It Takes a Thief

by Niels Hammer

  The Starling began singing again and he opened the door for her so that she could step in over the threshold to her new home – but he would probably not have thought about it like that unless she had not thought about it first.

  “So you’re saying that because of common evolutionary pressures we share the same approach to grammar as Starlings just like we share the same fate of a brief flash of life between a birth and a death and that by being acutely aware of this innate similarity you come closer to the Starling, to Nature and to me; but how conscious is the bird about what it’s doing?”

  “About what he’s doing. That’s a difficult question to answer. Though he might not reflect, as we do, about what he does, he definitely knows what he is doing, like you do, when you drink when you’re thirsty. You just do it but you know you’re thirsty and you know you’re drinking.”

  “Let’s make a cup of that lovely tea you have before we go to bed.”

  “We can drink the tea in the bedroom.”

  “Do you take me for granted now?”

  Her raised eyebrows and her glance both made fun of him.

  “I take nothing for granted. Every minute is a gift, the gift of being alive, especially now.”

  He made tea and they waited in silence for it to draw.

  “It’s your honesty.”

  She was saying it to herself so he did not want to object and when the tea was ready he followed her – carrying the tray – upstairs to the bedroom.

  “It’s just as I remember it.”

  “Try to imagine how you would have reacted that night, when you turned round, having found nothing of interest in the drawers, and saw the bed, if you suddenly had had the notion that you soon would share the bed with the stranger lying in it.”

  She undressed and crept down under the eiderdown.

  “I would not have believed it, but while I thought that I was alone in the house I really acted as if I suspected that that might not be the case; however I’m always very cautious, though I took for granted that the bed was empty. But this is really nice, instead of blankets and sheets.”

  Lying on their elbows and looking at each other over the rims of the semi-transparent cups they sampled the flavour of the scenes of their past life – together – with the fragrance of the leaflets.

  “Yes, it’s much warmer, much more convenient and light as a feather.”

  As she cuddled up against him and he took her in his arms she fell asleep while trying to think of an answer – but listening to her quiet breathing and watching the white fair weather clouds pass by outside he basked in the animal warmth of her body which now touched him in three dimensions like her presence in the world had done from afar for the past three weeks.

  XXII

  The afternoon was Marigold ripe when the Sky flashed by as he turned his head round to see her watching him emerge from pilot light awareness and follow his chosen or his starry fate. It had been the heat of her focused attention that had made him wake up though he had already reached a phase of light sleep in which he had been ready to respond to her call.

  “I woke because you were looking at me.”

  “You snored a little, and I was on the point of giving you a push to make you stop.”

  “I rarely snore. I must have been tired. How are you? It’s quite late.”

  “Fine, and nivver mind the hour, but I’m hungry. Come! Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Here! You can use my morning coat.”

  They climbed closely down the stairs to the kitchen hand in hand and mind in mind.

  “While I make salad you can toast the bread. Here’s butter, orange marmalade, and the honey is on the shelf, there! And there’s some Salmon roe left if you can eat that for breakfast?”

  “Of course I can. I love it!”

  “Then we must also have a glass of Chablis.”

  Do you drink like this every day?”

  “Oh no, but I always have a glass of wine when I have lunch or dinner. It is civilisation.”

  “Then I had better bring you back to your beloved wilderness from to-morrow morning.”

  Being a little annoyed by the prospect of her determined meddling he laughed but felt snugly assured by the prospect of resting securely in her care.

  “Oh will you? There’s no change under the Sun. Women cannot resist the temptation to barge in where angles fear to cast a furtive glance.”

  “And why should they not if they feel they have to do so, as a kind of self-defence?”

  “Yes, why not? In war and love – ”

  “So you have no illusions? That will smooth the way and make everything much easier.”

  “Give a woman an inch and she will snatch an ell.”

  “Exactly, and just as you like it, but don’t expect me to believe that you did not know what you were letting yourself in for.”

  Securing her rights with a stern satisfaction – and happily awash on the rising tide.

  “I imagined that it would take years and years before we would reach such a point as this, but let’s sit in the living room while there still is a little sunlight left in the Sky. I’ll take the tray.”

  “I don’t think you mind all that much really. It’s just an attitude you like to flaunt.”

  Θιασεύειν τε χοροῖς – μετά τ’ αὐλοῦ γελάσαι – ἀποπαῦσαί τε μερίμνας –

  “To some extent maybe, but it’s fundamentally an impulse to join in the dances, to laugh with the flute and abandon all cares; but now there’s something I must ask you.”

  She felt his hesitation shiver in the air between them.

  “I did not know what I should do if you happened to be engaged in a serious relationship.”

