by Rebekah Pace
“Is that what a goat sounds like?”
She laughed at my puzzled expression. “You never heard that song?”
“What song?”
“Never mind. Come be the lonely goatherd.”
I took the puppet and found that, like everything else I’d tried, it was easy. I made the little guy trip over his own feet. Mira brought out a girl puppet with yellow braids and pulled the strings to make her swish her skirts and blow a kiss.
I didn’t understand why she kept giggling as she said in a sing-song voice, “I’ll take the girl in the pale pink coat. She’ll make a bride for the lonely goatherd.” She paused and looked at me expectantly.
“Yodel-ayee-yodel-ayee-yodel-oo?”
She laughed so hard she had to sit down. “Close enough.”
When we’d had our fill of playing with the puppets, we hung them back in place and walked out to look down on the city from the fortress’s lower bastion. I scanned the horizon and the winding streets below. The fortress could hold off a hostile army but could offer no protection for us. I must do it alone. When the dark presence returned to threaten Mira, I would be ready, and I’d welcome something to fight for—and to fight against.
That night, we dined at St. Peter’s Stiftskeller in St. Peter’s Abbey. When we arrived, I read from a placard on the wall in my best tour guide voice. “This is the oldest known restaurant in Europe, visited by Charlemagne himself in eight-oh-three A.D.”
Mira looked up from the menu board. “Hmm. What did he order?”
“No idea.”
Though she remained lighthearted and the meal was exceptional, there were too many dark corners in the restaurant, and my imagination conjured centuries’ worth of ghosts flitting just out of sight.
When she opened her suitcase in our hotel room, a hint of Evening in Paris wafted out. It was she who reached out to me, and we made love as though it was a tune we alone could hear. She fell asleep immediately after, and when I dozed off, I dreamed I saw her walking ahead of me toward the sandstone hills at Bastei. I ran to catch up with her, but I couldn’t close the distance between us. I called to her and she turned, smiling and waving.
“Wait for me!” Rooted to the spot, I woke up, confused. I’d never dreamed while I was in the dream before. As I lay in the darkness, musing over the dream within a dream, my scalp prickled. For the first time, I sensed the dark presence. I rolled over and woke her with kisses. At first, she turned her face away sleepily. Then she noticed it, too.
“Oh, no—”
“Don’t give in to it.” I positioned myself to block her view of the room. “Don’t give yourself to it, Mira. Give yourself to me. Stay with me.” I ran my hand up her thigh, pushing her nightgown higher, and defying the thing that terrorized her. She climbed on top. As we moved as one, I thought, Take that, whatever you are. If you lurk in the shadows, we’ll give you something to watch. The heat of her body, the thrill of her touch, and the taste of her mouth were real. Would our love and our bond be enough to keep the shadowy figure at bay?
***
The next morning, sun streamed into the room and Mira stretched like a lazy cat. “Where are we going next?”
I snapped the clasps on my suitcase closed. “It’s a surprise. Just a few hours by car.” I hoped that by keeping our destination a surprise, Mira would not unwittingly draw the dark presence after us.
Breakfast was ready in the hotel café when we came downstairs, and I took heart when Mira ate nearly as much as I did. I drained my coffee and held out my hand. “Come, my love. The rest of Europe awaits.”
In Munich, Gothic spires marked the Town Hall on Marienplatz, the colorful square dominated by the Rathaus. We arrived in time to witness the Glockenspiel chimes at eleven, and then spent an hour window shopping before lunch. Around two, Mira played another concert on stage at the National Theater, uninterrupted except by my applause.
Before dinner, we took a sauna and swam at the Müllersches Volksbad. Until we entered the cavernous room that housed the indoor pool, I’d had no warnings from my heightened intuition, no indication that the dark presence had followed us to Munich. But in this echoing space, where the water’s ripples reflected off the walls and ceiling, my eyes kept darting toward the shadowy corners. When we finished swimming, we changed in the same bathhouse by tacit agreement, neither of us wanting to be alone. As we strolled out in search of dinner, a beer garden strung with bright lights beckoned to us from the street. That night, it was Mira who woke me with kisses and whispered, “Stay with me.”
***
Each day of travel brought new sights and new experiences. We arrived in Strasbourg in time for a late lunch and wandered the narrow, cobbled streets of La Petite France, with its half-timbered houses, cantilevered waterways, and canal locks. Here we sampled Vin d’Alsace, a sparkling white wine, and found a case waiting for us in our hotel room that night. In Luxembourg, we explored the Casemates du Bock, tunnels dug in natural fortifications used to hide soldiers, horses, and munitions from ancient times until the mid-nineteenth century. As we stood on the fortifications, I looked out over the city center and my scalp prickled. It was time to move on. The thing that pursued us was out there somewhere.
Mira slept in the car, saving her strength for our arrival in Bruges, where we walked the cobbled streets, watched the swans on the canals, and ate chocolates. The next day, she rose with dark circles under her eyes and wore an extra sweater in the car, hiding the gold locket she’d worn around her neck throughout our trip, though I found it warm enough to roll up my sleeves. I crossed any remaining destinations off my list, and after a brief pause for lunch in Lille, we headed straight for Paris.
