With no hesitation or delay, Lucie rose to her feet, and looked down at all of the Vicentes. Most of their faces had turned up to her own, and were utterly vacant, as they waited for what words she seemed about to speak.
“Your kindness,” she said, “is more than I can express. You’ve done more for me, these past weeks, than I ever would have dreamt of asking. But I know that some things are hard to understand – no matter how kind or good you are. So I’ll leave you now, and let you be. I thank you so much for everything – and I hope that one day you’ll think well of me.”
Of the goodbyes which were then exchanged, some were warm, and some were cold. Some were gentle, and some were terse. The cold and terse, in fact, could be said not really to have occurred at all, but passed rather as a thick silence. Of the warm and gentle, however, those of Eduardo, Alejandra and Mateo were almost as sincere as they would have been, had none of the business of the previous evening taken place at all. It was a proof to Alejandra’s character, that she had come so far from her initial and inexplicable hatred of Lucie, to become one of those who showed her kindness, when others did not. Mrs. Vicente, however, maintained a firm stand with Maríbel, upon the fact that Lucie had committed a grievous crime against the peace and well-being of their family. Both women refused even to look at Lucie.
César pouted like a child, and evinced no sign of any willingness to be civil. It was as if he had been hoping all night for something from Lucie – some retraction of established sentiment for Clara, some admission that she cared much more for him than she had told. But, in the absence of either of these things, he was chilly and taciturn. He kept his eyes turned down to his coffee cup, and didn’t respond, when Lucie bade him farewell.
Clara accompanied Lucie downstairs, where they stood for a long while on the sidewalk, breathing in the warm morning air. But finally Clara broke the silence, and begged Lucie not to go. She told her not to mind her mother and sister. They had only been shaken, and would accustom themselves, in time, to this new idea – for cruelty and unkindness were not in their nature. As for César – well, he would soon be caught up again in his “work,” and would quite forget that he “loved” Lucie. So wouldn’t she stay, and only wait for the passing of the storm?
But Lucie said no. She insisted that they all needed time without her, to acquaint themselves to the concept of being with her. And who knew how long it would take? Perhaps she would never be able to come back to Little Tortuga Street.
Clara’s face filled with horror at the suggestion; but Lucie laughed, and assured her that her absence would by no means affect what painstaking ties they had made with each other. Either Lucie would stay in Mexico, or Clara would come to Texas, where Lucie had worked before as a librarian (not always to either positive or fruitful results), and could attempt to do so again.
They looked at each other for a long moment, and their thoughts were such that words couldn’t possibly have interpreted them. But then they embraced tightly, and Clara whispered into Lucie’s ear, where she would go?
“Where?” she demanded. “Back to him?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Apart from you,” Lucie answered gravely, “he’s all I have.”
There was a resolution in Lucie’s stern countenance that couldn’t be disputed. So Clara stepped back – and though she sighed heavily, and discontentedly, she didn’t argue. “But you’ll call me,” she said, “if you need me?”
“I will.”
“Will you at least let me drive you?”
“In what?”
“My brother’s car.”
Lucie winced, and shook her head. “I’d rather walk, anyway,” she said.
“It’s an awfully long walk.”
“I hope so.”
They held long to one another; for they feared what was to come after they parted. But there were no more words to be said, which hadn’t been said already; so Lucie stepped forward, and kissed Clara very tenderly, before she turned away. Then, with Robert’s cell phone in one pocket, and her pain pills in another, she set off on her way.
30
The Missing Brother with the Missing Suitcase
As Lucie walked, she thought mostly about Sylvie. When she woke that morning, there had been a strange feeling of lightness round her heart, as if the weight of that little shadow had been lifted. Now, when she looked, there wasn’t the darkness of a ghost; but rather the brightness of Sylvie’s shining face, glowing as it had on the roof, in the light of the silver moon. It was as if what pain Lucie thought had been Sylvie’s, was never really hers at all – but was only Lucie’s own, for what she had lost, and for what she knew in her heart that Robert had done. How could it have been Sylvie’s, when she had smiled as she did, and asked for Lucie to kiss their brother? Unless, that was . . .
Lucie feared somehow that the little spirit had not been Sylvie, truly – but only another product of the sickness of her mind. She had begun to feel, during her stay in Mexico, just a little more normal than she ever had before. But the whirlwind of the previous evening had driven her to the ledge of a roof, over which she had sincerely considered leaping; and she may very well have done it, if Sylvie hadn’t come.
What did that say about her? It said that she was insane; it said that something wasn’t as it should be. And if that were true, how could she trust the genuineness of a visiting spirit? Well, no more than Ebenezer Scrooge had been able to, really. Yet he had believed. She wanted to believe – but was hardly sure whether to do so would be an action of empowerment, or merely an admission of her complete descent into insanity.
