In Another Country, and Besides

by Maxwell Jacobs

  “Buongiorno,” the inspector said, looking exactly like I remembered.

  “Hello, inspector,” I said formally. “Please come in.”

  He walked in with his hands behind his back and his head down.

  “When did you arrive back?” he asked straight off.

  “Last night. Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

  “I’m fine, grazie,” he said walking into the living room and settling himself down on the sofa. “Tell me, Signore Hoffman, where have you been these last months?”

  “I was in the south of France,” I said, before adding, “writing a book.”

  “Ah yes, how splendid,” he said. “And what is your new book about?”

  “I’d really rather not say. It’s in the process and is evolving all the time.”

  “You won’t tell me what it’s about? Not even the general plot?”

  “I’d rather not,” I shook my head. “I don’t like talking about my work until it’s completed.”

  “How strange,” he said then stood up and walked around now, entering the hallway again.

  “Is there a reason why you are here in Zurich, inspector?” I asked following him.

  “Yes, now that you mention it,” he said, turning around.

  “And what would that be?” I asked.

  “New evidence has come to light, in regards to a murder in Lago di Como. Have you ever been to Lago di Como, Signore Hoffman?” he wiped the dust off a picture frame with his black leather gloves and looked it almost like it was a crime scene.

  “Yes, many times,” I answered. “It’s lovely down there.”

  “Indeed. And have you ever been to the town of Menaggio?” he asked.

  “I don’t recall so, no.”

  “Well, let me try and refresh your memory,” he said. “You stayed at the Grand Hotel Victoria, once in 1954 and then twice in 1955. It seems very strange to me that you don’t remember the name of the town that you have stayed in so often.”

  “Oh, MEN-aggio,” I said, changing the way it was pronounced. “Yes, of course. Sorry, I didn’t get it from the way you pronounced it. Yes, Menaggio. Beautiful town.”

  The inspector’s lips pressed together softy under his thick and bushy mustache so it seemed as if he was smiling.

  “Did you know that there was a murder in Menaggio that same February you were in Venice?” he asked.

  “No I wasn’t aware,” I said. His smile had now thrown me off a little.

  “Well, I was there recently at the Grand Hotel Victoria and the strangest thing happened,” he said. “The receptionist there remembers someone matching your description and said you were there that particular February and even more strange was that exact same somebody who matched your description was there the night of the murder. Don’t you find that strange, Signore Hoffman?”

  I stared at him and his eyes rested on me without moving.

  “Well, inspector. I can assure you, I wasn’t there,” I straighten myself.

  “But you were in Italy that February, correct?” he asked.

  “Yes. You know that because we met in Venice.”

  “Ah yes, you were in Venice for carnival,” he was watching me very closely now.

  “Correct.”

  “And tell me, how did you come back to Zurich?” he asked.

  “By car,” I answered.

  “Yours?” he asked me.

  “No, I rented one.”

  “Do you remember what date that was Signore Hoffman?”

  “I can’t remember,” I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. We can check with the rental companies,” he paused and walked back into the living room. “And may I ask why you left Venice so suddenly? Do you remember that I asked you to tell me before you leave? I even had your passport. It seems very strange to me that you would just leave without your passport, Signore Hoffman?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sorry about that,” I shrugged. “I just felt the need to leave. I was going to write to you, but… I started a new book just after and I put my full attention on that.”

  “Ah yes, your book,” said the inspector. “I read it of course. The Blue Room is its title, correct?”

  I tried not to show my surprise.

  “Correct,” I said. “And how did you find it?”

  “Very strange, signore,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Okay.” I let out a small laugh. “That’s a new reaction for me. What was strange about it?”

  “Well, you write about your ex-wife and daughter like they are still alive,” he said. “But they are not!”

  I took a deep breath and looked off to the corner of the room, trying to think of something else. He continued to watch me.

  “Look,” I said quickly. “Are you accusing me of something, inspector?”

  “Let me tell you what I see,” he said slowly, in a loud voice. “I see a pattern emerging.”

  “A pattern?” I replied.

  “Yes, a pattern. It seems to me that death follows you around, signor Hoffman. Starting with your ex-wife and child. Then an unexplained murder in Venice and then a few days later, in Lago di Como at a hotel that you frequently visited.”

  “That’s not a pattern, inspector,” I said firmly. “That’s a coincidence.”

  “Perhaps,” he nodded.

  “Anyway, I thought you caught the person who murdered that man in Venice?”

  “And how would you know this?” he asked quickly.

  “I keep up with the Italian papers.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “They spark ideas.”

  “What a strange answer,” he frowned. “Well, it’s true. We did catch the Venice murderer. And he was also placed at the hotel in Como on the night of the second murder.”

  Both murder had caused a lot of interest in the Italian newspapers, I thought.

  “Well there you have it,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “The next thing you will tell me is that he has blonde hair and blue eyes.”

  “Yes that is also true,” said the inspector, watching me as closely as ever. “He does have blonde hair and blue eyes.”

