Small G: A Summer Idyll

by Patricia Highsmith

  The telephone rang, and Rickie laid the invoice down.

  “I’ll take this one,” said Rickie, not hurrying. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Rickie. Teddie. I’m—um— How are you?”

  “Gu-t, danke,” replied Rickie. “And where are you? Home?”

  “I’m at Jakob’s.”

  Rickie instantly saw the semi-sheltered stand-up booth—if a hood with shoulder-length sides could be called a booth—against a wall near the toilets. “So-o—well—um—I am still working, you know. For a few minutes. Could you—” He saw that Mathilde was doing something at her desk, paying him no heed. “You know my home address.”

  “Just the telephone there.”

  Rickie gave him the house number. “Say, one o’clock?”

  “Sure, Rickie. Thank you.”

  Rickie smiled, hanging up, feeling happy. A polite boy to say “Thank you.” He hoped Teddie hadn’t got into some kind of trouble, and at once thought it was possible that Teddie liked him a little.

  He took a spare key from a drawer. “A key for you, Mathilde. I’ll be back by three for Star-Brite, but maybe not before. You have work for this afternoon. I think.”

  She sipped her Dubonnet before she answered. “Yes, indeed, Rickie. Guten Appetit!” she added more cheerfully.

  Rickie waved and departed.

  He saw the boy from a distance, standing under a tree, in blue jeans and a tan jacket, sneakers. Then Teddie saw him, and raised an arm.

  “Hi, Rickie!” A manly handshake from the boy.

  Rickie almost trembled. “Want to come up? Have you had lunch?”

  “No. Be nice to talk for a minute.” Teddie looked in a cheerful mood.

  They went up the steps, into Rickie’s flat.

  “Welcome—again!” Rickie said with a big smile.

  Teddie nodded. “Thanks. I talked with my mum today. I feel better.”

  Rickie felt a start of alarm. “Talked—about what?”

  “About what I might do with my life. I’m thinking of journalism. I wrote a column this morning—just two pages but it’s something.”

  “Very good,” said Rickie. “Would you like to sit down? Something to drink? A Coke?”

  The boy might not have heard the questions. His alert eyes gazed into Rickie’s. “I just wanted to talk to you. I’m going to try to start a column—twice a week, maybe. ‘Georg’s Hiccup,’ something like that—sort of for young people, though I hate the term ‘young people.’ Just—things I’ve been doing.”

  Rickie knew. Hiccup—well. “How about ‘Georg’s View’ or—‘Georg’s Adventures’?”

  “‘Adventures’—that’s possible. I’ll think about it.”

  “Did you bring your piece?”

  “I sent it off just now.” Teddie smiled. “To the Tages-Anzeiger. Aiming high, eh?”

  “Aha! My newspaper. But you have a copy of your piece.”

  “It’s at home. It’s—about Saturday night, the joy ride, ha-ha—and ending up in a strange neighborhood and dropping into a friendly bar and restaurant like Jakob’s and meeting—”

  “Did you write ‘Jakob’s’?” Somehow Jakob’s was private, like a club.

  Teddie laughed. “I called it ‘Artur’s.’ And meeting—friendly people like you, and others—and a pretty girl and dancing with her. It’s a whole new world.”

  It was only a whole new neighborhood, Rickie thought.

  “And even if it doesn’t last,” Teddie went on. “A night’s adventure, as you said. Like an episode, you know?”

  “Yes,” Rickie replied, puzzled. “Look, can I invite you to Jakob’s for a snack? Because I haven’t anything interesting here.”

  Rickie felt more at ease going into Jakob’s at lunchtime, because the hostile eye of Renate Hagnauer was never here at midday, and seldom was the dunce Willi Biber, who had vague jobs at a tearoom a few streets away, Rickie had heard, and very likely he ate there. He and Teddie entered by the main street door, and walked on to the back terrace, he and Lulu being greeted by a few of the patrons as usual.

  Bratwurst and sauerkraut for Teddie, sliced ham and potato salad for Rickie, and a Coke and a beer. Again a lovely day, with sunlight through the grapevines over their heads.

  “Does Luisa come here for lunch sometimes?” Teddie asked.

