When we passed the entrance to the Hofburg Palace and were about to go left onto the Kohlmarkt, Maris stopped and looked up at one of the statues in front of the gate. I thought she was going to say something about it or the palace, but I was wrong.
"My God, life is hard, isn't it, Walker? Did you ever play one of those computer games, like Donkey Kong or Lode Runner? They're terrible, because the better you get at them, the more adept, the harder they get and the faster they go. You never get rewarded for your achievements – more like penalized!"
"Is that an analogy to life, or are you still trying to figure out why you hit that woman?"
"Both! Yesterday Luc was hitting me, today it's me hitting someone else. Don't you want to get better at life? Learn from your mistakes, make the right decisions, not feel guilty, use your energy in a good way . . ." She shrugged and sighed. "How far are we to your first happy place?"
"Five minutes. It's a barbershop."
"Grьssgott!"
"Uh oh. The American is here!"
We walked in and sat down between an old man and a teenage boy.
The two barbers, owners of the shop, were identical gray-haired twins who forever kept up a sarcastic, funny patter with their customers. The place was Vienna's equivalent of a Norman Rockwell barbershop; talk of sports, women, and the stupidity of politicians abounded. Usually there was a group of regulars in there for nothing more than the insults and good feeling.
"Who's your pretty friend, Herr Easterling?"
How could I say we'd dropped in for a little cheering up because my new friend had just hit another woman?
But Maris winked at the barber and asked if she could have a haircut.
He was surprised, but gestured grandly toward his chair. She plopped down in it and asked for a trim.
Another man walked in, in a hurry, but stopped halfway across the floor when he saw her in the barberchair.
"That's the best-looking guy I ever saw in this damned place!"
Conversations started up again after that, and the good-hearted nastiness of men comfortable with each other returned. Maris said little but smiled the whole time. It was clear she enjoyed being there.
When the barber was finished cutting her hair he carefully brushed her off, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
Outside again, Maris briskly rubbed her head a few times and stopped in front of a store window to check her reflection.
"They're nice in there. They all get a big kick out of each other, don't they?"
"Yes. I always come out of there feeling good."
She started walking. "I would too. What's your next happy place?"
The next was a pet shop on the Josefstдdter Strasse that sold some cat and dog stuff, but also used bicycles, handmade bird-houses, and diving equipment. The owners were an old couple and a sad-eyed Saint Bernard that must have been twenty. The dog had his own full-length couch, from which he never moved. I never understood how the place survived, because no one was ever in there, and the goods for sale had the lopsided look of things that had sat in the same spot for years.
The people always asked how Orlando the cat was getting on, so we talked about my roommate for a few minutes. But then, when things got quiet, out of desperation I bought an enormous bag of kitty litter I didn't need.
Trying to see it through Maris's eyes, first-time eyes, it was both strange-looking and sad. The store smelled of coal stove, big dog, years-long failure, and dusty everything.
She asked, "What can I buy for your cat?"
"Well, it's a little hard, because he's blind and can't really play with most toys."
She asked if they had a ball with a bell inside. The man brought out one as exhausted-looking as the dog. I hadn't the heart to tell Maris that Orlando already had one and hated it. It was beneath his dignity to chase a tinkling ball.
After that we went to lunch and watched the sky clear to blue through the windows of the restaurant. It was a quiet meal. I didn't know whether that was because of the fullness of the morning, or because somewhere along the line things had gone flat for her. Maybe that flatness was my fault, but I also kept forgetting: Literally, the day before, a man had tried to kill her.
"You know what I liked about that pet store?"
"You liked it? I thought I'd really bombed out with that 'happy place.'"
"Not at all, Walker. I liked the way they treated their dog like a pal and not a pet. I bet they don't have children. Dogs are the kids we've always wanted. They're totally devoted and want to live with you until they die. Not like children who can't wait to take off as soon as they grow up and don't need you anymore.
"You know what I've been doing for the last five years or so? Writing a daily letter to my daughter, even though she's not born yet. So she'll know what I was like when she grows up. I think it's more important than anything. Kids have to know who their parents are, and were."
"When would you let her read it?"
"When she is sixteen or seventeen. Old enough to understand what I was saying."
"You're crazy about children, huh? How come you've never had any?"
"Because I never met a man I loved enough to want to share that experience with. I don't care if we were married or not, or even if the relationship ended later. It's only important that at the time we decided to have the child, we were so completely involved with each other that it'd be the absolutely right thing to do."
She looked out the window and ran her hand through her new haircut. "I've been talking the whole time, haven't I?"
"I'm glad."
"I can't tell if that's good or bad. It usually takes me a long time to talk like this with a man. Especially one I just met. But maybe we didn't just meet, you know? Someone came up to me once and said 'Weren't you my wife in our last incarnation?' It was the best come-on line I'd ever heard."
"What happened to that man?"
She looked calmly at me. "It was Luc. The one who . . . hit me yesterday."
"It's four hundred steps to the top, Maris, maybe more. Then we have to walk for another fifteen minutes, straight up. Are you sure you want to do it? It really doesn't matter to me. Honestly."
We stood at the bottom of a staircase in the Thirteenth District. To our right was the Lainzer Tiergarten, a private hunting reserve of Kaiser Franz Josef in the time of the Habsburg Empire. Now it's a big, lovely park, where strange animals roam free, and you can come face to face with a family of wild boars if you're lucky. It was weeks since the park had closed for the winter. But after Maris insisted on visiting my third happy place, we drove to this far-off corner of Vienna to see . . . a field.
She looked at the steps and then at me. She let her tongue hang out as if she'd made the climb three or four times that day already. "So what's up there that's worth four hundred steps?"
"It won't sound interesting if I tell you. You have to see it for yourself."
She pulled her tongue back in. "Is it the Emerald City?"
"Better. I've never shown it to anyone. I only go there once in a while: Only when I'm either completely happy or totally sad."
"Sounds interesting. Let's go."
She started fast up the stairs, but by the halfway point I could hear her breathing hard. She finally stopped and put hands on hips. "Walker, I'm not in love with climbing four hundred stairs. How come you're not even winded?"
"I used to do a lot of mountain climbing when I first came here. One of those grizzled old guides showed me how to walk vertically."
"Teach me." She dropped her hands and gestured toward the stairs, ready to move again.