These thoughts were pure torture, as she walked along beneath the tauntingly cheerful rays of the sun, and looked now and then into the eyes of passing people – none of which showed any sign at all, of what might be taking place behind them. She wished to see it, and to understand it, so that she might compare it to the substance of her own mind – but all those empty eyes would not let her.
She was exceedingly grateful, when (more than three hours later) she arrived finally at the motel. She preferred even the uncertainty of Robert’s wrath, to the slow persecution of her own fears. So she went quickly up to the door of her brother’s room, and raised her fist to knock – but was stopped by the appearance of a sheet of paper, folded in half, and nailed violently (a few sharp wood splinters protruded from the place where the tack had been driven) to the door. It rustled ever so gently in the mild breeze, almost as if it were waving to Lucie, and requesting her to peruse its contents.
She ripped it down, and unfolded it – to find that it contained nothing but a single scant paragraph, scrawled hastily in her brother’s hand. It read:
Lucie,
I’m leaving tonight. I sat here, for many hours after you left – and after César left – thinking more, perhaps, than I’ve ever thought before. I’ll tell you honestly, that I didn’t care for it at all. I don’t know what else to do; and I don’t know who else to be, than the man I’ve always been. So I’m going. César will think himself cheated (after his most recent visit, I don’t much care what he thinks) and of course he’ll be right. His money is mine now, and I’ll use it to start again, somewhere new. You will never see me again. I hope that the Vicentes can do for you, what I never did. They seem to care for you very much. And I – well, goodbye, Lucie.
Robert
Lucie looked at this letter for a very long time. She read it five times over; and even when she had learned it by heart, she still continued to stare at it, as if looking for something on the paper, that hadn’t been written in ink. Perhaps something, some very little thing, that had fallen from Robert’s heart while he wrote – but, unsurprisingly enough, there was nothing to be found.
Feeling all of a sudden very lost in that big city – without the brother, ironically, who had never much served to guide her – she folded up the letter, and put it in her pocket.
And then what was she to do? For the moment she went down the s
idewalk, and sat on the metal stairs, so that she could try to think. The situation was as follows.
Robert had disappeared. Evidently, he had taken César’s money with him (probably César should never have given it back, after he took it the first time), and he had no intention of reciprocating with whatever “merchandise” he had agreed to provide. Most likely it hadn’t been his plan to flee, at least not at the beginning – otherwise he wouldn’t have used his own name.
But still, he was gone.
Gone forever.
With tears she paid no attention to, falling steadily from her eyes, Lucie took the phone out of her pocket. But its battery was nearly dead. A miniature image of a battery cell flickered there in the corner of the screen, threatening every moment to take from Lucie her last power of communication. So she searched as fast as she was able, for the number which would connect her to Clara. She handled the little phone with trembling fingers, fearing very much that it would die, before she had a chance to explain her circumstances. She sighed with relief when Alejandra answered.
“Alejandra!” she exclaimed. “Quick – can you get Clara for me?”
“Yes.”
There was silence for several long moments. Lucie repeatedly took the phone from her ear, to ascertain whether its screen was still alight. Finally, another voice came on the line – and this time it was Clara’s.
“Lucie?” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Robert’s gone,” Lucie told her. “He’s left the motel. He’s left Mexico.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to come for you?”
Lucie hesitated, and let her head fall for a moment into her hands. But then she said:
“He’s taken César’s money. He’s taken the money – and he’s run off before the deal could go through.”
Clara gasped. “César will be fit to kill!”
“I’m sure.”
“What should I do?”
“You have to tell him.”
Clara was silent for a moment.
“Clara?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Lucie.”
“He’ll find out, anyway,” Lucie argued. “Sooner or later.”
“Later would be best.”
“He’ll know something is wrong, Clara, when I come back so soon. And I have nowhere else to go.”
Another moment of silence. But then: “You’re right. I’ll tell him. Wait a minute.”
Lucie heard nothing at all for what seemed several minutes. All of a sudden, however, there came the sound of César’s raging voice, thundering and trumpeting through the Vicente apartment, and drifting very clearly down the line.
“Dónde está ella?” Lucie heard him shout.
“En el motel,” Clara replied.
“Dile que se quede allí! Estoy viniendo por ella.”
“Yo iré contigo.”
“No! Yo iré solo.”
“César –”
And here the conversation was cut off, with the sound of the telephone being thrown to the floor. After asking where Lucie was, and being answered, César said he would come for her; and when Clara said she would go with him, he refused her. Lucie had gathered all this well enough.
So, not knowing what else to do (but shivering anxiously all the while), Lucie waited for César. He arrived very quickly, roaring into the lot like a speedway racer.
“Get into the car, Lucie!” he shouted through the open window.
She was greatly unnerved, and very uneasy on account of his flaming temper – but what other choice did she have? She rose up from the steps, and walked slowly across the pavement, to the place where the little Toyota stood idling. She got in warily, and snuck a furtive glance at César, who was fuming as she had never before seen him fume.
