Under the Ice

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  Siegfried took a tee shirt out of a bag and held it up to his chest. Navy blue, its silver letters spelled Toronto.

  “Nice shirt.” I wandered over to his side. “Did you spring for all this stuff, big guy?”

  He nodded. “Ja. It is vacation, Professor.” A satisfied smile spread across his lips. The man rarely spent a penny from his salary. He lived for free in our carriage house apartment, and helped with all manner of household chores, from chopping wood to babysitting. I knew he’d squirreled away most of his salary each year for the past twenty. Since he rarely took vacations, drove an old car, and wore only jeans and tee shirts most days, his expenses were limited to food for his dog, gas for the car, and his health care premiums. He did stock a few items in his own fridge, but most days he dined with us. I realized he could probably well afford a few trinkets for the kids.

  “Okay, but dinner’s on me,” I said.

  He smiled. “Okay. But I am very hungry. I may eat a lot.”

  I snorted a laugh. “We’ll manage, Sig.”

  We all slid into our coats and shuffled to the elevator. Johnny pushed the button and we flew down to the lobby. When we reached the first floor, the boy seemed less affected this time around, acting like an old pro. He rushed out the doors when they whooshed open.

  I caught up to him, grabbing his hand. “Slow down there, partner. We don’t wanna lose you.”

  He shrieked and dragged me along after his flying dragon, who swooped up and down in the air. I had a sudden vision of him behaving like this in the restaurant, but disregarded it and hoped for the best.

  Camille and Shelby linked arms and followed, with Siegfried bringing up the rear.

  I maneuvered through the crowd of patrons swelling in and out of the bar and lobby. Languages from all over the world surrounded us as we passed through snatches of conversations. I recognized Russian, Japanese, and German. There were a number of Middle Eastern accents as well. Women were dressed in smart black business suits, sarongs, elegant gowns, jeans, and some even wore mysterious shawls that hid their faces.

  Navigating through a large Japanese tour group, we finally broke free into the gold-gray Toronto twilight.

  I gulped a refreshing lungful of frosty air and tightened my grip on Johnny’s hand. “Okay, it’s just across the way here. We walk a block in this direction,” I pointed west, “and it’s on the next corner.”

  The streets were quieter than they’d been earlier. We dodged a few pedestrians, a brave woman in a parka riding a ten-speed, and an elderly Chinese woman sweeping gray snow from her stoop.

  “There it is.” I pointed to the tastefully appointed window and in seconds we ducked inside.

  The thin maître d’ sported a pencil mustache. He swept his arm in a large arc. “Dees way, please.”

  We followed him into a narrow room that reached deep into the recesses of the building. Low sconces illuminated stone walls, and ceramic tiles embedded with pieces of green and cobalt blue glass decorated the walls and shelves. Each nook had a theme. Ours was the sea. Seashells and fishnets draped the corner.

  Johnny stared—fascinated—at a set of shark’s teeth protruding from the wall behind him. He lifted his dragon to them and growled.

  “Claws beat sharks!” he shrieked.

  I covered my mouth to stop laughing and gently patted his arm, but not before a blue-haired lady with a mink stole swiveled around and shot us a haughty glare.

  “Uh, buddy?” I said. “We need to keep it down in here. Can you use your indoor voice?” I pointed to the children’s menu. “Hey, look here. You can color this page. And there are lots of choices for dinner. What would you like? How about a hot dog? You love that.”

  “French fries.”

  I searched his eyes. He was dead serious.

  “Anything else?”

  “Chicken nuggets.”

  Chicken nuggets weren’t on the menu. “How about a chicken filet?” I said.

  He shrugged. “Okay. Or a hot dog. Dat’s good.”

  I laughed. We’d gone full circle. “A hot dog it is. And I think I’ll have the Lobster bisque to start. Then maybe…” I surveyed the menu. “Mmm. It all looks so good. I think I’ll go for the sole almandine with garlic-scape mashed potatoes and pineapple-mango salsa.”

  Siegfried chose a thick king-sized steak smothered in mushrooms. It didn’t sound very exotic, but it would fill him up. Camille and Shelby both ordered butterfly shrimp sautéed in beer, lemon and garlic; wild rice, and a field green salad.

