The Blue Taxi Read Online Free

what she could accept. Her days, aside from making small,
     plain meals, keeping track (if absently) of Agatha, and wishing without making any plans that life was rather different, were
     not exactly full. And Agatha had reached a restless age. With her “when-can-we-where’s-his-leg’s” she had become a nuisance.
     From what was but did not seem to be a notably long distance, Sarie looked at Gilbert. She weighed her knowledge of him with
     her eyes.
J’complete
, she thought. Indeed: although he wore a singlet and a shirt, she knew precisely where, below two ashen nipples, the flesh
     sagged from hischest. She could have pointed out exactly where the soft mass of his belly was dimpled and was not. She knew without having
     to look how many ribs he had. And she was tired of his talk.
    She breathed out through her nose. “If that is what the Muslims want,” she said, “then I will take them off.” Demonstrating—in
     one motion, without losing her balance—Sarie slipped her two big feet from her orange rubber thongs. Gaining some momentum,
     feeling contrary and sure, she went on: “It is not as if I had the sandals to unstrap.
Regarde!
One, two.” She put the shoes back on, then slipped them off again. She did a peppy dance step on the rust-red, tattered rug.
     “It is not”—and here she sighed—“as if I had some stockings. Or fancy Bata pumps.” For the moment she had given up on giving
     in to Gilbert. Daring, really, almost happy, she placed one of her large feet square onto her husband’s lap. “See? It takes
     no time at all.”
    Sarie’s toes distracted him. She did not often touch him. Gilbert moved his pamphlet to the side, adjusted his small hips,
     and smiled indulgently at her. “Oh, Sarie.” He wrapped a round pink hand around her weighty ankle and looked up at his wife.
     Sometimes Sarie’s looks and height slipped Gilbert’s mind completely. Was that the little nose he’d liked, with the hint of
     lioness about it? The soft shoulders that were strong? Was that the ceiling fan, just beyond her hair? On their wedding day,
     he thought, the flush of love had made her seem so small! He looked back at his hand, her ankle, at her toes, which flared
     and curled towards him. Oh, he knew she wanted shoes. He wished she would forget. “You just won’t understand,” he said.
    Sarie, aware still on that day that husbands need attention and timely, kindly acts, softened her approach. She leaned down
     from afar and kissed him on the brow, which, despite the argument at hand, thrilled Gilbert’s thin hair. She crooned: “I understand
     muchmore than you can know.” Gilbert, not quite catching what she said—hearing, in fact,
I understand
, and nothing of the rest—was touched by Sarie’s gesture and the sweet smell of her face. Perhaps, he thought, she didn’t
     really mind his lack of permanent employment, his staying in during the day, skimming his old books, his wandering in the
     afternoons and evenings. She loved him, after all. Is that not what wives were for? Sensing that her husband had gone mild,
     was dreaming, Sarie put an end to the debate. “I am taking Agatha today,” she said, “and we will see that little boy.”
    Gilbert, bested by her touch, relinquished his objections. She had leaned down from the distance of her body and come close.
     Had pressed her toes against his thighs and had not pulled away, when, beneath her arching foot, his loins gave out a shiver.
     She had kissed him, after all. He could still, he imagined, feel her mouth on his bare brow.
Let her do just as she pleases
, Gilbert thought at last.
What harm is there in it?
    Completely unaware that Sarie would soon access some freedom of her own, he crossed his feet, which were doughy, damp, and
     he smiled up at his wife. Decided to be generous.
Fair is fair, old man. Why shouldn’t she go out?
“All right,” Gilbert shrugged. “Do just as you like.” Sarie put her foot back on the floor. Gilbert