Long Lankin: Stories by John Banville Page A

am looking for someone.
    She was dressed in a black faded shirt and black trousers. Her hair, long and straight, hung down about a narrow, bony face. Her mouth was small, and painted an ugly red. The flesh of her face was burned and dry from long years under this southern sun. On the bridge of her nose a pale spot glowed where the skin was stretched tight over the bone. Her eyes were large and black.
    Ben stood up uncertainly and took a step toward her, halted. He said:
    —Who is it you’re looking for?
    The woman pushed a lank strand of hair away from her face with long, delicate fingers.
    —A man, she said. He must have passed this way.
    —We’ve seen no one. Anna spoke abruptly, and her eyes widened as though she had surprised herself. The woman glanced at her without interest and went on:
    —They said in the village he came this way. Is there another road to the beach down there?
    —No, Ben said. This is the only way and no one passed this morning.
    The woman gazed at him, shading her eyes against the light.
    —You could not miss him, she said. He is a dark man. A negro. Very tall with a red shirt open so at the neck.
    Ben said nothing, and the woman’s eyes grew troubled and wandered over the road down to the bay.
    —I must find him, she murmured. He is … how would you say? His mind is gone. This morning in the village he attacked a man and almost killed him with a wine bottle. I am worried.
    Ben was staring at her intently, his mouth moving. Anna stood up and went to his side. In the silence there was the sharp, clicking sound of lizards scrabbling over the rocks. From below the hill the turkeys sent up their derisive accusations. Anna’s fists were clenched, and she said loudly:
    —We’ve seen no one.
    The woman turned back to them.
    —You have seen no one?
    —No, Anna answered her.
    The woman nodded.
    —Yes, she said vaguely, and then abruptly turned and started down the hill. Ben watched her go, his forehead wrinkled, and Anna pulled at his sleeve.
    —Come and finish your breakfast, she said.
    He did not move, and she turned away from him. On the table the wreckage of their meal lay like the dismembered parts of a complex toy.
    —Will we go down for a swim? she asked, and not waiting for a reply she went into the cottage and brought out her swimsuit.
    The beach was deserted. With his eyes closed he lay on the sand while she threw her awkward body about in the clear green waters. Then she came out and stood by him, tossing the water from her hair.
    —I’m going to dress, she said, and went away.
    After a little time he stood up and followed her into the pine grove. Here the air was cool and dim, and fragrant with the perfume of the trees. In the clearing behind the taverna he found her, standing naked with a red towel in her hands. Silver flecks of water glistened on her sun-browned skin. He stood behind a tree and watched her, pulling at his lip with a thumb and forefinger. When he stepped into the clearing she looked up quickly, and then smiled and held the towel before her.
    —Go away, she said, laughing.
    But without a word he caught the towel and pulled it away from her, and taking her in his arms he drew her roughly against him. She struggled, not laughing now.
    —Ben, leave me alone. Ben!
    She pushed him away and stepped back a pace, and he stumbled on the exposed root of a tree and fell.
    —Leave me alone , Ben.
    She stood there against the trees, breathing heavily, her eyes flashing. With her mouth open to speak she suddenly stiffened, and stared past him. He turned quickly, lifting himself on his hands, in time to glimpse something flitting through the trees, a dark figure moving swiftly, silently away. He slowly turned his head and grinned at her. From far off in the trees came the sound of someone calling once, and then silence. Anna stood very still, watching him, then she quickly pulled on her clothes and went past him where he lay watching her with cold amusement.
    He followed