“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Critically… no, judgmentally.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I didn’t know… didn’t want things to happen the way they did,” she said. “It lasted much longer than I thought it would, and it was so wonderful to be with you. Do you remember what we were listening to when we were driving to Lyon? A potpourri of music.”
“I do,” he said. How he remembered the trip, and the night, and the other nights, and waking up beside Françoise, and coming home every evening to Cucuron. The memories were about to seize him and bear him away like a wave. Sentimentality was the last thing he needed.
“Let’s talk about that some other time,” he said. “I slept last night on a bench in the park, this morning I was chased by Benton’s people, and I’m dog-tired. Since Jill is asleep, put her in the crib in the bedroom and I’ll sleep there in your bed. I’m going to lock the door from the inside. I know Benton’s men can break the door down, but don’t forget that I’ll be right next to your child, and can get at her before anyone comes bursting in.”
“But what if she starts crying?”
“Then I’ll wake up and let you in.”
“But I don’t understand…”
She looked at him helplessly, and he noticed again the little dimple above her right eyebrow.
“You don’t need to understand,” he said. “Just behave as if nothing happened, forget you saw me today, forget that I’m here, and see to it that no one finds out!”
She remained seated. He took the baby from her arms, laid it in the crib, and pushed the crib into the bedroom. He locked the door, undressed, and lay down to sleep. He smelled Françoise. From the adjoining room he heard her weeping softly.
38
HE WOKE UP AROUND TWO. There was a gentle knocking. He got up and looked at Jill-she was sleeping with her thumb in her mouth.
“What is it?” he whispered at the door.
“Will you open up?”
He thought for a moment. Was it a trap? If it was, and the child in his power didn’t offer him any protection, then he had no chance anyway. He pulled on his jeans and opened the door.
She was wearing the dress she had worn on the trip to Lyon, the pale blue- and red-striped dress with the big blue flowers. She had washed her hair, put on makeup, and was holding a baby bottle in her hand.
“I think Jill will wake up in about an hour,” she whispered. “Will you give her her bottle? When you’re finished, hold her upright on your shoulder and gently tap her on the back until she burps. And if she’s wet, you’ll have to go get a fresh diaper. They’re in the bathroom.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have to deliver some translations.”
“You’re no longer working for Bulnakov?”
“Yes, I am, but I’m still on maternity leave. I’m translating as a sideline-New York is expensive, you know.”
“Were you at the Yankees-Indians game last week?”
“It wasn’t much of a game. Did you see it? Now I have to go. Thanks for babysitting.” From the apartment door she waved to him, that coquettish fluttering of her hand.
He lay down again. He couldn’t sleep anymore, and listened to Jill’s satisfied cooing and gurgling. Then he took a shower and shaved with the pink ladies’ razor he found on the edge of the bathtub. Under the sink he found some detergent, soaked his underwear, shirt, and socks, and put on his jeans and the biggest sweater he could find in Françoise’s closet. When he went over to Jill’s crib, she was lying with her eyes open. She looked up at him, screwed up her mouth, and began screaming until she turned red. He lifted her up, forgot where Françoise had put the bottle, and ran through the apartment looking for it. Jill wouldn’t stop screaming.
He had never wanted to have children. He had also never wanted not to. The subject had just never interested him. When he and Steffi had gotten married, it was understood that one day they would have children. And with Hanne, who had had herself sterilized, having children was not an option. He had a godson, the oldest son of his school friend Jürgen, who had become a judge in Mosbach, married at twenty-three, and had had five children. Georg had taken his godson to the Frankfurt Zoo and the Mannheim Observatory, had read him bedtime stories whenever he visited, and for his tenth birthday had given him a big Swiss army knife with all its blades, screwdrivers, bottle openers, corkscrews, scissors, file, saw, magnifier, tweezers, toothpick, and a tool to scale fish. Georg would have liked to have had a knife like that himself. It was too heavy for the practical boy, who wasn’t the least bit interested in fishing.
Georg found the bottle. Jill emptied it in a flash and went on screaming. What does the brat want now? he wondered. He remembered the instruction to hold her upright and tap her lightly on the back; he did so, she burped, and continued screaming.
“What more do you want? Why are you screaming at me at the top of your lungs? Men don’t like women who scream, and they don’t like ugly women, and if you go on like this your face will get crooked and you’ll be ugly.”
Jill quieted down. But as soon as he stopped talking she began screaming again, so he talked and talked, rocked her back and forth, walked her up and down. He couldn’t bring himself to utter “oochy-coochy-coo” or “patti-patti-poo,” though he realized she’d be just as pleased with those as with any fairy tales, Wild West stories, or detective stories he could remember.
He put her down on the cabinet in the bathroom and removed her wet diaper. It wasn’t only full of pee, but full of poop too. He washed her bottom and rubbed lotion on it. He waved Jill’s legs in a cycling motion, moved her arms left and right, up and down, and let her hands reach for his thumbs and hold them tight. He pinched the fat on her thighs, arms, and hips. She squealed with delight. Actually, there’s almost no difference between little children and little kittens, he thought. Children are more work-one invests more in them, and that’s why people later have more to offer than cats have. But that’s as it should be. He studied her face, looking for some sign of comprehension. She had thin dark hair, a high forehead, a snub nose and snub chin, and no teeth. He couldn’t make out what was going on in her blue eyes; when he bent over her, he saw his reflection in them. She laughed. Was that a sign of comprehension? On the edge of her ears he discovered a thick dark down. She was still holding on to his thumbs.
“My little hostage. No more flirting when Mama comes home. She mustn’t find out what a paper tiger I am. Is that clear?”
Jill fell asleep. Georg laid her in her crib, called Jürgen in Germany, and asked him to disregard the letter he hadn’t yet gotten. He had decided to replace the old story with the new one, so Jürgen shouldn’t bother with the instructions he had enclosed. “But why? And what are you doing in New York?” His friend was concerned.
“I’ll call again,” Georg said. “Say hi to the kids.”
Georg knew there were problems that had to be dealt with and decisions to be made. What should his next step be? What were the others planning? What can I do? he wondered. What do I want to do? But the outside world was far away. He knew the feeling from being in a train: the only things that separated you from the passing landscape, cities, cars, and people were a thin wall and thin glass. But this separation and the speed were enough to encapsulate you. And also, you could no longer do anything where you started from, or at the place you were to arrive. When you got there you might deal with problems and decisions-but in your capsule you were condemned to passivity, and you were free. Also, when no one knows that you are sitting in the train, when no one is expecting you and you are traveling to a completely unknown city, being cut off takes on an existential quality. No car trip can compare with it; as a driver you are busy steering, or as a passenger you are involved in what the driver is doing. In Françoise’s apartment Georg was experiencing the same isolation from the world. Of course, all he had to do was walk out and involve himself with the life outside. He knew that that was what he faced, that he had to do it and would. He didn’t feel inwardly blocked. It was just that the train hadn’t yet arrived, and the schedule with the arrival time had been lost.