  Shelby shot me a smile across the table. “Dad? You’re letting me have beer?”

  I rolled my eyes and pretended to give in. “What the heck. We’re on vacation.”

  The breadbasket arrived with our drinks, and it wasn’t long before we’d smeared our hot crispy crusts with garlic butter. We demolished them in short order, along with the rest of the delicious meal. When dessert came, we ordered exorbitantly priced, fancy plates with wafer thin cookies set at jaunty angles in scoops of sherbet. Each dish was artistically drizzled with raspberry or chocolate sauce. Although I did a double take when I got the check, I convinced myself it was worth every penny.

  We found our way back to the hotel and flopped onto our beds. Shelby had actually forgotten about calorie counting and had eaten well. It had warmed my heart to see her enjoy her food and chat with the family. She even offered to play a game with Johnny while we took turns changing into our pajamas in the bathroom.

  Siegfried opted for a game of solitaire, while Camille and I settled into the bed with our current books. I was halfway through RC Burdick’s Tread Not On Me. Spellbound, I found myself whooshing through Florida swamps and rivers under low-hanging, moss-covered trees. Camille chuckled while reading Crab Cake & Pepper by Frank Weaver, Jr. Her laughter burst out unexpectedly, sometimes when I was nearing a critical part of my book. She’d laugh, and then I’d laugh with her, totally unaware of the scene that struck her as comical. Before long, I found myself with a dry mouth and slack jaw. I’d been asleep and snoring. All the lights were off, but Shelby’s TV murmured around the corner from her alcove.

  I padded toward the bathroom and crossed in front of the couch. It was pulled out with rumpled blankets. The bathroom door was shut. I perched on the side of the couch and waited. After a few minutes, I heard her soft laughter. She emerged with the cell phone in her hand.

  “It’s okay, Dad,” she whispered. “I just wanted to talk to Alicia. Had to get the latest gossip.”

  I was too tired to protest. I nodded, smiled at her, and used the bathroom. On the way back, I rummaged around in Camille’s bag and found a bottle of water. I drank half of it and left the rest on the nightstand, then tumbled back into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 49

  The next morning, we grabbed our coats and headed down to the hotel restaurant. Sitting around a circular table with our loaded trays, we dug into hot almond croissants, fresh eggs, home fries, grapefruit, coffee, and juice. Claws joined us and sat on Johnny’s lap while the boy ate.

  “I can’t go with you guys this morning,” Shelby said. She held her hand over her abdomen, and her face crumpled.

  We had chosen the Art Gallery of Ontario for our morning foray. I’d already memorized the walking route after studying the city street map. It looked as if it would take about twenty minutes. Although it was about forty-five outside, we decided a brisk walk would do us good.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” Camille asked.

  “It’s my… ” She blushed, lowering her eyes.

  Camille grimaced in sympathy. “Oh, honey. Is it that time of month again?”

  I busied myself with my scrambled eggs and spread blueberry jam on the croissant. Women’s issues weren’t a mystery to me, but I wasn’t completely comfortable discussing them with my teenaged daughter, either.

  “Yeah. I just wanna lie down,” Shelby whispered. She took a small sip of her orange juice.

  “Okay, sweetie. Do you want one of us to stay with you?
”

  Shelby scoffed. “Mom, I’m not a child. I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just sleep or watch TV.”

  Siegfried looked worried, and that worried me. Usually he had an accurate sixth sense.

  Shelby stood and scraped her chair back. “I’ll see you guys later, then.”

  “You’ll stay in the room, right?” I said.

  She nodded and smiled. “Of course, Dad.”

  “Okay. If you promise.”

  “I promise.”

  I waved to her with a faint sense of misgiving, and she disappeared from the room.

  ***

  The museum was packed with tourists. An exhibit featuring Monet, Turner, and Whistler had attracted art lovers from all over the world. These particular paintings were mostly from a private collection, so they were unfamiliar to me and hadn’t found their way onto calendars or coffee table books.

