Kurtze
Elliott folded the handwritten note and placed it in his jacket pocket. He didn’t understand the last line; he would never dream of judging the kind old man. He finished his glass of wine, said goodbye to Cardasso and his waiting staff, and returned to his apartment. He sat on his bed and opened the package; it was the old man’s book, the one he had published years before, the only one. Elliott opened the front cover and saw that Señor Kurtze had signed it on the second page.
A few weeks later, Elliott contacted his head office in Atlanta and informed them he was resigning his post as their representative in Argentina and that he would not be returning to Atlanta. His wedding had been arranged and he would be going home to Savannah at the first convenient opportunity. Reluctantly his resignation was accepted, and arrangements were made for his return home.
Elliott made one last visit to La Casa Verde and thanked all those who had served him in the last few months. He hugged Señor Cardasso, who promised him that every Friday he would raise a glass in honor of the Swiss man and the American who had become his greatest friends. Elliott felt that Cardasso exaggerated slightly, but nonetheless he returned the Argentine’s embrace. Then he took one last look at the wall of bottles that had attracted him to the restaurant in the first place and a last, deep breath of the rich aroma of cooking meats and salsas. He shook the hand of each waiter who had served him over the last few months. Then he left.
All of that was now well over thirty years ago. Elliott smiled as Biscuit and Grits finished their breakfast and began frolicking in the kitchen. Elliott had returned to Savannah and married Thelma. He had never returned to Argentina, and Thelma had never travelled to the places or met the characters he used to describe in his letters. Elliott didn’t know whether La Casa Verde still even stood or if it was now a fast-food restaurant, though he presumed by now that Old Cardasso’s heart had finally stopped. He used to wonder what might have become of Miguel, Santiago, and the other waiters, but in time he couldn’t even remember their faces.
He also wondered who tended his old friend’s grave, but as the years passed and his own life grew long, he no longer wondered if flowers still marked the spot where Señor Kurtze now rested.
To the amazement of everyone who knew him, Elliott briefly became one of the world’s most successful children’s storytellers. His three books sold thousands of copies, ensured his family’s financial future, and financed Thelma’s real estate business. Elliott’s stories of dragons, witches, goblins, wizardry, and enchanted European forests enabled Elliott and Thelma to purchase the house of their dreams, overlooking the park in the Gordonston neighborhood they had always yearned to live in. The publishers wanted more stories from Elliott but were disappointed when he told them he was no longer writing. They urged him to continue, explaining that his stories were unique and that there was more money to be made. The truth was, Elliott had no more stories to tell; he had never really had any stories to tell in the first place.
He decided that his future lay in politics, and he had aspirations of one day sitting on the city council, representing the people of Gordonston. He recalled the old man’s wishes, encouraging Elliott to write down the stories he told, encouraging him to retell them to his two boys in Savannah, Spencer and Gordon. It hadn’t been Elliott’s intention to pass the stories off as his own or to publish them, but finances were tight, and, well, what harm could it ever do?
Eventually the books disappeared from stores, sales dropped, and the name Elliott Miller was forgotten. Elliott’s books were now long out of print, and the publishing house that had once championed the young writer was long since out of business. He no longer mentioned his writing career, and only a few people actually knew he had once been on the verge of literary fame and fortune.
Often, though, after dinner parties when the boys were away at college, Elliott would recount for Thelma and their guests tales of his time in Argentina. He would secretly smile as the murmur of conversation rose, as those disinterested in his story began talking among themselves. Nevertheless, you could almost hear a pin drop when Elliott would reach below the table and place one of the few surviving first edition print copies of Mein Kampf on the dining room table, signed on the second page by the author.
Elliott Miller had often wondered as to the true identity of the man he had met thirty years before, briefly, in an Argentine restaurant. Maybe the old man had become confused on his deathbed and had simply given Elliott the wrong book, or maybe Elliott had been the victim of an elaborate hoax, perpetrated by Cardasso or one of the waiters. Or could the man he had befriended and been so in awe of possibly have been the most feared and evil man in history?
The signature on the second page of the book Kurtze had given him was authentic; Elliott had it verified by experts a few years after his return from Buenos Aires. If Kurtze had not been the author, then where had he gotten the signed book?
Now, Elliott banished the thoughts of Argentina and the past from his head. He had far more important things to worry about, such as preparing the eulogy he would read at Thelma’s funeral service. Elliott checked his watch. Spencer and Gordon would be arriving shortly to assist in the funeral preparations, and Elliott needed to dress. He abandoned his memories and returned to the present day. As he made his way to the bedroom where he would change into a somber black suit and tie, he passed the bookshelf that housed his only copies of the books he had written, and the book of the man whose stories he had “borrowed” and passed off as his own.