  Only now when the corrosive doubt had dwindled to the level of a problem did he have the necessary courage to confront the truth.

  “Well, I have a friend or I should say ‘I had,’ but he’s abroad, for six weeks in Avignon. Barbara introduced him to me last summer.”

  “Has he any inkling about what you do?”

  “Oh no, he would probably get the shock of his life if he knew.”

  Laughing – not at him but at the prêt-à-porter conventions he had found suitable – she envisaged his reaction of disbelief or dismay if she should tell him – to get naked.

  “What does he do?”

  He did not like to trespass on her privacy but wanted to get an impression of her former life – though while it might brighten his imagination it might also consume him with unease.

  “Oh, he’s an actor. There’s a theatre festival in Avignon, and he’s there every year.”

  “So what will you do?”

  “Tell him that I’m in love; but what about you? I can see that there is no woman in the house.”

  He ought to have anticipated such a question. She might have been able to smell it.

  “Yes, I live alone here, but I have been seeing an old friend of mine, Sally, recently.”

  “Is that the same woman who knows the woman who owns the wristlet?”

  “No, her name’s Mary, she’s an opera singer, and married to Peregrine, an art historian who’s busy at Sotheby’s, but Sally is an adept in horticulture, plants, drugs and dreams. She’s married to Gilbert. He paints abstract and expressionistic configurations.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  Her inquisitive flair was uncanny but he avoided looking away.

  “About ten days ago.”

  “And have you told her?”

  “No, but she might have an inkling about what – ”

  “When will you tell her?”

  “As soon as I can, but it reminds me of Fjodor, I’ll have to call him.

  He took the telephone. She continued thinking about Sally.

  “It’s
me again. I’ve gate-crashed into Heaven and will tell you all about it later when we meet.”

  “Did everything then go according to your plans?”

  “Yes, thanks to you. I’ll call to-morrow, or you ought to come, for dinner, and stay – ”

  “Yes, but shall I come alone?”

  “It might be best, though depending on the degree to which you feel you have – ”

  “Of course, I know. So long.”

  Because of consideration for Caitlin though also for his present girlfriend he might prefer to come alone – but now – en garde!

  “Why did you see her, Sally, while you were trying to find me?”

  “Noblesse oblige. I had made a promise, and I didn’t know if I would find you or not.”

  “But you were also enticed?”

  Taking both her hands he looked into her eyes. Silvery pinpricks of tender irony.

  “I was frenetic, bewildered, unable to sleep, sick, elated, worn out and desperate.”

  “But not too disoriented to fornicate?”

  Pledged to each other –

  “It was before we met in your house, before I had found you, when I returned from Scotland.”

  “It’s a poor excuse.”

  “I do not excuse myself, and when you meet Sally you will forgive her and maybe even me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, but were you thinking about me?”

  “Yes, but I was, of course, also thinking about Sally. She made it possible for me to behave rationally and coherently even when I felt – ”

  “Men are walking excuses!”

  “Women walking paradoxes! I do not think you have any reason to be jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous. No, not really. It’s in the past, but from now on I will be.”

  It suggested the strength of her resolution. She would not hesitate to seek revenge. Honesty – commitment and passion – just as he had forefelt.

  “That’s why I love you – ”

  Le pauvre chevalier perdu sans peur et sans reproche.

  “So will you marry me?”

  Out of the pure blue – above and within – but her commitment had seeded its crystallisation.

  “Right away!”

  Her affirmation came as a prolongation of the trajectory they already had formed but also as inconspicuously and intimately as if she had said ‘Give me your handkerchief.’”

  “Not later than to-morrow morning.”

  If having stood still in front of the large white paper for any length of time to compose the mind in silence the painting could be done in a single flash of activity.

  “That may be difficult, for practical reasons, but then as quickly as possible. We can see to it tomorrow, but I hope you realise the risk you’re taking?”

  He kissed her gently wondering what she really meant.

  “You’re marrying a criminal. I have a past from which I may not be able to escape.”

  “So have I in a way perhaps, but I would be very surprised, if we, together, should not be able to disperse all the mustard gas the official spoilsports could release against us. There are still cunning old silks who know a loophole or two when they see one and a very wide world outside of this blessed splotch here in the North Sea.”

  “Your confidence reflects a certain degree of experience though also a pinch of wishful thinking. Nevertheless, if you’re ready to take the chance with me I’m ready to take the chance with you, but the risk I run is not even insignificant.”

  “The consequences of our decisions are determined by chance if each decision is seen in isolation. If you take the whole context of our past lives into consideration you will see that the future is formed according to predominant patterns, and that chance, or rather that which is statistically unlikely, plays a minor part; so if extrapolating from the present we can compare the risk of chance events to the prevailing trends. I know that my past hardly can pose any risk to our future; however, your past is naturally fraught with potential though diminishing dangers; but as I have seen how careful you are, I think, that they are bound to be very small; and together we complement each other so well that the possible repercussions from the past can be countered with a greater degree of confidence and sagacity.”