  “Of course he does,” I now saw myself and the whole scene in my living room from a distance. I watched myself and corrected my stance and made myself look more confident and relaxed.

  “You have been very clever, Signore Hoffman,” he said. “I start to wonder to myself if I should start digging around on your ex-wife’s disappearance. I wonder what I would find there.”

  I sat down and crossed my legs.

  “Inspector, do you have any concrete evidence linking me to these murders?” I asked.

  “No, I haven’t just yet,” he said, looking away. He ran his fingers through his hair and seemed to be irritated. “But like all killers, in the end something always shows up.”

  He smiled a broad smile that showed his tobacco stained teeth.

  “Well, until that day,” I said flatly. “And if you have nothing more, I would kindly ask you to leave.”

  “Va bene. I shall be in touch.”

  The inspector put his notebook away in his pocket.

  “Before you go, may I ask if you have my passport with you?”

  “Si, signore. But perhaps I will hold on to it for a little longer,” he tapped his top left jacket pocket.

  “Interesting,” I frowned. “Perhaps I will go talk with my very expensive lawyer and see what he has to say about that.”

  He took a long hard stare at me and waited for a moment and then pulled out my passport, and handed it over.’

  “Signore Harry,” he said. “Do you mind if I call you Harry?”

  I didn’t respond, simply giving him a dead look, twitching up my mouth to give the vague impression that all of this amused me. He came close so I could smell the tobacco on his breath.

  “Let me be as direct as I can be with my English, in order not to waste anybody’s time. I believe all this to be of your work,” he s
aid. “I believe it is only a matter of time before something more concrete comes up,” he tilted his head to the side and gave me a long hard stare.

  I looked over to the door and moved my head toward it.

  “Very well. Till next time,” he said.

  I followed him out to the door and opened it to let him out. As I did, Maria walking up the steps. It could not have been worse timing. There was nothing I could do so I straightened myself and felt the adrenaline rush through my body down to the tips of my fingers. The inspector walked past me, out into the corridor, and spotted Maria.

  “Signora Tremonte,” he said, his face full of surprise. “Cosa sta facendo qui?”

  “Hello, inspector,” she replied in English. The inspector looked from her to me, almost flustered. “I would ask you the same. I’m here to see Signore Hoffman,” she said, and he turned to me.

  “Like I said. Very strange, signore,” he said, and with that he walked down the stairs and out of the building. I began to breathe again.

  “Is everything okay, Harry?” Maria asked, seeing the grave expression on my face. But it was done now, and there was no undoing it.

  “What’s the inspector doing here?”

  “Everything is fine, I’ll tell you later,” I said, taking in every inch of her and kissing her firmly on the lips.

  “Where’s Liv?” I asked.

  “She’s with my parents.”

  “Get in here,” I said smiling, taking her by the arm and pulling her inside.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THAT AFTERNOON A BIRD flew into the bedroom through the open window. It then flew into the living room and out onto the terrace. The bird had not frightened me, but I did jump out of bed to make sure it had left the apartment. I got back to bed and pulled myself close to Maria. She was warm, but fresh, and felt so lovely in my arms. I put one leg over hers and rested my head so that my cheek was touching her forehead. I realized in that moment just how much I had missed the touch of her naked skin. Lying there she looked like an angel to me. I lay there thinking about every inch of her, her movements and how her body was more beautiful than any piece of art. Making love to her was one of life’s precious gifts, I thought and closed my eyes and tried to relive the experience once more before she woke.

  A breeze came suddenly in through the open window and brought with it the sound of the street below. She moved and then stretched and opened her eyes.

  “Hey, my love,” I said.

  “Hey,” she smiled sleepily. “Oh, I must have fallen asleep.”

  “Me too, it really is just too peaceful here with you.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’ve missed it so much.”

  I kissed her forehead.

  “A bird flew in while we were asleep,” I told her. “It woke me up and then went out through the terrace.”

  “Really,” she laughed. “What kind of bird?”

  “Not sure. A small one, maybe a swallow,” a breeze came in again with the warm air. “Mmm. It feels like such a lovely temperature outside. We should go out for an early evening walk,” she said.

  “That’s a great idea.”

  We dressed and headed out. It smelled like a summer evening on the street and we walked through the plaza, past the restaurants, bars and shops with their steel shutters down, and up toward the cemetery.

  “I’m not sure I want to go in there,” I said coldly.

  “Why? We used to love walking there together,” she said, looking up at me.

  “Well, that was before you took me in there and broke my heart,” I said, frowning sadly.

  She took my hand in hers.

  “Come on,” she said. “I have something important to say to you.”

  The sun was starting to set by the time we entered and we walked together, along the gravel path that was lined with trees and the names of the dead. She turned to look at me, saw me smile and then smiled back. We continued like that, arm in arm.

  “When we die would you like to be buried together? Like some of the families here?” she asked.

  “If we were a family,” I said. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Harry,” she said. “I’ve realized these last few months just how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I really would like to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “I feel the same, Maria,” I said, squeezing her hand.

