In Another Country, and Besides
Page 23
“I can’t find it, Harry!” Thomas shouted from down the hallway.
“It’s there, just keep looking, dammit!” I screamed back as I continued to force down on his face.
David twitched and then made a violent movement and raised his hand and grabbed at my arm, but he had no strength to stop me. My left hand started to cramp up. It hurt like hell. Then his arms dropped slowly down and stillness came.
I stayed for a moment and looked at the vain in my arm. It was pulsating. I took the pillow off slowly and threw it on the floor. I looked at my hands they were shaking and my left hand had cramped almost shut. I rubbed the cramped hand against my trousers and tried to gentle the fingers. But it would not open.
I was terrified that he might only be pretending and suddenly his arms would come up and try to choke me. But he remained still. After a moment I felt his wrist for a pulse and it was gone. He was gone.
I looked at him and turned my eyes slowly to the corner by the door and imagined Mme Bonnet or Thomas standing in the doorway, having watched the whole rotten thing. But she was not there. Nobody was. I felt sudden disgust and helplessness. Thomas came running in, out of breath.
“I can’t find it, Harry,” he cried. “I checked everywhere.”
“It doesn’t matter now,’ I shook my head and put my cramped left hand behind my back. “He’s gone.”
“Good God!” he cried, staring down at the lifeless body. His eyes were wider than a man’s hand with three fingers spread wide, and his eyes looked detached as the mirrors in a periscope or as a saint in a procession.
Mme Bonnet came rushing in moments later. She looked at Thomas and he looked down, shaking his head slowly. I stood up and wobbled across the room to sit down on the chair by the window. I opened it and breathed in the fresh air; I breathed it deep into my lungs and rested my eyes absently on David’s limp, dead body and blood soaked face, and my stomach contracted and puked into the bin and my left hand still cramped closed. If I have to, I will open it, whatever it costs.
I looked over and saw the pillow on the floor was covered in blood. Nobody had seen it yet. I stiffened and quickly stood up and walked over trying to conceal my hand to pick up the pillow. I turned it around and walked over to the bed.
“What are you doing, Harry?” Thomas asked, looking horrified.
“I can’t look at his face any longer,” I said and placed the blood-soaked side of the pillow over his face with my good hand.
“Don’t do that!” Thomas said grabbing my arm.
“Please, leave it,” I said, my voice shaking with fear, though it must have sounded like grief. “I can’t look at him like that anymore.”
“Christ Almighty,” Thomas said and walked over to the room’s mini bar and poured us both a large whiskey and handed me a glass.
“Drink this!” my hands were shaking as I raised the glass and gulped it down. You only had to look at David’s hands to know that this had truly happened and it was not just a dream.
When I had seen him fall, I reflected and hung motionless before he fell, I was sure there was some great strangeness to it all and I could not believe it. I had come down so fast on him and without caution.
I walked out of the room and into my own and sat on the corner of the bed, not really knowing how to feel. It was done and I felt the adrenaline leave my body and when it left, I felt exhausted and frail and drained and full of resolution but had little hope.
“We should really call his wife or something,” I muttered to myself, dropping down and passing out on the bed.
CHAPTER XXIX
I WOKE UP around seven o’clock in the evening and walked out to the hallway and into David’s room. The door was still open but the body was gone. I sat on the bed and looked around. The blood-soaked pillow was now dry and dark red. Maria’s picture was still in front of me on the nightstand. I looked at her for a moment and gave a half-defeated smile.
Below the picture was a torn off, folded piece of paper. I picked it up and unfolded it. It was an Italian phone number and I figured it must have been Maria’s. I went over to the desk and dialed the number. It took a moment to connect.
“Pronto,” an old lady’s voice answered.
“Buonasera. E Maria la?” I said in my worst Italian.
“Who is this?” she responded in English.
“Ah, hello,” I said. “My name is Harry, Harry Hoffman. I’m a friend of Maria’s.”
“Hello, Harry,” came the voice. “Yes, we know all about you. My name is Valentina. I’m Maria’s mother.”
“Please to meet you, Valentina,” I said. “Is she around?”
“No, she left this morning.”
“I see. Do you know where she is heading?”
“I think you will find that she’s on her way back to you.”
“To Zurich?” I asked.
“Yes!”
“With Liv?”
“Si.”
“She should have arrived in Milano now for the night,” she said. “If you wish to call her, which I’m sure you do, the name of the hotel is Principe Di Savoia.”
“Thank you so much!” I said.
“No problem, and Harry?”
“Yes?”
“Be good to her. She has sacrificed a lot, and she deserves to be happy.”
“I will. Thank you.”
I waited for Maria’s mother to hang up then I pressed down on the receiver with my index finger and dialed information.
“Bonsoir. Le numéro pour the Hotel Principe Di Savoia á Milano, s’il vous plait,” I said, waiting for the connection. “Oui, connect merci,” it connected and rang.
“Buonasera. Maria Moretti, per favore,” I said to the receptionist. The number rang.
“Pronto,” came her voice.