Elliott had rarely visited the cathedral where his wife’s funeral service would be held. Although she attended mass every Sunday before she had become bedridden, he had not. And why would he? Though Thelma’s parents were initially guarded about their only daughter’s proposed marriage to a non-Catholic, they had eventually accepted that Elliott did not intend to convert their daughter, or either of her sons, to his own Jewish religion.
Chapter 4
“That was mighty nice of you, Carla, to bake Elliott an apple pie like you did,” said Cindy as she arrived in the park with Paddy for their afternoon of gossiping, cocktail drinking, and dog walking. She released Paddy, and the excited dog joined Walter and Fuchsl in a game of chase in the woods.
“Well it was nice of you too,” replied Carla, who was already seated at the picnic table with Heidi. “It just goes to show that when a man needs help, a good woman will always bake a pie.” The two women laughed at Carla’s joke. The laughter, though, sounded bit contrived, maybe even false. It wasn’t difficult for Heidi to notice the slight tension that had materialized between her two friends.
“Well, the big news is that the funeral is on Thursday, and there is a wake straight afterward at the house,” announced Heidi, changing the subject once Cindy had taken her usual seat at the picnic table with her friends. “There is going to be a jazz band and a book of condolence. I hear caterers from Johnny Harris’s are doing the food and that there will be waiters serving cocktails. Seems it’s going to be open house too, which means the whole neighborhood will be there, I’m sure.”
“Sounds like it is going to be quite an event. I’m sure Thelma had a hand in planning the whole thing; it seems just like the sort of party she would have loved,” commented Carla as she threw a stick for Walter to chase, before raising her cup to her lips.
“Now you be careful,” said Cindy as Carla’s lips touched the rim of her cup. “Don’t you be smudging your beautiful lipstick. Is that a new shade, honey? It’s so red, it’s almost scarlet.”
Cindy returned her friend’s smile. “Well, why ever not? I think it is important for a lady to look beautiful, even if just walking the dog with her old friends.” The two of them forced a smile once again.
“I have to say that dress you’re wearing is sure mighty pretty,” said Carla, commenting on Cindy’s figure-hugging outfit and its plunging neckline.
“Oh, this old thing,” replied Cind
y, “it’s something I just threw on.” Carla looked her friend up and down as if inspecting a soldier on parade. “And those heels, they must be six inches high. You look like a movie star.” Cindy looked down at her impractical footwear and smiled at her friend.
It was Heidi who interrupted the two friends’ verbal sparring.
“It’s him again. Look.” She pointed to the old man who had just entered the park with his Cairn terrier. He saw that the three women were watching him and raised his hand in a wave before continuing along the perimeter path, his small white dog following closely behind. All three women smiled and waved back.
“You know, Betty, my housekeeper, found out that he lives in the house with the turret that overlooks the park. The large four-bedroom place with the pretty garden and the Oldsmobile parked in the driveway,” said Heidi behind her false smile and insincere wave. “I think we need to organize a letter for that man, Cindy.”
“I think you are right—a friendly letter from the Resident’s Association, reminding him of the need to scoop his dog’s poop,” said Cindy. All three women nodded their agreement.
Doug Partridge sat at his computer and read his account balance again. He sighed as he read the figures on his screen, and placed his head in his hands. How could this be? How could he, of all people, have invested so poorly? It was hard enough as it was, what with a baby and Veronica having to support them all, but he had thought his investments would pay bigger dividends, so he could contribute more to the family budget. Granted, he had paid cash for the house, and that had alleviated some of the burden and strain of trying to live on Veronica’s hospital salary only, but he had expected far more income from his dividend payments.
He looked over to where his young daughter played happily with a toy dog on the floor of the den. There were more expenses every day: clothes, baby formula, and toys. Up the road, there would be school fees and then college to pay for. Doug couldn’t help thinking that he had made a huge mistake. He had known that giving up a highly paid career so he could be with his new family would mean sacrifices, but he had planned well, or so he had thought. How was he to know that the shares he had bought were going to fall short like they had?
