I Remember You

by Elisabeth de Mariaffi

  Arden said Dolan was fun and an artist because now he wrote for television.

  — Tele-plays. He used to do radio, but the whole future is in television.

  Heike looked at Eric.

  — But, Eric, she said. Eric, the girl.

  Eric set his bottle down and watched her. She could see his mood slipping; her insistence was making him stiffen. She crossed her ankles, one foot tucked lightly behind the other. Her bare legs made her feel like a child.

  She turned back to Arden.

  — I don’t know, Heike said. I don’t think I should leave.

  — For Christ’s sake, Eric said. He turned briefly to Arden and John: This is about the kid. He leaned back against the counter and gestured at her with the bottle, forcing a more lighthearted tone: He’s not an infant, you know. He’ll be fine without you.

  — I don’t want to leave, Eric. I don’t think it’s a good idea. You said yourself, I look tired. She turned to where the maid was setting canned goods onto a pantry shelf: Rita, I’ll put those away myself, later. You can go home, after all. I’ll do it.

  The girl paused, looking first at Eric, then to Heike and back to Eric again. Eric shook his head.

  — Stay, Rita. I know you like to line up the jars for us. He leaned to Arden and John, some odd mix of paternalism and something else: You see how she does it? By colours and by size, both. So the tomatoes and then the peach preserves. Then the little artichokes beside the green peas. And now the beets. That’s right, isn’t it, Rita? Look, I’ve embarrassed her!

  The girl hadn’t blushed, exactly, but her fingers played at her apron in a nervous way.

  — You go on and keep working, Eric said. Madame has had a tiring day, that’s all. Then, to Heike, his tone less playful: Where were you just now?

  — Sleeping.

  Eric looked at her legs again.

  — You’re filthy.

  — I had to come back through the forest. She dropped her voice and reached out to touch his shoulder but stopped short, her hand wavering just near it instead: Eric, I think it’s better if I stay here.

  He caught her fingers, mid-air, and squeezed them.

  — You’ll need a moment to clean yourself up. He drew the hand down and squeezed again before letting go, then turned to John and Arden: Come on, help yourself to a drink while she gets herself together.

  He strode off toward the back of the house, carrying the beer with him.

  * * *

  In the white room, Daniel had already been up and locking wooden track together on the carpet for his trains, but now he was gone. Hiding on the stairs, Heike supposed, and she leaned to look back down the hall. Only his hands were visible, gripping the spindles of the rail about halfway up. She could see the little white fingernails.

  Heike turned back to face the windows. She’d drawn the sheers when they first got home, and now Eric pulled them aside, sunlight streaming into the room and playing off the walls.

  It was a large room with high ceilings, running the width of the house, the back wall entirely done in glass windows that gave onto the deck through a set of heavy French doors. Designed to catch the light, every piece of furniture was colourless: eggshell walls, sheepskin carpets. A pure white grand piano in the far corner, its black keys punching holes in the brightness. Even with the sheers drawn, the sun had reflected and refracted through the glass, beaming into the room with them, kindling Daniel’s honey-coloured hair where he’d lain sleeping. Without them, it was bright enough to frost the pearly white daybed so that it shone almost silver. Outside, the lawn stretched back to a sudden drop where Heike knew the stream cut through, gleaming, a shining vein hidden by the tall summer grass.

  Eric was over at the bar now, scooping ice into lowball glasses. Arden lowered herself onto the couch, her skirt forming a wide, navy blue poof from which her legs stuck out like two rolls of paper towelling. She crossed her ankles this way and that. Heike suspected she was worried they were too thick.

  She tried to think of something nice to say and tugged at the clasps on the beach coat. She still had not gone upstairs to wash.

  — Where’s Daniel? Arden said.

  — I think he’s playing hide-and-seek with us, Heike said. On the stairs.

  — Well, send him down while you’re dressing. I never get to see him; we’re always here too late. I can dandle him on my knee while you bathe.

  Heike turned to Eric:

  — Will you make me a gimlet? Not too strong. Or whatever you’re giving Arden, I don’t care.