  Rickie chuckled, enjoying his meal and the beautiful image—the fact—of Teddie opposite. “I’m pretty sure Luisa has lunch with Renate at home there.”

  “And the evening?”

  Rickie quaffed some beer. “Never saw them for dinner here. Later, maybe—when the crowd gets interesting. Especially weekends.”

  Teddie’s brows looked troubled. “They’re always together?”

  “No. But Renate’s possessive. You’d think Luisa was her daughter.” He added, “I’ve heard she’s very jealous, Renate. So watch out—if you want to see Luisa again.” Nothing more obvious to Rickie than that Teddie did want to see Luisa again, and that that was why he was here.

  “Well—um—why has this Renate got such a hold?”

  Rickie didn’t answer at once. “Luisa—her family’s in Brig, I think. Renate gave her a job—continuing her apprenticeship, a place to sleep, about a year ago—less. Renate takes advantage, bosses Luisa around.” He added, as if it would explain the situation, “Everyone knows that.”

  “Because—I wouldn’t mind seeing Luisa again,” Teddie said with a smile, laying his knife and fork diagonally across his empty plate. “That was good, Rickie. Great place!”

  Rickie smiled a little, for some reason recalling the night he had barely made it home in his Merc, drunk and tailed by a police car. He had parked his car outside Jakob’s and staggered in, and Ursie had hidden him in the kitchen. Yes, hidden him, while the police had taken a look round the bar and the restaurant rooms, and had given up. Oddly, Rickie had not received a ticket in the post for that, because certainly the police had had his license number, if they’d cared to use it.

  “This Renate—is she in the telephone book?”

  Rickie reached for his nearly empty beer glass. “I think so. And if you try to telephone Luisa, she’ll likely pick up the telephone first.” He laughed.

  Teddie wagged his head to indicate indifference. “I can try it. What’s there to lose?”

  Rickie looked at his watch. “I’m checking because of an appointment at three,” he murmured, as if thinking of something else, which he was. He was trying to see into the future.

  “My mother says I can have the car more or less when I want,” Teddie said, “since I have a good record. Haven’t got it today, though.”

  And it would be nice to invite Luisa for a drive, Rickie was thinking, and to dinner at a restaurant in the countryside. Teddie’s handsome young face looked as restless as his left hand, whose fingers drummed on the old wood of the table. “I’m serious about the newspaper column idea. I’ll try it for a couple of months. Might improve with practice.”

  Rickie lit a cigarette. “But of course—with practice. A column for—people your age. If the Tages-Anzeiger turns you down, try somewhere else.”

  “I was writing articles and a couple of short stories in Gymnasium. I think I’m better at nonfiction. I don’t mean I’m very good yet—but I had some praise at school.”

  Rickie felt that Teddie gazed at him hopefully for approval, as if he, Rickie, had become a father figure. He frowned down at the ashtray. “You know, it might be better if you wrote to Luisa instead of telephoning, because if Renate answers”—he had lowered his voice, as if the old witch was at the next table—“she’s not going to pass you on to Luisa. She’ll ask your name, your business.”

  “Oh. That bad.”

  “Yes, Teddie.”

  Teddie stood up. “Excuse me. I’ll take a look. The
telephone book—Hagnauer.”

  “Yes,” Rickie said reluctantly, as softly as the boy had spoken. Then he picked up the four little bills, and reached for his wallet.

  Teddie was soon back. “I took the address and so on.”

  “So you’ll write a note.”

  “OK. But it’s so much slower.”

  Rickie had to smile. “Coffee?”

  “Not for me, thanks. I had a lot this morning, working.”

  Teddie reached for the bills, firmly. “I’ll pay. I think it’ll bring me luck.”

  Ursula was in sight, and came at Rickie’s beck. She wore a limp, slightly soiled white apron over a dark blue dress, and carried her pad and pencil at the ready.

  “So-o, my dear,” Rickie said in jocular tone. “We pay. Rather my friend does.”

  “Ah-h—our friend from Saturday night!” said Ursula pleasantly, on recognizing Teddie. “Welcome!”

  “Thank you,” said Teddie.

  Ursie’s pale blue eyes focused on her reckoning, and she announced the sum.

