The Crane Wife Read Online Free

Night
–’
    ‘We don’t have hen nights in Turkey! How am I supposed to know the difference?’
    ‘You moved here when you were
three
!’
    ‘What’s the big deal? They’ll all be so drunk, who’s going to notice?’
    ‘I suspect ten soldiers from Her Majesty’s Coldstream Guards might notice that a light blue cartoon kitten with a hand over its genitals isn’t quite–’
    ‘Paw.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘If it was a kitten, it’d be a paw. And what’s it supposed to be doing, anyway? Pleasuring itself? Because how is that a theme for a hen night?’
    ‘. . .’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Call Brookman, Mehmet. He obviously hasn’t opened his box of t-shirts yet for whatever reason–’
    ‘Yeah, he did seem in a bit of a hurry. Not even enough time to look at them.’
    ‘. . . You’re smiling.’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘You are. You did it on purpose.’
    ‘I did not!’
    ‘Mehmet!’
    ‘You accuse me of everything! It’s racist!’
    ‘Call him. Now.’
    ‘I don’t see why I have to do all the crappy jobs around here. All you do is moon around in the back making your precious little
cuttings
. Like what’s that one even supposed to be?’
    ‘What one?’
    ‘The one you’ve been carrying this whole time. The one you just hid behind your back.’
    ‘This? This is nothing. This is–’
    ‘Looks like a goose.’
    ‘It’s not a goose. It’s a crane.’
    ‘A crane.’
    ‘A crane.’
    ‘. . . like the kind that builds buildings? ’Cause, George, I hate to break it to you–’
    ‘Go. Now. Now, now, now, now, now–’
    ‘I’m
going
.
God
. Slavery was abolished two hundred years ago, you know.’
    ‘Yes, I know, by William Wilberforce.’
    ‘And you wonder why no one asks you out. I really don’t think women get turned on by William Wilberforce references. Not that I’d
know
, I’ll admit–’
    ‘I have had no problems with girlfriends, Mehmet.’
    ‘You mean like the last one? The secret girlfriend no one ever saw who didn’t have a name? Did she live in Canada, George? Was she called Alberta?’
    ‘I don’t even begin to understand those sentences.’
    ‘Musical theatre reference. Like a foreign language to you. Which reminds me, I’ve got an audition–’
    ‘Yes, fine, whatever, just put it in the schedule and
make the call
. And don’t spend a half hour twittering before you do.’
    ‘
Twittering
. Was the world in colour yet when you were born, George? And gravity all the time?’
    ‘Do you honestly think you’re a quality enough employee for me not to fire you?’
    ‘Oh, here we go. “It’s
my
shop.
I
own it–”’
    ‘I
do
.’
    ‘Fine. I’ll leave you here alone with your goose.’
    ‘Crane.’
    ‘Well, I hope you’re gonna label it, because no one is ever going to think “crane” when they see that.’
    ‘It’s not for everyone. It’s . . .’
    ‘It’s what?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘No, you’ve gone all bashful. You’re even
blushing
!’
    ‘No, stop, what? Nothing, no. I just. Saw a crane. Last night.’
    ‘. . . by “crane”, do you mean “prostitute”?’
    ‘No! Jesus Christ, if you must know, a crane landed in my garden.’
    ‘. . . And?’
    ‘And nothing, go make the calls!’
    ‘Fine, watch me walking.’
    ‘And quit sighing like that.’
    ‘Customer, Mr Duncan.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I said,
customer
, George. Behind you.’
    ‘I didn’t hear the door–’
    ‘. . .’
    ‘. . .’
    ‘. . .’
    ‘Can I . . . ?’
    ‘My name,’ she said, ‘is Kumiko.’

P eople were always surprised to find out that George was American, or at least that he had started life that way. They told him he didn’t ‘seem’ American. When asked what exactly this entailed, they would look uncertain – not uncertain about what ‘seeming’ American might mean but uncertain about how badly they wanted to offend him.
    These people, friends even, many of them highly educated, many who had visited America several times, were surprisingly difficult to budge from