  Eric glanced up at her, his hand on the ice tongs.

  — You don’t need a drink. You need a bath. And get Daniel into bed while you’re up there.

  He came over with Arden’s drink, and she took it from him and swished it around, her eyes moving only once in Heike’s direction, then down again. Eric stood behind Heike, a hand on her shoulder, but it was Arden he spoke to:

  — If you get the kiddo involved now, we’ll never get out of here. Heike is incapable of leaving him as it is.

  Heike half-turned to him, shifting her weight from foot to foot. His look had changed again, as though, now that he was used to the situation, her grubbiness filled him with new affection. He gave her shoulder a playful squeeze:

  — And no gimlet.

  — Oh, you’re a menace, Arden said. Never mind then, Heike, I’ll spoil him rotten the next time I’m over. Go on and get ready. Wear your boatneck, with the little bluebell pattern. You always look entirely charming in that dress. Like a little shepherdess, up in the mountains somewhere.

  — Like a Dresden doll, Eric said, turning now to make a drink for John. He stood and looked at Heike: Get a move on, would you? I’ll need to shave, myself.

  * * *

  Heike took the steps to the second floor lightly, trying not to grind her feet too hard into the pale carpeting. The dirt on her legs was almost flaky by now. Bits of dried mud caught in the carpet fibres anyway, sticking there like weird crumbs, and she perched on the landing and bent low to pick them out. A house designed for servants, with its long white room and creamy rugs. She crouched there a moment longer, listening for the murmur of conversation below, but she couldn’t make out more than a word here or there.

  She scrubbed off her arms and legs under the running tap of the bath but didn’t fill it. The water hot enough to turn her skin raw, the bathroom door left wide open. She strapped her hair back and scrubbed her face the same way, over the sink, then pawed through the closet in her underwear and pulled out a wide-strapped silvery grey dress, with a tight waist and large white print. The back cut low. About the furthest thing from a shepherdess. She cast the dress out over the bed and then stopped and turned back to pull open the drawer where she’d hidden the little Dresden figurine from the cabin.

  She wondered if Eric knew. A Dresden doll: the turn of his face when he’d said that downstairs—as if he’d somehow stumbled across it. But it was untouched, still wrapped in the newsprint from the cottage cupboard, the whole package tucked into a long sachet pouch. Heike unwrapped it, and bits of dried lavender spilled out into the drawer, slipping between the camisoles and panties. It was cool and smooth in her hands, her fingers playing over the face and resting for a second over the blue eyes. She wrapped it back up and buried it at the back of the drawer.

  The dress was barely over her head when she heard Eric coming up the stairs, but it was Daniel who came into the room. The bathroom door shut, and then the sound of water running in the sink—Eric getting ready for a shave. Daniel clambered up on the bed behind Heike. She leaned into the mirror and pinched her own cheeks to give them some colour.

  — There you are! She turned around. Well? Do I look pretty?

  Daniel’s mouth opened and then closed again.

  — You look like a lady, he said.

  — So, that’s good?

  — You don’t look like you. I like you better when you look like you.

  — Well, this is also me, Heike said. Here,
let me put on some shoes. She went over to the bed and drew a shallow wooden rack out from underneath it. There were five pairs of high heels resting on it in a long row, and Heike hooked the slings of a pair of silver sandals with her index finger and drew them up around the backs of her ankles. She hitched her skirt above her knees and posed for the standing mirror. After a moment she realized she was holding her breath. It spilled out in a quick puff and she took in air, ribs expanding. The waistband of the dress a bit tight.

  — Who will stay here and protect me? Daniel kicked his legs in a rhythm against the side of the bed. Just Rita?

  — What? Heike shifted her focus and caught the movement, his dirty legs, in the mirror. Oh, Daniel! No. You’re filthy!

  Daniel hopped down, a spray of sand coming with him. Heike thwacked the coverlet to clean it off.

  — Yes. Of course Rita will be here. Thwack, thwack. We won’t leave until after you’re in bed anyway. She drew in another breath.