  “With legal training you could become a good lawyer.”

  “No, God forbid! I cannot lie.”

  Her burst of laughter caught him by surprise.

  “Lie? On the contrary, you’re a glib and accomplished liar when it suits you. I knew it the second I saw you standing there with a glass of Champagne in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. Doctor Aubrey Saint-Clair, a medical pilot project, paintings sold on the basis of conjured up suggestions about their authenticity. Come on, you cannot be that biased in your own favour so as not to see that?”

  “There is white magic just as their is black magic. I have never touched black magic, and I only rely on white magic in emergency situations.”

  “You’re just proving my point though on another level you might be justified – ”

  Kissing him as an affirmation she suggested that she never – vault upon endless vault – could be known completely.

  “But do you have a really sharp knife?”

  “Yes, in the second drawer to the left.”

  She rose and went out of the door with the solemn air of an ancient purpose engrained in the rhythm of her steps. The sparkle in her eyes had suggested something he could not divine and it made him both bewildered and excited. The sound of wood against wood was a furry sigh and her quickly approaching footsteps made him even feel a trifle apprehensive. The bare blade was glistening with drops as she took hold of his hand.

  “Are you afraid of blood?”

  Watching his apprehension mock incredulity and condescension fused.

  “Oh no!”

  Though he was rather afraid of blood in general and of his own in particular.

  “Neither am I. If you will lie down here – ”

  She pretended to believe him and as she sat down beside the armrest he stretched himself out in the sofa and placed his head in her lap – as upon a warm pillow of rest and comfort. The shattering of symmetry had made time irreversible and chance – as he had just said – only existed if an effect could be seen as detached from all the causes by which it was determined. Only that which was most likely to happen did happen so she took hold of his left hand to assure him of it. The self-same incidents manifested themselves in different disguises to every single man and woman.

  “Now it’s going to hurt a little. I will make a small cut close to your thumb, then you shall make a similar cut in my thumb and we will press our wounds together, let our blood flow fuse and marry one another. I promised myself to do that when I was ten years old as soon as I found the man I wanted to marry.”

  His intuition about her trust had been right and the blood rushed to his cheeks as he looked away in gratitude to Nature for having let her become the woman she was – capable of banishing all attacks of Roman doubt. The grip of her fingers – keen and aquiline with the determination of a consolidated decision – strengthened – and waiting for the stab of pain he looked up into her eyes and imagined the little girl she had been then – serious and dead honest – but also contra mundum. So they had reached their goal but they had a long way to go –

  “Auhhh!”

  “Oh you little silly molly-coddle!”

  But she had anticipated his instinctive reaction.

  “It’s just a scratch, and now it’s your turn.”

  It had been impossible not to try to withdraw his hand and he bit his lip to absorb the pain.

  “It does not feel as if it were just a scratch but more like an open wound.”

  They changed places and she placed her head on his knee while he avoided looking at the wound in his han
d because he could feel it in his stomach. With the tips of his fingers he took hold of her wrist but found it impossible to press the edge of the knife into her skin.

  “Come on, what are you waiting for? The blood will coagulate.”

  Still he hesitated. It was even worse than he had thought it would be.

  “Come on, I’m not going to scream or faint. A real wound! There must be some blood.”

  Clenching his teeth and closing his eyes he took a deep breath and forced the point of the knife down into the soft tissue of her flesh but winced violently for it hurt more than when she had cut him – and the sensation was so unexpected that he dropped the knife – but she rose resolutely and sat down beside him to take hold of his left wrist and press the palms of their hands together.

  “Now we’re married. Honestly married. Blood and bone mates. You’re mine and I am yours. Do you have any sticking plaster or we’ll have blood all over the place. You bleed like a pig.”

  She was true to herself and would hence be true to him. With their hands pressed together he led her out into the bath room and having found scissors and sticking plaster in the cupboard he cut off two large pieces while she held the sticking plaster pressed down on the edge of the wash basin.

  “It’s not the incision of a Caesarian section you have to cover.”

  “Maybe not, but it feels like it.”

  “Nonsense, come here!”

  “Licking the blood off and drying his hand on a towel she stretched the sticking plaster tightly out over the wound as an anodyne and smiled to show him that it really only was a scratch – but when she had dried her hand she let him press the two sticky strips of pink fabric down on each side of the small cut even though the sticking plaster was far too large and cumbersome to cling to the skin any longer than it would take the blood to coagulate.