“Maria?” I said.
“Harry?”
“Yes, it’s me. How are you?” I asked.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Oh sweetheart, everything is fine. I just needed to hear your voice.”
“Oh, darling. Hello. How did you know I was here?”
“I called your mother and she gave me the name of the hotel.”
“Ah, okay,” she said. “Well, it’s lovely to hear your voice. Although you sound stressed.”
“I’m fine. I just miss you.”
“I miss you too darling. Where are you?”
“I’m in Geneva at some hotel,” I sighed.
“What are you doing there?” she asked.
“It’s a long story, I will tell you later.”
“Okay.”
“Listen, I was thinking, it’s only some hours to Milan. What do you think about meeting somewhere halfway? And then finding a hotel for the night? Before heading back to Zurich in the morning together?”
“I think it’s romantic!” she laughed down the line.
“It’s okay for Liv?” I asked.
“She’s still awake and she would fall asleep in the car.”
“Okay, sweetheart, head direction Geneva, and let’s meet halfway in a town called Aosta. It’s in Italy.”
“Yes, I know it, but where shall we meet there?” she asked.
“I remember there’s an arch in the main towns square. Like the one in Paris, but smaller. Let’s meet under there?”
“Okay, my love. See you there.” She hung up. I took the picture and number and went back to my room to pack my things.
I took my bag and walked quietly down the stairs and into the lobby. The hotel was deadly silent. I looked around and then walked out into the parking lot. Mme Bonnet’s blue Citroën was in the corner under a large tree. I tried the handles but it was locked, so I picked up a rock and smashed the window without hesitation. I wiped away the shattered glass on the seat, got in, and ripped off the cover below the steering wheel and fixed the wires and the car engine made a few chugs before starting.
“Harry? What are you doing?” I heard a voice from an upstairs window. It was Mme Bonnet.
—————
Thirty minutes in, I pulled off to the first gas station to get some air and clear my head. It was becoming too hard to continue, and as I entered and walked past the shops and into the toilets, I headed straight to the sink so I could splash cold water on my face and neck. I took a long deep breath, water dripping from my skin. I rose up slowly to look at myself in the mirror. I was almost white.
“Well, there’s a mirror,” a voice came out of nowhere.
“What?” I looked around then realized I knew the voice.
“What about the mirror?” I asked.
“Clean that mirror,” the voice replied, and I tried to make sense of it but couldn’t, so I ran the water and washed the mirror with my hand, and it sounded odd and felt strange, but I knew in that moment that I had to clean the mirror. It was just something I had to do.
It felt like that water was everywhere. It was above me, below me, and all around me. I could feel water entering my body at the roots, washing me clean and then keeping me dry.
A man entered the bathroom and looked at me, and I followed his eyes scornfully and could see his look on me and it wasn’t courteous. He was being rude and it infuriated me. I pulled myself up and looked at him again through the mirror and then laughed out with an insane, almost deafening tone, letting it quietly drift off.
It was clear that this had rattled him. He turned around and walked hurriedly out of the bathroom. I watched him leave and then went back to the mirror. Sweat glistened on my forehead.
“I think we better get out of here,” I said grimly into my ear and steered us both out toward the parking lot.
Back in the car, I tried to make light of the situation with a smile and lifted my face to the rearview mirror and gave myself a grin before giggling back.
It was dark and cold and I wished I could shut the window. I climbed up through the town of Cluses and then on into Chamonix. My hands were freezing and I had to keep rubbing them on my chest for warmth. The thought of seeing Maria made me determined to forget the cold. I followed the moonlight with my eyes onto the sharp and steep mountains. They were high peaks that dominated the night sky.
The road climbed steadily through a forest and around a large mountain before dropping down into Italy. There were barns, cabins and meadows at the edge of the woods. The valley was deep and as I came down the road I could see a small lake at the bottom. The wind blew hard and I felt a chill all the way through, but I didn’t mind the harshness of it all because I knew I would be warm and safe soon enough. As I got closer I felt invigorated. I eventually saw a sign for Aosta. The road was now hard and the Citroën did the best it could. My arms ached from the hardness of the steering wheel.
Along the road was an old stone château sitting on a ledge of the side of a hill with a terraced field of vine trees. The road went down very steeply onto a new paved road, which lead to Aosta.
As I entered, the town was dark and still. I drove around and followed the signs for the center, and when I made the last corner the arch was in sight and beneath it was a car with its headlights on. I stopped the car in the middle of the road and flung open the door and stepped out without turning off the engine. Underneath the arch I could see a silhouette.
I started to run and so did she, and when we reached each other I picked her up and spun her around and kissed her. At first her mouth trembled under mine, and then, as the passion and excitement took control, her mouth yielded into a kiss without end. She looked at me and I looked at her, and from the light of the car I could see that she was crying so I kissed her once more.
IN ANOTHER COUNTRY, AND BESIDES
——
BOOK IV
CHAPTER XXX
SHE TURNED ON THE LIGHTS and searched for something in one of the unpacked boxes. I lay in bed and watched her move around the room.
