Now, I don’t know whether you know that the South Tyroleans are the most beautiful women in the world. Well, I’ve never been to Australia, but otherwise I can personally vouch that worldwide the South Tyroleans come in first, and then there’s nothing for a while, because genetically it might just be the ideal mating: half Italian meets half Geierwally. Just so you understand what kind of pressure Brenner was under.
“That was a long time ago,” the back of the South Tyrolean said. But turn around, not a chance. She stamped on toward the exit, without missing a step, because that was the Italian half that fueled the arrogant stamping.
“Could I have a Marl boo ro?” Brenner yelled out fast, just as the automatic doors were opening before her.
And believe it or not, she turned around and walked right up to Brenner. “You have good ears,” she said, tearing open the pack and holding it out to him.
“It was the Marl boo ro,” Brenner explained proudly, as he waved a dismissive hand at the pack of cigarettes. “Since I don’t drink anymore, I don’t smoke anymore either.” And he pointed to the nonalcoholic label because he wanted to make himself a little interesting.
The South Tyrolean immediately took it upon herself to perform that twin feminine task, i.e., simultaneously rolling her eyes and twisting her mouth, arrogantly and in opposite directions.
Now before she turned away entirely, Brenner quickly added, “I need to ask you something important.”
And then, of course, whether she’d seen anything thirty-three hours earlier.
It really just wasn’t his day, though. Or the gas station just wasn’t his place, maybe something wasn’t right with the water. Because the woman was completely clueless. She didn’t even know what he was referring to.
“But surely you saw something on TV or in the newspaper about-”
“I don’t read the paper.”
When a thing like that gets said by somebody who’s just bought a newspaper, naturally you have to say: suspicious. There she was, standing in front of him with a carton of milk, a pack of Marl boo ros, and a newspaper, and explaining in her South Tyrolean accent: “The newspaper’s too depresshing for me.”
“So you just bought it because-”
My god, before he would have said, because of the love horoscope, because of the personal ads, anything, it doesn’t even matter, just some slight suggestion-not too much subtext, well, okay, just a little-because these days if you make a woman laugh, you’re already on the right path in the direction of, let’s say, philosophical conversations.
“-because of the TV lishtings,” the South Tyrolean claimed in her South Tyrolean accent. “Because the TV lishtings are always in the Friday paper. The news I throw away the minute I get home.”
“And you don’t watch TV, either,” Brenner said. “You just read the listings.”
You can see how he was already getting back into the swing a bit. Nothing compared to the old days, of course. Long gone are the days when he would have lay in wait for her by the recycling bins in front of her house-full throttle, as it were. Although, to be honest, he’d often idealized his past a little. Because in truth Brenner had never been full throttle-actually in reverse most of the time, or hand brake, broken starter, distributor out, wet spark plugs, that kind of thing. An irony of fate: Brenner owed his broad shoulders-which, in the eyes of women, lent him an energetic aura-to the endless push-starting of the stalled jalopy that was his life.
“Why wouldn’t I watch TV?” the South Tyrolean replied. Because she might have come up with something better, too, but I always say, milk drinkers for the most part aren’t that primed to return a stupid remark from a man with an even stupider remark. No, to be perfectly objective, like a South Tyrolean mountain peak asking itself, why wouldn’t I peer down into the valley below? she asked why she wouldn’t watch TV.
“Then you must have seen something on TV about the kidnapping that happened right in front of your house.”
“ Ma Dai, you’re not too shwift, are you,” she sighed. “That was a joke! The newspapers have been calling nonshtop since yeshterday, the police have been here twice, I can’t take one shtep without someone asking whether I saw anything! Jusht because yeshterday I accidentally happened to walk to the right of the gas pump instead of the left like I normally do after I shop.”
“Obviously suspicious.”
“Exactly. You know, it’s because that big clunker was shtanding in my way when I went to throw my empty bottles away. And because of that I show up on the damn shurveillance video.”
“So?”
“I’m going to tell you a secret. Even if you end up needing a pshychiatrisht because of it. Do you want to hear it?”
“I think I’ll manage.”
“I don’t like cars. I didn’t even see your fancy sleigh ride, even though you parked it so wide it was blocking my way. It wasn’t till the video that I saw that heap of yours. Even though I practically had to walk a kilometer around it. Otherwise, I never would have gone up there.”
“Up? Up where?” Brenner asked. “Everything’s flat at a gas station.”
“Up on the video.”
Brenner was awfully glad that she didn’t get the joke either. “It’s not my car. I’m just the chauffeur.”
The South Tyrolean looked at him as if that was no excuse, but then she said, “Oh yeah, that’s what they said on TV. You should have kept a closer eye on the kid.”
“And you didn’t see anything? No one leaving with a child?”
“You know, you’re actually the firsht to ask me that queshtion.”
“Alright already,” Brenner said under his breath.
But that must have been exactly what she was looking for, because now that Brenner had given up, she said: “You’re the only one of the whole idiotic slew who I’d like to help. There’s shomething about you I like. With your shtrange eyes. And your shirt’s untucked.”
Brenner tucked in his shirt, and the two drunks grinned stupidly. Their eyes were glazed from staring, and their heads were craned so far from eavesdropping that their ears were practically brushing against the ad for motor oil that was hanging from the ceiling.
“But I’m more the kind of person who keeps to hershelf,” the woman said. “I even have to take pills for depresshion.”
“And do they do anything?”
“Of course. If they didn’t, do you think I’d be capable of crossing the shtreet? But you know what I think’s a sham? I wouldn’t expect regular shoppers to wind up on security cameras here. I’m not saying anything about them monitoring the drivers-in case one takes off without paying, you have his lischense plate. That I can undershtand. An ordinary shopper, though, who only buys milk, doesn’t need to be taped doing it.”
“It happens automatically,” Brenner said. “If they’re taping the drivers and a shopper runs into the frame, then they’re automatically on it.”
“So now it’s shupposed to be my fault,” the South Tyrolean protested. And then she smiled because Brenner looked so dejected. “Don’t worry so much, the little one will turn up again. I can feel it. You can trusht me completely on that, I have a feeling for this sort of thing. The girl’s fine. Besides, the contractor has plenty of dough. It can’t be true that the kidnappers haven’t made contact.”
“On the one hand, you have a feeling; on the other hand, you make a logical argument.”
“And you? Only drinking nonalcoholic beer?”
Then she left.
That was something! Just said it and left. As the automatic doors opened for her, something new occurred to Brenner.