When we reached the city late that afternoon, I nudged the dozing Mira at my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. She stirred, and when she saw it, a blazing smile swept over her face. “It’s just as beautiful as it was the last time I saw it.”
She gave no sign that she recognized her slip.
23
Though I was in favor of taking her to the hotel to rest, Mira roused herself and insisted we begin the visit as we’d planned when we were seven. Our first stop was the Eiffel Tower. We rode the waiting elevator to the first observation platform, where she leaned her elbows on the railing. “When I was little, I imagined we could ride a single elevator straight to the top of the Tower.”
How changed she was since we’d reunited in this dream world. Then, she had been the picture of health. Now, she was thin and pale, her hair dull and brittle. Could pregnancy really take such a toll, or was something else causing her to waste away before my eyes?
“Are you ready to go up to the next platform?”
She nodded and leaned on me on the way to the elevator. Two more levels up, we reached the top. The wind ruffled her hair as we looked out over the pristine city, silent, yet vibrant with color.
Back down at the base, market stalls were ready for Mira’s perusal, scented with the lavender, milled soaps, and fresh flowers on display. She started toward them, and when I hesitated, she pulled at my arm.
Worried about her and on edge lest the dark presence reveal itself again, my words came out grumpier than I intended. “Another market?”
“I know I don’t need anything—but I want to see everything.”
“All right.” She sagged against me, and I walked slowly to accommodate her. “Can you imagine this market full of people?”
“Why? Do you miss seeing other people?”
“Sometimes.”
Her face fell. “Aren’t I enough?”
“Of course, you are.” I passed my hand over her middle. “You are enough, and when we are three, it will be an even bigger blessing. We shouldn’t think about what could be different. We’re in Paris—and there are no crowds of tourists. We can go anywhere we like.”
She smiled, her good humor restored. “Where shall we
stay the night?”
“The Ritz. Wasn’t that what you said?”
“You remembered.”
“How could I forget?” I escorted her back to the Mercedes and piloted it across the bridge that spanned the Seine and through the uninhabited streets, slowing as I turned onto the Champs-Élysées. Mira leaned on the passenger door, absorbing all the sights on the grand avenue and in the gardens near the Louvre. When we parked in front of the Ritz on Place Vendome, the hotel’s delicate grillwork gates and inner doors were open wide, as though an unseen host had anticipated our arrival.
Inside, we crossed the red carpet into the lobby. “I expected something grander.”
She giggled. “It is really small, isn’t it? I read once that they made the lobby this way on purpose to discourage loitering.”
I laughed as I looked around the empty room. “Looks like it worked.”
At the desk, I signed the register Mr. and Mrs. Peter Ibbetz. Proof that we existed, somewhere in the universe.
Then I picked up the waiting room key and dangled it in front of her. “Shall we go up?”
“Not yet.” Her energy had returned, and she smiled in anticipation and took my hand. “Don’t you want to see every inch of this place?”
I did. Everything in the hotel gleamed, from the soaring ceilings to the polished cream-marble floors. We strolled down long hallways past arched windows hung with heavy silk draperies. Dining rooms stood ready to receive dozens of guests. While the décor was too feminine for my taste, Mira adored the pastel furnishings. I enjoyed watching her eyes dart about as she tried to take in everything at once.
I caught a faint whiff of cigar smoke as we strolled past the Hemingway bar, a dark-paneled room filled with tufted leather furniture and heavy oak tables. In such a lavish hotel, that bar was intimate and cozy, the perfect place to hunker down as the only people on Earth. But there was more to see, and Mira pulled at my hand to lead me outside.
Under the striped awnings in the terrace garden restaurant, we came upon trays of fruit, a three-tiered stand of pastries covered with a glass dome, and a pot of tea. Mira sighed blissfully. “It’s perfect.”
I held her chair for her. “If we could stay here, would you care to live like this all the time?”
She poured two cups of tea. “No, not really. This is marvelous, and I’m having a wonderful time, but I’d be just as happy at home with you.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, too. With the entire world laid out for us, and anything we want at our fingertips, it would be easy to . . .”
“Get greedy?”
“Yes. That’s not who I am. I’ll stay in Paris for as long you want. But it doesn’t matter where we are. Being with you is what makes me happy.” After tea, we rose and I tucked her hand into the crook of my arm. We strolled through the gardens, but as the shadows grew long, her energy faded again.
There was a note of apology in her voice. “Perhaps we should go up to the room and rest awhile before dinner.”
On our way back through the grounds and the endless hallways, she needed to stop and rest twice before we reached the lobby. I left her on a settee while I went to fetch the bags from the car. “Come, we should take the elevator and save your strength.”
She eyed the cage with distrust. “No thank you. The elevators at the Eiffel Tower were much more spacious. This one is too confined for my taste. I’ll take the stairs.”
