Runaway, por Alice Munro (Remaining)

He remained with her. The thought of him was there when she woke up, and in lulls at work. The Christmas celebrations brought her thoughts round to ceremonies in the Orthodox Church, which she had read about, bearded priests in gold vestments, candles and incense and deep mournful chanting in a foreign tonge. The cold weather and the ice far out into the lake make her think of winter in the mountains. She felt as if she had been chosen to be connected to that strange part of the world, chosen for a different sort of fate. Those were words she used to herself. Fate. Lover. Not boyfriend. Lover. Sometimes she thought of the casual, reluctant way he had spoken about getting in and out of the country, and she was afraid for him, imagining him involved in dark schemes, cinematic plots and dangers. It was probably a good thing that he had decided there should be no letters. Her life would have been drained entirely into composing them and waiting for them. Writing and waiting, waiting and writing. And of course worrying, if they didn't arrive.

A. Munro, Tricks

Etiquetas: alice munro, certezas, citas, distancias, esperas, incertidumbre, runaway