“You know, you really should take it easy,” I said.
“What?” She didn’t look up from her shifting.
“There’s not too many heavily pregnant women moving around like you do, especially lifting heaving boxes,” I said, half-amused, half-worried.
“I’m not lifting,” she said. “I’m just organizing.”
“Well, take it easy please.”
“I just want to get things organized a little for when my parents arrive,” she said.
I looked at my watch. “What time do they get in?”
“Six o’clock. What are your plans today, darling?” she asked.
“I’ll go to Le Rostand and read over the manuscript,” I said, eying the thick pile of unorganized paper on the floor.
“Okay, but please be back before seven,” she said, throwing the pillow at me.
“Look at you.” I grinned at her. “You’re about to pop any minute. Come lay with me for a moment.”
She came over and sat on the bed next to me. I pushed her hair back behind her ear.
“You know this might be the last day we can have sex while you’re still pregnant.”
“Oh, really?” She smiled. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it’s a fact.” I smiled back. “Plus, Liv isn’t awake yet, and you know how sexy I think you are with that big belly.”
“Really? I feel like a big bag of flour.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re beautiful.”
She scrunched up her face and lifted her nightdress over her head. She climbed on top of me, and her swollen belly touched mine as we moved slowly and passionately, her hands pressed down on my waist. I lay my head back but kept my eyes on her.
The autumn weather sent a breeze in through the open window and we climaxed at the same time. She turned over and we lay together on our sides like spoons. It felt warm and peaceful, and in that moment the three of us felt very close.
I showered and then wrote a little note for Liv. She loved receiving letters. I wrote that I would see her after kindergarten and drew a little picture of a monkey. She loved monkeys. I placed the note next to her bed.
It was seven-thirty by the time I got out into the morning sun. I walked down Rue d’Assas where a good smell of fresh bread lingered in the air, and then on to the corner of Rue Auguste Comte where I entered the Luxembourg gardens. I could smell the fragrant flowers even before I entered. I walked through the lush gardens and out toward the Grand Bassin where just yesterday Liv sailed a tiny sailboat with the other kids. I walked past the palace and through the trees and toward a small gazebo bandstand.
The morning joggers were out now, moving steadily around the outskirts of the park and through the trees. The leaves had started to come down and litter the gravel paths. Looking up, I saw that the trees seemed almost bare. There really was so much to be said about these gardens in the early-morning light, but everything would sound exaggerated until one actually lay eyes on them.
I walked over to the Pavillon de la Fountaine, which was a small brasserie in the park with round green metal tables and chairs nestled between the tall bare trees and a brown leafy floor. I remembered in the summer months one would have to search out a table which lay between an opening in the trees to get the sunlight, but the leaves had all but fallen now and lit up this usually shaded paradise. I took an espresso and asked the waiter for today’s Le Monde. It wasn’t bad to be back in Paris, I thought. Everything felt new and fresh under the trees. I took my first cigarette of the day and sat back.
The park was coming to life, and the men in suits with briefcases walked past on their way to work. Children played on the graveled walkways with their mothers or nannies watching on before taking them to school. People were out walking their dogs and everyone seemed happy.
I finished the paper, paid and left, and walked out of the gardens and down to the café Le Rostand. This was a pleasant café. It was clean, always friendly, and had a great terrace. Back in the day, I
had written most of my first book here. You could always order very little but stay all day and they didn’t mind. I ordered a café au lait and took out the manuscript and settled in.
The book was coming along nicely. I just had the ending to work on. I hadn’t sent it yet to Thomas, thinking it might upset him at the moment, given all that had happened. I decided I would wait a few more months and edit it myself the best I could. I’d written all about Maria, Roberto, and David, but needed to change the names and add a thick layer of fiction to hold it together. It was a good story, in my opinion, and I was proud of it. Maria had been trying to read it now for some months, so I gave her pieces of the puzzle, but it didn’t seem to hit home just yet. Perhaps she was just more focused on being pregnant.
The sun was shining directly on the terrace and looked inviting and decided to go outside and work. I sat down on a round table, which overlooked the boulevard and the gardens. It was nice to be outside and work in the open air with the fallen leaves blowing along the sidewalk.
A manuscript, pencil, marbled-topped table, a café, and the smell of the morning were all you needed to write well in Paris. Although I had found that you could never write about Paris in Paris. But today I will try. Here goes.
A tall French girl sat down at the table next to me and ordered an espresso. I raised my head slightly and looked at her above the rims of my glasses. I saw that she looked over and smiled. I thought I should ignore her and see if I could continue. And I did continue.
The day passed quickly as it always does when one works well. In the early evening, I rewarded myself with a brandy and cigarette before it was time to head back home. The park was closed by the time I shoved off, so I walked up and around the outskirts.
Maria’s parents were there by the time I got home. They were here for a week to look after Liv while we focused on the pregnancy. That evening, we spent the night eating and drinking and talking, and everybody was happy and excited.
The following morning, Maria woke me around four o’clock.
“Are you okay, darling?” I asked.