  “Thank you very much, Teddie,” said Rickie.

  They went out via the garden path with the gate at the pavement edge.

  “By the way, Teddie, are you in the telephone book? Your mother?”

  “Yes. Under K. J. Stevenson. Here.” He pulled his wallet again from the inside pocket of his jacket, and took a small business card from it. “One of my dad’s old cards, but it’s correct.”

  Rickie recognized a street name and postal code of a residential section of Zurich. “Not that I mean to phone you. But it’s somehow nice to know where you are.”

  “You could telephone me,” Teddie said in a frank tone. “Why not?”

  Just then, past Teddie’s shoulder, Rickie saw Willi Biber crossing the street, apparently heading for Jakob’s main entrance, Willi in his broad-brimmed gray hat, and looking downward, as if afraid of stepping into dog excrement. When Willi reached the pavement, he glanced in their direction. Impossible to know what the dimwit’s brain had registered, and depressing to realize that if Willi reported sighting him with Teddie, if would be in Rickie’s favor: Renate would warn Luisa, maybe with redoubled strength, that she’d be consorting with a homosexual, if she made a date with Teddie.

  Teddie turned to see what interested Rickie. Willi fixed his gaze on Teddie for a couple of seconds, then disappeared into the greenery that enveloped Jakob’s entrance.

  “That guy again,” said Teddie. “Wasn’t he here Saturday night? Sure. At Renate’s table—funny-looking guy.”

  Rickie strolled toward his office, and Teddie came with him. “Every village has its idiot, I suppose.”

  When Rickie was almost at his apartment house, he made a decision. “Teddie, come in for a minute. There’s something I want to tell you and I can’t tell you out here.”

  “What?” asked Teddie, unwilling.

  “It’ll take two minutes and it’s important.” Rickie pulled his keys out as if he meant business.

  The boy followed him. Rickie entered his flat and closed the door. He had fourteen minutes before Star-Brite.

  “Look—this—it’s Renate,” Rickie began. “I told you she was possessive about Luisa. I had a young boyfriend—Peter Ritter. His pictures are all around here. He was killed in January this year. He—”

  “Killed?”

  “Stabbed one night as he left a cinema. In Zurich. Stabbed and robbed, you know? Bled to death before he got to a hospital. I wasn’t with him, he was by himself.”

  “That’s terrible, Rickie. I’m sorry.” Teddie’s eyes flickered toward the big picture of Petey with his motorcycle, then away.

  “The reason I tell you this is that Luisa was very fond of Petey, in love with him even. For several weeks. Renate was most upset. Petey was gay. Oh, I know it’s a different situation. But Renate told Luisa that Petey was stabbed by a pickup of Petey who came in through the balcony window or some such when I was out—that he was stabbed right here in my apartment.”

  Teddie began to frown. “But wasn’t there anything in the papers about the stabbing?”

  Rickie nodded. “The time and place and the hospital he was taken to. Not a big item. Not everybody read it, of course. And people believe what they want to believe. Some people. Like Willi who’s practically a moron. Renate has a lot of control over him.”

  “And the people around here? In Jakob’s?”

  “Oh, Ursie and the help at Jakob’s, they know the truth. But—people who just come in for a beer—any stranger, they’re going to believe a story like the stabbing in my apartment, because it’s interesting—dramatic. I feel sure Renate can tell it as if she believes it. She convinced Luisa. I had to set Luisa right.”

  Teddie said with utmost seriousness, “It’s hard to imagine Renate’s that cracked.”

  Rickie hesitated a moment. “She’s not cracked, she’s shrewd. Greedy, maybe. Now she’s concentrating on Luisa. Renate wants to make her a very good dress designer.”

  “She’s gay, Renate? A lesbian?”

  “Ha! Maybe a repressed one. I don’t know what she is, because it’s all sort of distorted—I heard she was married once, for years. No children, I think.”

  Teddie nodded. “I’ve heard of a hundred percent repressed gay people. Men and women.”

  “I warn you about Willi Biber too. A real snoop—and full of lies. It seems Renate convinced him he was once in the French Foreign Legion—years ago. Ursie told me that one!” Rickie could not repress a smile. “I hadn’t heard it but it seems Willi tells it to a lot of people.”

