“And when the stock market crashes, a shot to the head solves all problems?” she added.
“You’re totally mistaken, miss. I have plenty of reserves to remain on top, reserves other than stocks and money. Stocks are the preferred toys of those who think that they can get rich overnight without effort and work. I don’t play roulette with stocks I own. I let my stocks work as hard for me as I work myself. And when I said, ‘so long as the stock market is stable,’ I meant to imply that I would suffer great losses, but it would not ruin me financially.”
“Good to know,” said the young lady, “that there are people like you in the country.”
“And like you, miss. I am convinced you are traveling to New York to find out when and where a tailor sewed buttons on a piece of clothing for the first time.”
“You’re not far off. However, in a case like that, I make it easy on myself. When I’m not sure whether the Merovingians buttoned, hooked, or tied their uniform jackets, I just tell our costume designer to cover up the jacket so you can’t see buttons, hooks, or ties. I let the audience figure it out, which they love doing. People want to guess what the gangster said to his Molly at the exact moment the bullet struck him down at the end of the film. They also want to imagine with whom Molly will go now. People don’t like it when the director of a film treats them like idiots who need every thought expressed aloud so that they can understand the film.”
Holved interrupted her, laughing: “You have missed your calling. You should have pursued a career as a diplomat.”
“For now, I prefer my current career.”
“Unfortunately, there is no room for promotion, if I understand correctly. I think that you are already at the height of your career.”
“Are you at the height of your life?” she asked.
“Neither today, nor tomorrow. I don’t live in the past. Not even in the present. I live entirely in the future. What lies behind me, I have already forgotten, and I don’t waste my time remembering events that have already happened. It is a waste of time, it ages you fifty percent more than your real age. Only people who don’t see a future write their memoirs. When I leave this world one day, I want to leave it for good. I don’t want to be some ghost haunting others from my memoirs and biographies. When I’m dead, I want peace and quiet.”
“I like you,” she said. “Really, I like you. It’s a shame.”
“What’s a shame?”
“That I am not forty years old. I think I could get along with you extremely well.”
“Do you know how old I am? I’m fifty-five.”
“That’s about what I thought. I’m twenty-four.”
“You’re twenty-four and have so much responsibility and such a highly paid position in the film industry?”
“Why not? Twenty-four is also a very nice age. But not very enjoyable. You lack experience,” she said, tossing out a sigh like a fifteen-year-old with a crush.
She’s so young, thought Holved. I would love to know whether she is married, divorced, or widowed. If she were married she wouldn’t have to work, at least not such a stressful job.
Out loud he said: “It appears, miss, that you are constantly traveling to all corners of the country.”
“Not constantly but quite often. Almost as much as a businessman.”
She started to get up, tugged on her dress, and said in a changed tone: “I think I’ll walk around a little to stretch my legs. When you sit for such a long time you forget that you even have legs and can walk.”
He nodded. She got up and began walking up and down the length of the plane. When she returned about ten minutes later, to sit back down in her seat, Holved was sleeping restfully and seemingly without a worry in the world. His book on ancient Toltec architecture was lying open on his knees. Both his hands were covering the book as if to prevent someone from taking it while he slept. She studied his face for quite a while. It gave her a certain satisfaction that she could study him unobtrusively for such a long time.
It’s strange, she thought, you can recognize a person’s character on their sleeping face. When they’re awake they’re constantly hiding behind fake smiles, always frowning, squinting, pulling on their hair or earlobes.
As she watched him sleep so peacefully, she came to the conclusion that he looked much better, kinder, friendlier while sleeping than awake. He also looked younger without the tension in his face.
He is, she said to herself, completely different from all those worms that crawl around in the film industry. They’re constantly excited, constantly in a hurry, and everything has to be done that second. They always rush, swear, and stammer apologies. They can’t ever be sure that they will still have the same job twenty-four hours from now. That goes for me too. Everyone is your friend if the boss likes you. And everyone gets overlooked if the boss or one of his protégés looks at you funny. Constant fear that you might lose your daily bread or the house you bought a year ago … Of course, she continued to herself, as far as I’m concerned, they need me more than I need them.
Contentedly, she snuggled into the pillow that smelled of fresh detergent. The stewardess had pushed it behind her back. With one last glance at the calmly sleeping man next to her, she went to sleep, wishing that she could slumber as peacefully and without worry as he did.
She woke as the stewardess was passing from passenger to passenger with a trained glance, making sure that their seat belts had been tightened and that all cigarettes, cigars, and pipes had been extinguished. The loudspeaker squeaked something no one could understand, but every experienced traveler knew what was being announced. Not that it mattered whether they did or not, since they could not influence the plane or its movements at all. They were human beings, once again conscious of their dignity as they used both feet to walk to the exit across the hard concrete floor of the airport.
Each one of the travelers was now very happy that the journey was over.
Side by side, and clad in light spring coats, Holved and the young lady of the film company’s review board waited for their luggage at baggage claim.
“Honestly, miss, it was a pleasure to have such a kind and pretty passenger at my side,” said Holved suddenly.
“And I,” she answered, “could not have wished for a more interesting person as my travel companion than you, Mr.—Mr.—?”
“My name is Suthers, Holved Suthers. I never carry my cards with me. But—” He pulled out a notebook, tore out a page, wrote a few numbers on it, and gave her the page.
“My private address and my private phone, if I can ever be of service to you.”
“My name is Aslan Norval,” she said. “I am reachable at—please hand me your pen and a piece of paper.”
She hurried to write a few numbers on the piece of paper.
“The first number connects you through to my office and the second one to my apartment,” she said, giving Holved his pen and the paper she had written on. “You can’t find either of these numbers in the phone book. Strictly private.”
At that moment, they both received their luggage. Almost abruptly, two different porters separated them, hailing two different taxis that left in two different directions.
6.
Beckford had shaved just an hour ago and wore a well-brushed suit that he had bought more than a year ago. His shirt was stiff with starch, and he wore a long dark brown tie with it. His shoes were polished to perfection and had new rubber soles. He stood like that in front of the iron gate of a large villa surrounded by a huge parklike garden and a tall steep wall.
He pulled out a pocket comb and tiny mirror and carefully brushed his hair. Since he never wore a hat, it had gotten pretty messed up on the way from the bus stop. Again, he looked at the bronze number attached to the concrete post of the iron gate to verify for the fifth time that this was indeed the house to which he had been invited for an early dinner.