【时间旅行者的妻子】19

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and see that it’s only 6:30. I’m too restless to get back into bed. I walk into the kitchenette in search of coffee. All the counters and the stove are covered with stacks of dishes, magazines, and other reading material. There’s even a sock in the sink. I realize that Henry must have simply heaved everything into the kitchen last night, regardless. I always had this idea that Henry was very tidy. Now it becomes clear that he’s one of those people who is fastidious about his personal appearance but secretly slovenly¹ about everything else. I find coffee in the fridge, and find the coffee maker², and start the coffee. While I wait for it to brew³, I peruse⁴ Henry’s bookshelves.

　Here is the Henry I know. Donne’s Elegies⁵ and Songs and Sonnets⁶. Doctor Faustus, by Christopher Marlowe. Naked Lunch. Anne Bradstreet, Immanuel Kant. Barthes, Foucault, Derrida. Blake’s Songs of Innocence⁷ and Experience. Winnie the Pooh. The Annotated⁸ Alice. Heidegger. Rilke. Tristram Shandy. Wisconsin Death Trip. Aristotle. Bishop⁹ Berkeley. Andrew Marvell. Hypothermia, Frostbite and Other Cold Injuries.

　The bed squeaks¹⁰ and I jump. Henry is sitting up, squinting¹¹ at me in the morning light. He’s so young, so before—. He doesn’t know me, yet. I have a sudden fear that he’s forgotten who I am.

　“You look cold” he says. “Come back to bed, Clare.”

　“I made coffee,” I offer.

　“Mmm, I can smell it. But first come and say good morning.”

　I climb into bed still wearing his bathrobe. As he slides his hand under it he stops for just a moment, and I see that he has made the connection, and is mentally reviewing his bathroom vis-a-vis me.

　“Does it bother you?” he asks.

　I hesitate.

　“Yes, it does. It does bother you. Of course.” Henry sits up, and I do, too. He turns his head toward me, looks at me. “It was almost over, anyway.”

　“Almost?”

　“I was about to break up with her. It’s just bad timing¹². Or good timing, I don’t know.” He’s trying to read my face, for what? Forgiveness? It’s not his fault. How could he know? “We’ve sort of been torturing each other for a long time—” He’s talking faster and faster and then he stops. “Do you want to know?” No.

　“Thank you.” Henry passes his hands over his face. 

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