork much like a vulture circles a fresh carcass.

After a period, I saw her leave the clinic and enter the pharmacy next door. Following a further wait, Mother re-emerged with a brown bag in one hand and the paperwork she had brought with her tucked beneath her arm.

“I forgot to ask, how did things go with Enide and Andra?” she enquired as we set off.

“Good ... I think,” I replied.

“You sound dubious.”

“Not about Andra ... she was very nice ——”

“Rather gorgeous too,” Mother suggested teasingly.

“Er ... yes, I noticed,” I replied, a tad self-consciously. “It’s just that ... this business with her brother joining up — she seems to be finding it — I don’t know ... unduly troubling.”

“Unduly?”

“Well ... yes,” I mumbled, wondering how to explain myself better. “What I mean is that ... I didn’t expect Andra to be so affected — still. Didn’t he join up a while back?”

It seemed as if Mother had become more guarded. “Did Andra seem upset?” she probed.

“You know ... I didn’t mean to imply she burst into tears or anything like that,” I answered. “But when the topic came up, she seemed ... affected — it seemed to pain her,” I added.

Mother took a deep breath before responding. “My understanding is that Oviau’s parents did not support his decision. They were expecting Ovi to start taking over some of the responsibilities of overseeing the family’s assets,” she clarified. “As for Andra, she and Ovi are close. I know she misses him terribly.”

This confirmed what Enide had told me earlier at the bathhouse. It ought to have been the end of the matter, yet I couldn’t shake the sense that somehow there was more to it.

“And what is the story with this Filor Kosnac fellow?” I prodded. “Do you know anything about that?”

“Oh ... I don’t think there was anything significant between them,” Mother replied with a disinterested shrug. “Andra had been seeing him over the past few months — but it wasn’t serious.”

“Was there anything serious between Andra’s brother and Enide?”

There was a pause. “What makes you think there was anything between them?” Mother asked.

“Something Enide said,” I replied, more tersely than I’d intended. “Or perhaps it was the way she said it.”

Once again, Mother paused before speaking. “Enide and Andra have been good friends for a while now, as you know,” she explained in a measured tone. “Enide has seen a lot of Oviau these past few years — when she was with Andra, he would often be around,” she explained. “I’m sure Eni also misses Ovi,” I felt her glance across at me before continuing. “The three of them spent a lot of time in each other’s company. That doesn’t imply Enide and Oviau had become ... something more serious,” she cautioned.

Though my mother was not herself an attorney, she had been working among them for some time. On occasion, it would be readily apparent that certain qualities of the creed had rubbed off on her. I could sense her response had a lawyerly quality to it. Her words were measured and deliberate. I wanted to scrape away this shrewd veneer but Mother changed tack before I could press on.

“Now that you are home again and ... socialising ... with young ladies,” she told me as her fingers rhythmically patted the brown paper bag in her lap, “there are things I need to discuss with you.”

I sensed danger, but there was no exit. I was trapped.

“Perhaps these are things a young man would prefer discussing with his father,” Mother noted. “But ... well, here we are,” she concluded, although she appeared entirely unperturbed at having to substitute for the absent paternal figure.

I stifled a groan — this was exactly what I had feared. I braced myself for the undoubtedly uncomfortable topic Mother was about to unleash.

“I know that at school, they carted in girls so you could mingle with each other,” Mother stated somewhat dismissively. “They did that when I was in school too,” she remarked. “You might think you are up-to-date with how things are done these days — between men and women I mean,” she intoned with maternal tactfulness, “but I think there are ... shall we say, some new paraphernalia with which you might be unfamiliar,” she concluded with a knowing smirk and held up the paper bag from the pharmacy.

I would have rather faced death with a rusty fork than have this conversation with my mother and grappled for a way to curtail her. As it happened, I was familiar with the “paraphernalia” she spoke of — or so I thought.

“You know Mother, it wasn’t just at school functions that I had contact with girls,” I offered feebly.

“I am not talking about pulling a chair out for a girl Rody,” Mother stated. “Those old goats at Fortunbrae kept many things from you boys. Some things that go on these days — well, it would set their hair on end,” she asserted.

By now I was pulling the car onto our driveway. I wondered if Mother had colluded with my sister to ensure Mirrla would be out while she addressed the alleged shortcomings in my knowledge of sexual etiquette.

Mother led the way to the kitchen and began filling the kettle.

“From the way you were talking,” she said while rummaging about the kitchen, “It sounds as if you like Andra.”

I saw no point in vacillating, “I like Enide.”

“Well ... of course, you like Enide — oh!” she turned to face me. “Do you mean, like, like Enide?”

I nodded glumly.

She moved to sit across from me, “I see — and how long have you felt this way about her?”

“Since yesterday,” I realised how ridiculous I sounded but I went on regardless, “and my brain is already reeling from it.”

Mother chuckled though it wasn’t mocking or unsympathetic. “Is that why you were asking about Enide and Oviau?”

“Is she pining after him?” I asked, trying to conceal my trepidation.

“No,” Mother replied. “Not in a romantic sense.”

“Is she ... pining after someone else?” I wondered, encouraged by her straightforward response.

“Not as far as I know,” she stated without hesitation.

“Alright — that’s good,” I let out a breath of relief. “Onwards to the next obstacle.”

“Are there other obstacles?”

“Well, for one thing ... I don’t know if she likes me.”

Mother smiled patiently, “True — but no one ever knows ... in the beginning.”

“Things could become awkward — uncomfortable,” “I pointed out. “I don’t want that to happen — we are friends — it makes our situation different.”

“You should tread carefully,” Mother agreed. She rose and began making tea for us.

“Also ... do we have a future?” I wondered aloud, looking up at my mother. She had her back to me, pouring boiling water into the teapot. “I mean ... past the end of the summer.”

Mother turned her head toward me, “A ‘future’?” she asked, a little derisively I thought.

“I am going away again — Eni is staying in Earnell.”

“I see,” Mother mused as she brought the teapot to the table. “In the meantime though, you have a few months.”

“Yes, but ... I mean ... I can’t just have a fling with ——”

“Why not?” Mother interjected matter-of-factly. She returned to the table with two mugs and sat across from me.

“Well ... uh — you mean with Enide!?” I mumbled, rather perplexed. Mother made a confirming gesture.

I wondered if she had misunderstood. “Enide is not the kind of girl who ——”

“The kind of girl who would engage in a romantic relationship with a boy during the summer.” Mother asked while eying me perceptively. “Come now Rody — she is a beautiful young woman — at the prime of her life ——”

“That’s not what I meant...” I interrupted. “I am not going to...” I stopped, not knowing what I would say next. My anger had flared for a moment and I could see Mother had been a little taken aback. I took a deep breath and started again, not wanting to say something out of turn.

“It’s not going to be like that with Eni — a summer fling and then we forget all about it at the end of summer,” I stated emphatically. Even saying it was grating but I kept my temper in check. I could see that Mother wanted to interject so pushed ahead before she could. “Yes ... yes, I know, she is an adult, she can make her own decisions — so on, so forth,” I huffed dismissively. “I don’t know what I am to her — but that’s not what she is to me.”

“You know what she is to you?” Mother challenged in a droll tone. “And you know this — after two days?” she asked sceptically.

I was in no mood to be lectured. “I do,” I countered unequivocally. “And besides, it would still change things — between us ... as friends, I mean,” I groused while tapping the tabletop with my fingers.

“That’s a valid consideration,” Mother allowed, then poured tea into the mugs. “Sex changes things between people.”