The weight of water - Anita Shreve [63]
She scowled. “Your curtains are hastily made,” she observed. “America, I see, has not cured your bad habits. I have always said that nothing which will be done well can be done in haste. Dear Sister, they are not even lined.”
I remained silent. I did not wish to quarrel with Karen so soon after her arrival.
“And you have not oiled your floorcloth. And what a curious pattern. I have never seen anything quite like it. What is this I have before me?” She had taken something up in her fork, and now put it down again and studied it.
“It is called dunfish, but it is cold,” I said.
“Cold!” she exclaimed. “But it is the color of mahogany!”
“Yes,” I said. “The people here have the most ingenious way of preserving and drying fish for shipping elsewhere. It is called dunning and keeps —”
“I cannot eat this,” she said, pushing away the plate. “My appetite is still not keen. Do you have any honey for the bread? I might be able to get the bread down if you have honey.”
“I do not,” I said.
“But I see that you have grown fat nevertheless,” she said, examining me intently.
I was silent and uncomfortable with such a compliment. Karen sighed again and took a sip from her bowl of coffee. Immediately she screwed up her mouth in pain, and put her hand to the side of her face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The toothache,” she said. “I have been plagued with holes in my teeth for these several years now, and have had no good dentistry for them.”
“We must take you into Portsmouth,” I said.
“And will you have the money for the dentist,” she asked sharply, “if you have no money for wallpaper? When I was at home, I had money from Evan, though there were no decent dentists to be found near Laurvig, I am sorry to say.”
Across the table from her, I picked up my own bowl and took a sip of the coffee. “And how is our brother?” I asked.
Karen lifted up her head and fastened her eyes upon mine, and as she did so I began to color and to curse myself for this weakness in my constitution. “He did not write to you?” Karen asked sweetly.
“We have had the one letter,” I said. My forehead was now hot and wet. I stood and went to the stove.
“One letter? In all this time? I am quite surprised. I have always thought our brother bore you a special affection. But I suppose our Evan was never one for dwelling much in the past.… ”
“I expect that Evan has been too busy to write,” I said quickly, wishing now to put an end to the subject.
“But not too busy to be a comfort to me, you will be glad to hear,” said Karen.
“A comfort?” I asked.
“Oh, most decidedly so.” She opened her mouth and rubbed a back tooth. As she did, I could see that many of her teeth were blackened and rotted, and (I hope I will not offend the sensibilities of the reader by revealing this) I could as well detect a terrible smell emanating from the office. “Full of the most stimulating conversation in the evenings,” she went on. “Do you know that we went together to Kristiania by train over the Easter holiday last year? It was tremendously exciting, Maren. Evan took me to the theater and to supper and we stayed at a hotel. And he spent one afternoon at the University, and spoke to some of the professors there quite seriously of admitting himself to a course of study.”
“Evan did?”
“Oh, yes. He has prospered wonderfully and has been able to put some money by. And I do think that now I am gone, he will go to Kristiania, at least for a term, to see how he fares. And doubtless he will meet there some young woman who will turn his head. It’s time he settled down, our Evan. Don’t you think so, Maren?”
I tried to calm my hands by stirring the soup that was on the stove. “You don’t think that Evan will come to America too?” I asked as casually as I could.
“America!” Karen exclaimed. “Whyever for? A man who prospers so well in his own country and has no need to escape will never think of emigrating to another country. No, Maren, I should think not. It was of course difficult for me to have to leave him.… ”
“Why exactly did you leave?” I asked,