  As always, I was drawn to Monet. The pull was magnetic, almost visceral. We skimmed along the corridor with Johnny and Siegfried in tow, looking for the paintings that spoke to us. Camille and I led the way while Siegfried entertained my grandson. It wasn’t his favorite activity; he’d rather be playing with trucks. We had bribed him with a visit to the gift store, however, and for about a half hour he was well behaved.

  Although Siegfried dutifully tended to Johnny, I caught him looking pensively into the distance several times.

  I questioned him near a marble statue of a woman and child. “What’s up, buddy?”

  Camille and Johnny strolled along, hand-in-hand, several feet from us.

  “It is just… Ich weiss es nicht. I am worried.”

  “About?” I prodded gently.

  He shook his head as if to dismiss it. “I am not certain. I had a feeling. Ach. I do not know.”

  Siegfried’s feelings often predicted problems. A whisper of fear passed through me. It could be anything from an impending earthquake to the death of someone near to us. Or, God forbid, something to do with Shelby.

  He shrugged and dismissed it. “It is probably nothing.” He moved along and caught Johnny’s hand, pointing out a painting of two dogs frolicking under a tree.

  The morning progressed in easy silence. Within the hour, I’d forgotten about Siegfried’s intuition and stood alone in front of one of Monet’s paintings. I hadn’t seen it before, in person or online. It featured black thorny shrubs on the shore of a multi-colored waterfront reflecting a magnificent tangerine setting sun. The brush strokes were bold and thick. Colors dazzled on top of colors, hypnotizing me. I got as close as I could to the painting—staring at it—and feeling oddly disembodied. It was almost as if my soul vibrated in and out of the canvas.

  For one split second, it was as if I knew this painting by heart, as if every detail on the shoreline and waterfront was familiar. It was a bizarre feeling, almost a form of déjà vu, but stronger. In that flash of insanity, I felt as if I’d actually held the brushes that swept over the canvas. I knew it was absurd, but the feeling persisted. I allowed myself to wallow in the sensation, rooted to the spot.

  “That’s gorgeous, honey.”

  Camille’s fingers touched my sleeve, dispelling the reverie.

  I looked at her in surprise, then shook myself back to reality. “It’s really special,” I said. “There’s just something about it that…”

  Johnny tugged on my jacket and hissed up at me, trying to keep his voice low, but failing. “Opa? I’m hungry! Can we go now?”

  Several well-dressed patrons turned their heads with raised eyebrows. Siegfried looked at me apologetically. He’d done his best to amuse and occupy our little tornado.

  I bent down to his level and put my hands on his shoulders. “Okay, buddy. You’ve been very patient. We can go now.”

  Our visit at the museum wasn’t intended to be a languorous affair, especially with a five-year-old in tow. We pushed through the crowds and into the gift store, where Johnny found a painted wooden bird meant for a Christmas ornament. He began to fly it around the room, perilously close to a number of breakable porcelain figurines. I found a fistful of Monet postcards, including the waterscape that had grabbed my attention.

  “Time to go,” I said, shepherding him toward the counter.

  We stood in the short line, checked out, and walked two by two back to the hotel. The sun shone high in the sky and winked against the store windows. We passed dozens of Chinese establishments with signs in both English and Chinese characters. Glittery silken gifts sparkled within, and the smell of stir-fry and egg rolls wafted into the street, tantalizing us.

  “I’m hungry, Opa.”

  I looked down at Johnny’s tousled hair. His eyes shone and his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. I guessed that Shelby would be getting hungry about now, too, and was glad I’d told her to use room service for her lunch.

  “What about that one, Professor?” Siegfried suggested.

  It was an old movie theater transformed into a restaurant.

  I stopped and looked in the window. “Looks good. Camille? You game?”

  She smiled. “Perfect.”

  Siegfried ducked his head, maneuvering his six-foot-eight body through the doorway. We wound our way upstairs through what was once a lush, red-carpeted hallway. The carpet was worn through in places, and the red satin wallpaper sagged.

  At the head of the stairs, we passed through a rippling doorway of crystal beads into an inviting room filled with tables, a bar, and tasteful Oriental décor. Brass figures of Buddha flanked the entrance. A waiter bowed to us, spoke no English, but guided us to a booth.