The stairs went up and up and up, around the forty-foot crystal chandelier suspended from the soaring ceiling. The thick, red oriental carpeting muffled our footsteps. Our suite on the top floor should have made Mira squeal with delight. It was furnished in a perfectly coordinated palette of cream and blush, with gold leaf on the crown moldings. Red accents in the accessories and the floral arrangements exactly matched the cord around Mira’s neck, but she seemed too tired to notice. She crossed immediately to the bed, slipped off her shoes, and burrowed under the covers. I lay beside her while she napped, wondering how long we would stay here, and how long before the baby would be born.
The sun was low in the sky when she stretched and rose. “I must get up and start my hair and makeup or we’ll miss our dinner.” She rummaged in her suitcase as I lounged on the bed.
She caught my eye. “Don’t you need to get ready, too?”
“It’ll take me fifteen minutes. I’d rather watch you.”
Restored by her nap, she tossed her head, flirting. “Do you want a private show?”
She looked surprised when I laughed. Her reaction made what she’d said even funnier, and I kept on laughing until I was holding my stomach and gasping.
“What in the world is so funny?”
“You said a private show. Is there any other kind here?” I wiped my eyes and sobered. “You’re beautiful without makeup. Don’t go to the trouble if you don’t want to.”
“But I want to. When a woman takes the time to primp and curl and put on lipstick and rouge, she’s treating herself well. I do it as much for me as you.” She leaned across the bed to tap me on the nose with her powder puff. “Even though you’re the last man on earth, I still want to look my best.”
I sat up and brushed off the powder before it made me sneeze. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you don’t need makeup.” I got on all fours and crawled to the edge of the bed.
With a coy smile, she twisted up a tube of lipstick, gliding it on in an alluring performance. As soon as she put it away, I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto the bed with me. “You’re feeling better, aren’t you?” I kissed away her carefully applied makeup.
She rubbed a smudge of lipstick off my cheek and struggled to sit up. “See what you’ve done? Now I’ve got to start over.”
I pinned her beneath me and kissed her some more. “They’ll hold our dinner reservation.”
When she left the bed an hour later, she stood out of arm’s reach and pointed a warning finger. “If you want to leave this room tonight, you’ve got to let me get ready.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m serious. I’m not missing dinner in Paris.” She brandished her hairbrush at me, and I held up my hands in surrender. I quickly threw on some clothes.
“Then I’ll leave you in peace for a while. I’ll be back.” Before she could ask where I was going, I hurried out. I had an errand to run.
***
When I returned, Mira looked like a fashion plate. Expertly applied rouge hid her pallor. She’d swept her hair into an elegant chignon and dressed in a red silk gown.
“You look amazing.” I touched the heart locket, which gleamed against her creamy skin.
As promised, I got dressed in my evening attire and was ready to leave in a fraction of the time she’d required. We watched the sunset from our balcony, and though the lights that winked on all over the city created the illusion that it was throbbing with activity, the silence from below told the truth.
She turned to face me and straightened the knot in my tie. “What shall we do after dinner and dancing?”
“How about a river cruise?”
“That would be lovely.”
“Let’s bring your violin.”
I’d never eaten in such an elegant restaurant before. The first course was on the table when we arrived. When we finished the soup à l’oignon, I led Mira to the dance floor, where an invisible orchestra played from behind a screen of potted palm trees. Upon our return to the table, the soup dishes had been cleared and plates of duck confit, haricots verts, and herbed mashed potatoes awaited us.
After the meal, we walked to the dock, and she squeezed my hand. “We forgot to stop at Le Mans.”
“I don’t mind. We’ll go another time.”
She nodded, but without enthusiasm. I kept my arm around her as we walked up the gang plank to the boat.
As an unseen captain piloted us down th
e Seine, the melodies she drew from her violin drifted across the water and through the silent streets. I smiled as I closed my hand over the velvet box in my jacket pocket.
When the boat docked as though guided by invisible deckhands, I tucked Mira’s arm through the crook of my elbow, and we walked down the gang plank. There, on the banks of the Seine, I dropped to one knee. “I asked you once before, a long time ago. Now, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?” I brought the velvet box from my pocket and opened it.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but as I took the ring out to put it on her finger, she shook her head no.
No.
My shoulders sagged. “Mira, you know this is what we’ve always wanted. Don’t turn me away. Say you’ll marry me.” I got to my feet, as awkward as a boy angling for his first kiss.
“Peter.” Her tears spilled down her cheeks. “You know this isn’t—I mean, you remember where we are, right?”
“Of course, I remember!” I had to check myself to make sure I didn’t slip away from her now. “But why does it matter? No one really knows how much time they have. We could be here for years and years.” When she remained silent, I burst out, “Don’t refuse me without a reason. That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
I took her face in my hands so she couldn’t turn away and searched for answers in her eyes. “I’ve loved you my whole life. I’m in your bed every night. You’re carrying my child. What more reason do you need to marry?”
She laid her hand on my heaving chest. “I told you I would marry no one but you, and I meant it, Peter. My heart has belonged to you since we were children. But look around. The light is growing dim.”
“What do you mean?” The sun had set hours ago, but all the districts around the waterfront were ablaze, pushing back the darkness. The City of Light lived up to its name.
“Nothing.” She stood taller, as if bracing herself for something unpleasant.