As they drove along, César began making a series of calls. He tried two different numbers for Robert’s people in El Paso – both of which contacts had been previously verified by Domingo Jiménez himself – and found that neither was in service. Becoming increasingly more flurried and desperate, he then called Manolo, but that gentleman was just as mystified as himself, and could offer no useful information. And so, with shaking hands and a quaking voice, he finally dialed Jiménez.
“César?” said Jiménez, upon answering the call. “What’s going on there?”
“Where?”
“There – in Juárez. Your city, César. The city I gave you to look after. Do you know that Folsom’s people have been scrapping all around, with the idea of ruining you? Do you know that, César?”
“Yes,” César answered quietly. “I know that.”
Now, you see, it was only a short time since César had asked Manolo to schedule the meeting with Jiménez; and he hadn’t yet had the chance to speak with that gentleman concerning his state of affairs. Surely, this was not the best way to broach the subject – but there didn’t seem much choice.
“And what of it, César? Why haven’t you been taking care of business? My business?”
“It is not my fault –”
“Not your fault? Then whose fault is it?”
“Tom Folsom’s,” César hissed.
Jiménez said nothing.
“Please, Domingo,” said César. “I have worked, I have tried, and I cannot call him off. I need money, Domingo. Robert Benoit has taken all that I gave him – and has disappeared without giving me what he owed. I needed that shipment, Domingo, if I had any chance at all of getting rid of Folsom.”
“I won’t give you anything,” Jiménez answered flatly. “You lost my money, with nothing to show for it. I should have you killed, you greasy little rat. But no – I’ll show you mercy. You find that white devil of yours, and bring him back here. You bring him, and you bring my money. Then we’ll talk.”
The line disconnected – and César flew into a blind and wholehearted panic. The car swerved all over the road, and his eyes bugged nearly out of his head, while the veins began to show in his neck and forehead.
“César?” Lucie said tentatively. “What’s the matter?”
“What – what –”
His hands gripped the steering wheel, and his teeth ground audibly in his head. He couldn’t seem to form any actual words.
“César?”
“You – you shut up!” he cried. “I – I have to think. I have to decide.”
“Will you take me to Clara?”
“No!”
“Then where will we go?”
“Wherever I want to go! Now – cállate!”
Lucie sank back in her seat, and made herself just as small as she could manage.
31
Diamond Place
Their first stop was Tom Folsom’s apartment building. Cesár drove like a madman through the streets, and even put a tire over the curb, in his eagerness to reach his destination. He flew, as if having sprouted a pair of wings from his back, like an angry eagle to the sidewalk, where he threw open the passenger door, and pulled Lucie from the car. “I should not take you with me,” he said apologetically, “but I cannot afford to lose you now. You are my last chance.”
Though she didn’t entirely understand, Lucie followed placidly enough behind César, as he tugged her along by the hand. He rang at the door, and Frederick Larson’s face appeared, hollering at him to go away. César asked him to open the door; but he refused. So César pulled a gun from his belt, and shot the thick glass pane clean from its metal frame. The sound rang painfully in Lucie’s ears, and reverberated inclemently round her brain, so that she was half-stunned, by the time César jerked her through the portal he had created.
Larson’s face was filled with fear. He looked, almost imperceptibly, from the pistol in César’s hand, to the holster on his own belt. But César noted the direction of his eyes, and said very calmly, “I would not do that, amigo, if I was you.” Then he raised his gun, and shot a hole clean through the man’s leg.
Stout hero that he wa
s, Larson fainted on the spot.
César tucked his gun away, and directed Lucie to the elevator. They stepped inside, and rode up.
“Where are we going?” Lucie asked.
“Hush!” César replied hotly.
Arrived once again at the shining door, he knocked on it, just as he had done the last time. And – just as she had done the last time – Belén answered it. Her face – just as it had been the last time – was perfectly cheerless and gloomy. Yet she brightened at the sight of César, and stepped aside for him to enter. You will remember, that she had very good reason upon his last leaving the apartment, for thinking that she would never see him again. She had thought him as good as dead. Now, though, he appeared before her very agitated, but very well; and she couldn’t help throwing her arms around his neck.
César, with the one woman attached to his neck, and the other to his hand, was all of a sudden very overwhelmed. Unable as he was to relinquish Lucie, however, he was forced to shake away Belén. Yet the young servant-woman was so glad to see him again, that she didn’t seem to feel slighted by this hasty gesture. Instead she merely stood, with her eyes full of dancing stars, staring bemusedly up at César.
“Es muy bueno verte, también,” he said. “Pero estoy apurado. Puedes ayudarme?”
It was good to see her, he said; but he was in a hurry. Could she help him?
She nodded emphatically.
“Es Folsom aquí?”
“Sí.”
“Y su esposa?”
“No.”
César reached towards her, as if to lay a hand on her shoulder in thanks; but instead he only ripped the lanyard from her neck, at the end of which dangled the pass card to Folsom’s office.
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