  — Promise?

  — I always promise, Heike said. Don’t I always promise you?

  — And you tell me a story.

  — Okay. A story.

  — Es war einmal ein Mädel. That one.

  — Schau, so gut sprichst du. Once upon a time there was a girl. Named Gretchen, yeah?

  — What happens to Gretchen again?

  — Don’t you remember?

  — I some of it do. I some of it remember. Gretchen has to live with the witch in the forest. And then the Golden Bird wants to save her, but his head gets chopped! And Gretchen’s finger, too. But then she makes her old finger into a flute, and the bird can sing out of the flute. And that’s how it still saves her.

  — I thought you wanted me to tell you the story!

  — That’s not the story. That’s only a bit the story.

  Heike sat down at the vanity.

  — I think Gretchen is saving herself, she said. She added a few pins to her hair, one by one. Because it’s her own finger, after all.

  Daniel thought about that.

  — Okay. We can say she saves herself. And we can say she lives in our house with the witch!

  — Here in our house?

  — The little house we found today. That’s the witch’s house. The witch likes to go swimming, too.

  Heike stopped for a second, looking at Daniel in the mirror. He was standing behind her, tracing a dusty pattern on the coverlet with his thumb.

  The bathroom door opened again. Eric came out into the hall, a razor in one hand, half his face still covered in shaving cream.

  — I want a bath now, Daniel said.

  Heike stood up and swiped at the bedclothes a final time. Eric was saying something to her, but she found it hard to focus. Daniel pulled at her skirt, and she brushed his hand away, suddenly irritated by all the dirt. She gave the skirt a tug herself to straighten it.

  — I’m sorry, what was that?

  Eric paused and took a breath.

  — I said, Do you want to put him in the bath while I shave? It’s all poured in here.

  Heike thumbed the hem of her dress, rubbing away any bit of leftover grit. She looked up before answering.

  — I’d rather stay home with him, Eric.

  — What’s the matter with you? He lay a heavy hand on the door frame. You can’t very well send me out to a party alone. People talk.

  — Eric, you know what’s the matter.

  Daniel twisted around, grabbing Heike’s hand and pulling her past Eric, into the bathroom. She crouched down and touched his chin.

  — Okay, okay. So, you want a bath now? Let Mami help you. She began to tug at the little shirt buttons, working fast to keep her fingers from shaking. Eric stepped back into the room and stood over them, watching. Heike glanced over her shoulder to the door.

  — Don’t close it.

  Daniel’s clothes fell around him in a rumple. When she was done, he clambered over the edge of the tub, the water warm and frothy, bubbles to his chin. Just his face stuck out. He took an empty shampoo bottle from the ledge and sank it under the water, air bubbles blubbing up as the bottle filled.

  Eric’s hand on her elbow, spinning her gently toward him.

  — I got you something, Sport.

  He was talking to Daniel. He pulled a hand out from behind his back and held out a blue plastic boat. The boat had thin white racing stripes painted along its sides, and a wheel of some kind on its bottom.

  — It really goes. See? Eric worked the grey rudder with a thumb. He looked at Heike expectantly, then pressed the boat into her hand.

  — It won’t rust?

  — Stop worrying! Go on and give it a whirl, he said.

  Daniel was already standing up in the tub, hands outstretched. Heike wound the dial on the boat’s underside and crouched low to watch the toy chug along the water’s surface, cutting a path through the foam. Aware of Eric’s presence behind her, almost gratifying despite the argument. Daniel moved to pick it up, the mechanism still whirring. Heike straightened and stepped back, the boat’s rudder spraying in her direction.

  Eric had turned back to the mirror, stroking cleanly at his jaw with the long edge of the razor. In her slingback heels, Heike was still five or six inches shorter. She reached out and touched his arm.

  — Eric.

  He jerked the razor away and pressed a facecloth to his cheek.

