On the last morning, we were to have brunch in Harry’s Bar. Coming down to the lobby, Ajita cried out: it was under a foot of greasy water. It was not a tsunami; the sea was slowly rising. This happened three times a month.
We were given galoshes and clambered out of the hotel. St. Mark’s was a trembling lake. Submerged tables and chairs stood in the street like objects in an installation, with drowned pigeons bobbing around them. Tourists squeezed past one another on trestles; shopkeepers attempted to pump out their premises. I looked out past the bursting waves towards the Lido, wondering how hobbling Byron swam so far. Even as a kid I wouldn’t have been able to do half that distance.
We waded to Harry’s, and after we’d downed too many Bellinis, I was about to reach across the table to take her hand. I wanted to tell Ajita how easy we seemed with each other. Perhaps something might develop between us. We had one night left; couldn’t we try more kisses and conversation, and see where they took us?
“Ajita-”
“I don’t want to interrupt,” she said, “but I need to! I’ve been meaning to tell you-I’ve met someone.” She was laughing. “I just knew it would happen in London, my lucky city. It’s extremely early days.”
“I see.”
“He’s tender and makes me feel beautiful. That’s all I’m saying-certainly not his name. I can hardly say it to myself, let alone to you or my husband. It was you, though, Jamal, who gave me the confidence.”
Disappointment winded me. She had returned and I had let her go. At least age had taught me that the pain would not last, that I would even feel relieved.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “What a great thing to happen.”
“Do you really think so?” She was watching me. “We’ll see. I can’t tell you any more about it,” she said. “It might be bad luck, and I’ll make a fool of myself. Don’t think it’s only pleasure.”
“Why not?”
“For the first time, I’ve been talking about Dad. He’s interested, this man, in what happened to Papa.”
“That’s good.”
“You know, Jamal, I noticed an odd thing.”
“Where?”
“Mustaq’s people-who have been investigating the matter-found a press picture of Dad driving into his workplace the day he was murdered. We’ve studied it on a computer. We are almost certain he is wearing the watch you gave to Mustaq. Isn’t that strange? What happened?”
“I wish I could remember,” I said. “I was really knocked over by the abuse story. I do recall your dad coming to my house once, on his way home, asking if I wanted a lift to yours-to see Mustaq.”
“He touched you then?”
“I thought he liked me. A lot of people seemed to fancy me. I didn’t know what to make of it.”
“I know it was a long time ago, but Mustaq and I aren’t going to give up on trying to find out the truth about Dad.” She was looking at me. “You okay?”
“It’s still difficult for me to think about that time.”
She grasped my hand, which I’d omitted to withdraw properly, and kissed it. “It was me! I made you so unhappy, Jamal! I was unfaithful! I haven’t faced that properly.”
“How could you know what you were doing?”
“Can’t you forgive me?”
“Yes.” I called the waiter. “Let’s just drink to you-to your return, and to your happiness.”
“Thank you, darling.”
I said, I hope without sarcasm, “Your new man doesn’t object to you going away with me?”
“He knows what a valuable friend you are now.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Can we get together with him when we’re back home?”
“I’m not sure about that. We’ll see. Don’t make me go too fast.”
We drank a lot that day, and my hope increased that though I, the eternal vacillator, didn’t feel capable of claiming her, she might claim me, by inviting me to her room. Then her boyfriend called. Her face seemed to open, and she laughed, hurrying outside the hotel to speak to him.
I left her to it, once more forfeiting love for a novel. Unable to concentrate, I called Rafi on his mobile. He was watching The Simpsons and was too busy to gossip. “Phone back in a year,” he suggested.
I put my coat on and walked those lugubrious, echoing Venetian alleys, passages, bridges and archways for more than three hours.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“So?” said my sister, almost as soon as I walked in the following night, on my way to visit Wolf at the Cross Keys. Kids and corpulent neighbours drifted in and out of the kitchen as usual, cats jumped out of windows, and there was always a stinking, dribble-jawed dog farting on any chair you wanted to sit on.
“What so?”
“Don’t fuck with me!” she said, suddenly attempting to throw me on the ground. The two of us struggled; I fought her off-no, I didn’t, I couldn’t-and the dogs barked.
“Bitch, maybe one day I’ll be stronger than you,” I said, getting up. I wasn’t too pleased about being attacked and thrown down by her. No one would want unnecessary contact with Miriam’s floor.
We stood apart, out of breath, hair and laughter over her face. I was convinced she’d dislocated my shoulder again. For a while my differences with Miriam usually ended with my arm in a sling. Kids stepped around us disapprovingly, talking about eBay.
Miriam said, “You and Ajita. Is it on?” In Venice I’d bought Miriam a black-and-white carnival mask to wear on “the scene.” She kissed me and said, “Henry and I have been frantic for it to work out between you two. He told me you were keen on her again.”
“Who’s asking you two meddlers? You know these things take a lot of time with me.”
“Time? When you met her, the Beatles were still together.”
“They weren’t, actually.”
I took off my sweater and tee-shirt. She fetched a clean blanket, spreading it out on the sofa. I lay down, and she stroked, tickled and scratched my back, something she knew I loved. I turned round and she did the same on my stomach, her nails raking my bulging stomach, not as grand as Henry’s “waterbed” but heading that way.
I was drifting off when she said, “You staying for supper? I’m making some dhal, and Henry’s coming by later. I’ve hardly seen him. There’s a crisis: Valerie’s been insisting that he go over there all the time.”
“He goes?”
“I guess you don’t know this, but Lisa went into the house when there was no one home and stole a hand from her mother’s bedroom wall.”
“A what?”
“I dunno. A hand.”
“What was a hand doing on the wall?”
“It’s a picture, for fuck’s sake. A famous drawing by some old guy. She’s hidden it and won’t give it back. Bushy’s been trying to help Henry find it. But she’s a cunnin’ one.”
“What,” I sighed, “is she intending to do with this hand?”
“Apart from trying to make her family crazy, you mean? Who knows? It’s like a hostage.”
I was mystified by the story of the stolen hand but didn’t want to hear any more about Lisa.
I said, “Bushy wants me to come to the Sootie.”
“I noticed you two have become pretty close, talking together outside on the street rather than in my kitchen. Still, I’ve never seen him so excited. Is it true you’re giving him the inspiration to play live again?”
“I may be the fuel, but he has to be the rocket. I said I would have to ask you, but wouldn’t it spoil your evening to have your brother hanging around that fuckery the Sootie as, you know, a spare prick?”
I got up and put my tee-shirt on.
She was laughing. “Oh no, don’t worry about me and Henry. We know how to take care of ourselves. Looks like you’re going to have to come, bro.” She pinched my cheek and poked me in the stomach. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll wear. You want me to help you choose something unsuitable?”
“No fear.”
“Have you done anything like this before?”