  Teddie stepped back and gave a laugh. “The Foreign Legion. That scarecrow!”

  Rickie moved toward the door, keys still in hand. They went out and descended the front stone steps.

  “I don’t know how this Renate can look you in the face.”

  “She doesn’t look at me—usually. You haven’t noticed yet. I don’t exist for her. Here I am at the factory. Phone me some time—if you feel like it.” Rickie felt noble with his casualness, his easy smile.

  “Right. I’m sure I’ll feel like it.”

  They were standing beside Rickie’s studio railing, where the steps went down to work, discipline, the telephone, and Mathilde.

  “And I’d love to see one of your efforts with ‘Georg’s Adventures.’ If you send me a carbon copy, I’ll return it if you want me to.”

  A vague gesture, a murmured word and a smile, and Rickie’s vision of perfection—health, good looks, and sex appeal—turned and hurried off toward Jakob’s again.

  12

  Two days later, Luisa Zimmermann prepared cautiously for her first date with Teddie—sometimes Georg—Stevenson. She was to meet him one street away and around the corner of the street in which she lived. His car was an Audi four-door, brown, and if she didn’t see it parked, she would see him strolling along, wearing a light-colored jacket.

  Can you invent a reason to stay out long enough for dinner, etc? A sick friend? A film you want to see? Whether you can make it or not, I’ll be there by seven-fifteen and I’ll wait—how long? A long time anyway!

  Till then XX

  G.

  It was hard for Luisa to invent something to tell Renate, because Luisa’s circle of friends was small, and because Renate suspected anything that was out of the ordinary. Why did she feel like taking a walk just now? Because she hadn’t stretched her legs all day, Luisa might reply, which was the truth, but Renate’s eyes would stare like knives cutting her brain open.

  For this occasion Luisa had said, taking a big chance, that it was too hot to eat anything, at least at 7 P.M., and she wanted to stroll along the Sihl for a while. She would probably be back by ten, she said. Daring, that had been, but here she was out, out, at one minute to seven, freshly showered, wearing a full blue cott
on skirt she had made, and a white, long-sleeved cotton blouse, carrying a small handbag that held her keys, a little money, paper tissues, a comb, and over her arm a black sweater for later when it became chilly. Luisa wondered, was Renate baiting her, letting her line run out quite a lot, so she could haul it in with a big catch? Renate had attacked every boy or young man Luisa had made acquaintance with in the last—well, all the time she had lived in Renate’s house, nearly a year. Renate would make a devastating remark: “Shabby clothes,” or “Looks like a farm worker,” or “Common as mud! Just because he smiles and invites you to a Coke, you intend to make a date with him?”

  Luisa strolled away from home and Jakob’s, and past the place where she was to meet Georg-Teddie. She was thinking of her “circle of friends”: Elsie, one of the apprentices who lived in the neighborhood, would certainly help her out. Luisa could still ring her up (she lived with her parents) and say, “I was with you this evening for dinner, in case Renate questions me. All right, Elsie?” Vera would be cooperative too. Impossible that Luisa could have arranged such an alibi during working hours, when Renate was present in the big apartment. Luisa wouldn’t have dared try. It was as if the walls had ears, as the saying went, or that, despite her audible gait, Renate could sneak up and hear every word before Luisa was aware of her presence. Luisa had captured Teddie’s letter safely, only because she’d fetched the post herself from the box.

  Seven past seven. Maybe Georg was already at the meeting place? At the next corner, she turned right, into the appointed block, and still slowly walked along the pavement overhung with birch and plane trees. There were a couple of dark figures ahead, but she saw a pale blur which became a jacket, she thought.

  “Hello, Luisa!” Georg-Teddie said softly. “You made it!”

  “Yes!”

  “Car’s this way.” He still spoke softly. “Round the corner. No, at the corner. I’m so glad you’re here!”

  He smiled, and opened the door of a large and shining car that had appeared black to Luisa. “Please.”

  Luisa stepped in and sat on a broad beige passenger seat, and Teddie came round and got behind the wheel. Luisa had a glimpse of a complex-looking dashboard, red arcs, dials, then Teddie closed the door and the engine purred.