‘Yes.’
‘In fact, you’ve gained authority now. I feel humble next to you.’
His features, refined by age and self-discipline, expressed surprise. ‘Why should you feel that?’
‘You’ve achieved such amazing things. The whole nation has watched them on TV. All I’ve been is a quiet little music teacher in a quiet little town.’
‘We’ve both launched others on their life’s voyages. There’s nothing more valuable. We can both be proud of that.’
‘That’s a very nice thing to say.’
‘It’s true.’
She hesitated. ‘You never married, Thomas?’
‘You know I didn’t.’
‘Was that my fault?’
He smiled slightly. ‘You had something to do with it. I wouldn’t say it was your fault, exactly.’
‘I would hate to think it was. Was there never – somebody?’
‘Oh yes. There were a couple of somebodies along the way. Just never anybody I wanted to make a life with. Besides, I was married to NASA. None of the possible incumbents were prepared to play second string to a space agency.’
‘But you finally left the space agency.’
‘I did.’
‘So there’s hope for some lucky somebody?’
‘The age of saints has passed, my dear Masha.’
‘I’m going to sign you up for a dating agency.’
‘Please don’t.’
‘A seniors’ dating agency.’
‘Was Hänschen nicht lernt, lernt Hans nimmermehr.’
It was the first German he had spoken, and Masha snorted with laughter. ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks? I wouldn’t count on that.’
Twilight had fallen by the time they left the building. The plaza was a spectacular sight. The fountains were illuminated, the great halls on three sides blazed with light. Laughter and music were everywhere. They stood together, enjoying the evening and its magic.
‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ Thomas said. ‘I might never have come.’
‘Next time we’re here we’ll do a concert or a ballet.’
‘That’s a deal.’
‘Good. I owe you that.’
‘You don’t owe me anything, Masha.’
Her face, still heart-shaped and pretty, was sad for a moment. ‘Over the years I’ve become more and more conscious of the debts I owe to others. To my family, who gave up everything to save me. To Rachel, who kept me strong. To Stravinsky, who was so generous to us all. And to you. Your kindness stands out as one of the defining moments of my youth. I revisit it often, and each time it means more to me.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Thomas said. ‘About what to do next. I sat at my desk for a lot of years and watched a lot of people leave for exciting places. Maybe it’s my turn now.’
‘You want to travel?’
‘I thought I might see a bit of the world. Paris. London. Rome. And yes, Berlin. Maybe even Tokyo, Singapore.’
‘That sounds wonderful, Thomas. I’ve always been a city girl, myself. I’d like to do that too.’
He was watching the fountains, the dancing lights reflected in his eyes. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.’ He paused. Was it too late for him to have these feelings? Was he making a fool of himself – an old fool, this time? He decided to go ahead. ‘We could go together.’
‘No reason why not,’ she said quietly.
He felt his heart soar. ‘No reason in the world.’
She took his arm. ‘How about a hotdog? I promise to skip the onions.’
‘I think we can do better than a hotdog these days.’ He looked down into her face. The soft glow had given her back her youth and beauty, or perhaps his own eyes were blurring, because she didn’t look a day over twenty. ‘And you have no idea how I long to smell onions on your breath again.’
‘Let me see what I can do about that. Shall we go then, you and I?’
They walked down the stairs, which sparkled with lights, and out into the glittering tide of noise and life in Columbus Avenue.
Wisconsin
Cubby Hubbard had to plan his visits with more care these days. After the decades of near-isolation, people had dredged Rosemary’s name out of their memories and had started calling to see her. Her family had begun to drift back around her. Or at least some of her family. She had already outlived her parents. Her father, devastated by a stroke a few years after Rosemary’s lobotomy, had ended up in a worse condition than she, unable to talk or walk. Her mother, once so sharp and ambitious, had declined into dementia. From what the nuns had told Cubby, Rosemary had never forgiven either of them, despite the irony of their fates. Of Rosemary’s siblings, four had already died, in accidents or at the hands of assassins, giving the family name, which had once been so proud, the ring of tragedy.
Those who remained had begun to show an interest in the recluse at St Coletta of Wisconsin. They came to see her and sometimes they took her on outings, to revisit the places of her youth, or to see new ones. There was even a tendency to turn her into a cause célèbre, and make her suffering an emblem of compassion – she who had received so little compassion in her life, except from strangers.
So Cubby had to plan his visits with a little foresight so as not to coincide with other visitors, or find Rosemary not there. It wasn’t too difficult, because Rosemary’s visitors and outings were not so common – she still spent most of her time alone – and with the help of the nuns, something could always be arranged. But it was a long journey to make, and he didn’t like to make it in vain.
He drove the car he’d rented through the Midwestern cornfields of bronze and gold, now almost ready for the harvest. Along County Road Y, the strips on either side of the tarmac, which they called berms here in Wisconsin, were speckled with pale-blue forget-me-nots. He was remembering a time when he hadn’t needed to check in advance, because he had always found Rosemary alone, and St Coletta had been the middle of nowhere.
He had been coming to St Coletta twice a year for half a century. This was his hundredth visit.
It was eight months since he’d last seen Rosemary. He wasn’t able to travel as easily as he had done in the past. Everything was more effort, more of a challenge these days. The passing of the years was something he’d learned to accept; yet it struck him to the heart to see Rosemary huddled in her wheelchair now, in front of the porch. She had been robust through her middle age, retaining some of her physical vigour, though her movements had always been clumsy. She had loved to walk. But in recent years he had seen her shrinking, fading, becoming immobile. The nuns had told him she would inevitably be wheelchair-bound one day, and during the past eight months, that day had come.
He got out of the car. She raised her head, and he saw her face light up. In her eighties, she still retained that magic, that ability to make your heart sing with a smile.
‘She’s not talking a lot any more,’ Sister Hedwig murmured to Cubby. ‘So don’t expect too much.’
‘Okay. She looks awfully frail.’
‘She’s quiet. At least her temper’s better lately.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘I’ll leave you two to get some privacy. The buzzer’s round her neck if you need me.’
Cubby sat beside Rosemary in the chair the nun had vacated. He saw that the call button was indeed hanging around her neck, along with the rosary, which pretty much covered all spiritual and temporal emergencies.
‘Hello, Rosemary,’ he said.
She didn’t reply, but held her hand out to him, still smiling her lopsided smile. He took it. They sat in silence for a while, holding hands, as in the old days.