  — Jesus Christ, Heike. He dabbed at the spot but there was no blood, and after examining himself in the mirror, he threw the cloth at the sink. She could see that it would have been more satisfying if she’d managed to cut him.

  He lowered his head and closed and opened his eyes before taking up the razor again. Heike started over, keeping her hands well back from his body.

  — Eric, listen to me. It wasn’t a dream. I saw a girl, she disappeared under the water. I saw it, I know I did. And here we are going to a party.

  Eric went back to scraping at his face.

  — Are you still talking about this?

  — Because you won’t listen!

  Eric wiped his face with the cloth.

  — You didn’t see it, Heike said. Dani. It was like something took hold of him.

  — You go swimming today? Eric turned to face the bathtub, his back to Heike.

  — Yep.

  Daniel was pouring water from one empty bottle to another. Bubble bath foamed over the slim mouth of the receiving bottle. His eyebrows lifted in concentration. Heike put a hand out to touch Eric’s shoulder and then withdrew it.

  — Out at the raft. Eric, you’re not listening.

  — I made a friend, Daniel said. But then she goed home.

  Eric turned back to Heike, lifting one hand in dismissal. A half shrug. She stepped in close, taking his facecloth and twisting it nervously in her fingers.

  — It’s more than that, Eric. She was whispering now, a kind of desperate hissing. Please. He was sinking in the water; I had to pull him out. He was like a half-drowned boy. I had to pull him to shore. And the girl. I can’t explain it. I don’t want to leave him tonight.

  — Stop. Eric yanked the cloth back. You’re scaring yourself. What are you doing? Just because you didn’t see the parents doesn’t mean they weren’t there.

  He raised his arm and threw the cloth down at her feet. Heike stepped back quickly, drawing her hands in against her body. She turned to look at Daniel. He had paused in his play and was gazing at them quietly over his bottles, each one a little more than half full of water.

  — Go get some air, Eric said. Whatever you need to do to get yourself together. I’ll bring you a pill.

  He was standing over her, and she pulled back again to give herself some space, her elbow bumping the wall.

  — Do you think? Maybe that’s all I need.

  — Of course that’s all you need. Everything’s fine. You’ve scared yourself, that’s all. Too much sun.

  — I just want to make sure he’s safe. I’ll tell Rita to sit with him.

  — I’ll get you
something. And don’t worry about Rita: I’ll talk to her. Now go on.

  Heike looked from Eric to Daniel and then back again.

  — You have to watch him every moment, she said. Her voice plain and resigned.

  He took her by the wrist, twisting it around to guide her out the door, and shutting it after her. Heike heard the latch bolt slip, miss its catch. She turned back and pushed it open a crack.

  — Don’t lock it. Please.

  She shut the door again herself, turning the knob with a quiet hand.

  * * *

  John was outside on the veranda, the French doors standing wide behind him, his back to Heike as she came down the stairs. The cooler evening air flooded the room. Arden handed Heike a swizzle stick shaped like a lightning bolt.

  — For the forthcoming cocktail, she said. I can tell when a girl needs a drink, no matter what my brother has to say about it. What can I make you?

  — Just something cold.

  When Arden handed her the glass, it chinked with ice.

  — Drink up, kid. You say you were out on the water today? I’d never guess it. You haven’t got a bit of colour.

  Heike held the cold glass against her wrist.

  — I don’t know. Maybe it’s sunstroke.

  Arden glanced out at John and then stepped closer.

  — Don’t let Eric’s moods get you down. I really think you’ll be much happier out here in the end. Than you were in the city, I mean. She clinked her glass lightly against Heike’s. Bottoms up, yes?

  The New York apartment had been three rooms at the top of a tall walk-up on 86th Street. Hot in summer, thin-walled and permeated with the neighbours’ cooking smells, but she could imagine a view of the park from her rocking chair, and it was only a walk to the German bakery. In fall she’d fed the sparrows with crusts.

  — Every place has its charms, Heike said.

  Arden looked down into her drink and stirred it lightly with a finger. When she spoke again, her voice was soft:

  — He was terrible to me when I was a child, you know.