  “That’s good,” she smiled, and I saw a new light in her eyes. “Because I’d like to start a family with you some day.”

  “You want to get pregnant?” I asked, taken aback by her words. She laughed.

  “Not right now, but some day, yes.”

  “Well when?” I asked with excitement.

  “Soon,” she smiled and softly hit me on the arm.

  “I just love the idea,” I pulled her close and gave her a gentle kiss.

  “I really think you are a great father Harry, the way you are with Liv just melts my heart.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I smiled. “Does this mean you are coming back to Zurich?”

  “Not for the moment no. I still need to first go back home and deal with Roberto and my family.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s time for me to start living the life I want for myself and not what others expect from me,” she said, looking up into my eyes. There was a strength there I had not seen before. She went on. “I want a life with you and Liv, and to have that I have to make things clear for everybody.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Will you wait for me, Harry?” she asked.

  “Of course I will, darling,” I said. “Do you even have to ask?”

  “Then it’s decided then,” I kissed her once again and we both smiled as we kissed.

  We walked down the gravel path and down below the gardens which were now beautifully in blossom. We continued past the trees and the big stonewalled entrance and back out onto the road.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said as we walked.

  “Anything.”

  “How are things going with David? Is he still bothering you?”

  “Yes, but you have to let that go, Harry,” she said firmly. “Let me handle all that.”

  “I try, but it’s not easy. He’s still my publisher, you know, and he puts a lot of crap on me, especially when we were together.”

  “Well, I don’t love him and I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you.”

  “That I believe, but it just bugs me, that’s all,” I said. “Did he come to Venice in the end?”

  “Yes, and we met once,” she sighed. “He told me he would leave his wife and kids to be with me. But I was really clear with him, and in the end that’s all I can do.”

  “Do you think he got the message?”

  “Perhaps, but I think he chooses not to listen, like other men I know only focusing on their ego.”

  “So he’s still trying?”

  “Will you stop?” she asked, with a plea in her voice “Yes, he’s still trying, but I don’t give him anything. I don’t respond him. He will lose interest soon.”

  I took a deep breath and let out a sigh.

  “I wish something terrible would happen to him,” I said quietly.

  “Don’t say that, Harry.” She shook her head. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t I?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  We walked in silence, and I thought she was still holding something back about David. There was something she was not telling me and it irritated.

  “Anyway, tell me what the inspector was doing here?”

  “He just came to give back my passport.”

  “He came all the way from Venice to give you back your passport, I don’t think so, Harry.”

  “Well, he did. He mentioned that he was in town on some other business. I don’t know Maria.”

  “Are you telling me the truth? He didn’t ask about Massimo or me?”
/>   “Not one word.”

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THAT NIGHT, IN THE BEDROOM with our clothes thrown over the floor and the window open, we could feel a summer storm coming. The rain came as we made love.

  I got up and took a glass of water. The apartment felt pleasant and cheerful, and with the lights out and the stormy air rushing through the rooms. It felt good to get back beneath the soft smooth sheets of that comfortable bed, knowing she was there. It was a feeling of being back together, like home. All the other things that had happened since our parting didn’t matter anymore. They felt unreal somehow.

  That morning, as the sunlight came through the windows, it slowly rose up onto her face and she looked as beautiful as she had ever been.

  She left a little after ten o’clock. It was a hard goodbye because I didn’t know when I would see her again. But I felt confident in us and that everything would work out fine. I felt proud of the journey she was about to undertake and I knew that she was doing it for us as much as for herself.

  I thought long and hard on what Maria had said about David. I wondered to myself if killing him would really be such a smart move to make—especially with inspector now on my case. Yet the more I thought and tried to rationalize everything, the more I just wanted to do it for me more than anything else. He had crossed me and now there was no turning back. And then, after all this rotten business, we would forget and then start over.

  I walked to the post office and sent off the invitations. I strolled back and began whistle and stopped for a drink along the way.

  I didn’t know what time I got to bed that night. I remember undressing and putting on my dressing gown before standing out on the terrace. I knew I was quite drunk. I smoked one last cigarette and came in. I put on the gas lamp next to my bed and got in. I took the pillow Maria had slept on and it still smelled of her. I turned off the light and tried to dream of Maria.

  Four days went by and still no word from David nor Thomas. So I settled back into life in Zurich. It was hard knowing that Maria was not around, but knowing she was out there, fighting our cause, gave me peace.

  In the mornings I would have a coffee on the terrace and read the daily papers that Frau Fischer would bring up and leave outside my door. She was very sweet like that. Afterwards I would take my notebook and pencil and write in a café close to Limmatplatz, then after, if the writing had gone well, I would reward myself with a brandy and walk along the Limmat River, through the city and out onto the lake. It was a good walk in the summer months. Along the banks were the after work swimmers, distressing. Further down, toward the city, there would be the fishing crowd, hoping for a catch for the evening supper.