  He placed a pencil and paper on the table, and pointed to the dim sum cart rolling toward us. As we chose one delicacy after another, the attendant circled the items on the paper, then moved to the next customer in the room. Johnny was in his glory. He gobbled up the fried dumplings and rejected the seaweed-wrapped morsels that Camille and I enjoyed. We traded and laughed and stuffed ourselves silly. Finally, we paid the very reasonable bill and rejoined the pedestrians on the Toronto sidewalks.

  Johnny skipped and chattered nonstop beside Camille. Siegfried and I strode along in easy silence behind them, pointing out interesting architectural features. We stopped off and on to take photos of each other from various vantage points. Johnny stuck his head through a modernistic stone statue and posed, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes.

  I snapped the photo, then called to him, “Your mother might like to see you looking happy in the next shot, pal.”

  He laughed and gave in, grinning and waving. I took the photo, and we continued down the street.

  While browsing in an antique store, Johnny began to dance at my feet. “I have to go,” he moaned.

  The shop attendant insisted they had no public restroom. We scooted outside and ran the last quarter mile to the hotel, maneuvering through the strollers and dog walkers. We burst into the hotel, startling the mob inside. The look on Johnny’s face told me he wouldn’t last the elevator ride to the tenth floor. I grabbed his hand and ran into the lobby’s restroom. Within a few minutes, he’d taken care of business and we rejoined Siegfried and Camille.

  Up on the tenth floor, I unlocked the door with the room card and called to Shelby. “We’re back, sweetheart.”

  Silence.

  “Shelby?” Camille poked her head into the sitting room where the foldout couch lay open. I followed her. Shelby’s blankets were rumpled and the pillows were bunched up. She’d obviously slept on it recently, since we’d made up the couch before we left that morning.

  I looked in the empty bathroom.

  A feeling of dread sent my stomach to my feet. “Do you think she went to the gift shop?”

  Siegfried’s face tightened. He opened the closet, then Shelby’s bureau drawers. He turned to us, his face frozen.

  Camille ran to his side and peered around him into the empty closet. “Her suitcase is gone?”

  “Ja. And her clothes.”

  “But she promised.” I sat down on the bed, feel
ing light-headed. Camille rummaged around the room, opening drawers and looking under papers as if she expected to find her daughter there.

  Siegfried put his hand on her shoulder to stop her frenzied hunt. “She is not here, Camille.”

  My brain repeated one frenzied word, over and over again.

  Rolf!

  Chapter 50

  Camille sank onto the couch with terror in her eyes. “What’s going on? Where could she go? We’re in a foreign country, for God’s sake.”

  Siegfried collapsed on a chair and I dropped onto the couch next to Camille. Johnny played loudly with Claws in the next room.

  “My best guess is that she sort of…eloped. With Rolf.”

  “What?” Her eyes swam with confusion.

  “She was crazy about him,” I said. “And since they decided to deport him, they might’ve found a way to get together before he flies home to Germany.”

  Siegfried frowned. “I don’t think so. I think…” His voice trailed off.

  Camille stood up and looked at me as if I were insane. “No way. She wasn’t that crazy about Rolf. I know she wasn’t. I know she’s done some stupid things lately, but this is way out of character.”

  I hastened to remind her what Shelby had told me. “She said she ‘loved’ him, honey. Remember?”

  She started to pace the room, running her hands through her hair. “I know. But it just doesn’t ring true. She has no money. And how could he have enough money to live on? He’s an exchange student.”

  Siegfried and I exchanged glances. I grabbed my cell and dialed Lou Marshall’s office. He answered promptly. “Marshall here.”

  “Lou? It’s Gus.”

  “What’s up, Gus? You sound like you’re miles away.”

  “I am. We’re in Toronto for a few days vacation. I know this may sound a little odd, Lou, but do you know where Rolf is right now?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Why, sure I do. He’s in Germany with his folks.”

  “Are you sure?” I said.

  “Sure I’m sure. I put him on the plane two days ago. Why do you ask?”