Bern stretched his body on the den floor as Katie toddled over to where her father sat. Doug smiled and grabbed his baby girl, lifting her to his knee. “You want to go for a walk?” he asked in his unmistakable English accent. “Do you want to come as well, Bern?” Bern raised his head and stood on all fours, wagging his tail. Doug closed his laptop and sighed once more. If it got too bad, he could always go back to work, but there was no guarantee that his position would still be open. There was also the problem of his immigration status. While waiting for his residency application to be processed, he couldn’t leave the country or obtain legal employment. It was as if he were stuck in no man’s land. Anyway, he thought, as he bounced the giggling child on his knee, how could he leave his family?
Doug and Veronica Partridge had been married for only three months, though their daughter Katie was already fourteen months old. Doug had met Veronica while attending a business conference hosted at the Savannah Conference Center. It had been a banking conference, and one evening when Doug ventured away from the conference setting for a quiet drink apart from his fellow delegates, he’d met Veronica purely by chance in a local downtown bar, where she was celebrating the birthday of a friend. They had clicked immediately and vowed to keep in touch after Doug returned to Switzerland and his job at the bank he said he represented. He’d visited Savannah and Veronica whenever he could and had arranged for her to join him in exotic locations around the world where his work took him. When she announced that she was pregnant, he hadn’t hesitated to give up his lucrative career to settle down with the woman of his dreams.
Veronica found them a great house in Gordonston, thanks to Thelma Miller’s efforts, and Doug wrote a check for the full amount of purchase, depleting his savings but ensuring that the young family was not reliant on a regular income to pay the mortgage.
Doug’s mind was made up the moment he first set eyes on his daughter and heard her first cries; he would work extra hours, save as much as he could, and invest his earnings in shares and stocks, thereby enabling him to retire early and become a stay-at-home husband and father. He had many friends who advised him on the best way to invest his hard-earned money—so-called experts—and he’d listened to their advice. He’d estimated that he could retire and bring up Katie while Veronica resumed her career as respiratory therapist at the Memorial Health Medical Center, one of Savannah’s two hospitals. Although their reduced income would mean no more trips abroad, Doug’s financial planning had included covering Katie’s future educational expenses; Katie would have the best chances and the best education.
Doug and Veronica married shortly after Katie’s birth, and he promptly resigned from his position and began his immigration paperwork with the assistance of a local law firm. But Doug was beginning to discover that things were not working out as planned. His investments were not paying the dividends he had hoped, and it was too late for him to pull the money out of the stocks he had purchased without losing a large part of his original capital investment. The financial statement he had just seen, via his online banking and investment account, showed that his next year’s projected monthly income would be far below what he had anticipated. He could kick himself—he knew he should have waited before retiring; he could have worked for another three or four years and secured his family’s financial future and maybe even allowed Veronica to work only part-time. Now, due to the regulations imposed by the immigration authorities, he couldn’t leave the United States to return to his job abroad, nor could he seek employment.
The Englishman placed his daughter on the floor of the den and searched for her shoes. He ordered Bern to fetch his leash, which the obedient and well-trained German shepherd did, returning with it in his mouth. At least he was getting plenty of exercise, thought Doug. He enjoyed taking Bern to the park and strolling Katie along the tree-lined avenues of Gordonston. Sometimes they would stop by the swings, and he would push his baby girl, her squeals of delight echoing throughout the wooded park. He felt sorry for his wife. While he spent his days with their daughter, she had to work. Veronica was missing watching Katie grow up, but at least she did see her daughter in the evenings and on weekends, more than he would be able to do if he were still working abroad. Though he regretted the timing of his retirement, at least now he could be with his family. Katie, now dressed and with shoes on her feet, was ready for her afternoon stroll. Doug settled her in her stroller, and with Bern in tow they made their way to the park.
“So Kelly told me she saw you at her makeup and perfume counter this morning,” said Cindy through a feigned smile as the three friends continued their afternoon session of the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club.
Carla also fixed a smile to her face. “Oh, yes, that’s right,” she explained, “I was running out of blusher. You know how much I love my blusher,” she stressed to her two friends.
Cindy, her smile just as fixed on her face as her friend’s, nodded agreement. “And eye liner,” she said, “and not forgetting new perfume, powders, and assorted bath salts, and of course the moisturizer.” Cindy took a swig of her cocktail, “Why, you must be stocking up! Kelly told me you spent well over two hundred dollars. Remind me, if I need anything, to see you.” All three of the women laughed out loud, though the laughs of Cindy and Carla were now, to Heidi, sounding more and more forced.
The truth was that Cindy would not need to borrow any makeup or beauty products from her friend. What Cindy had failed to mention was that she had also been to her neighbor Kelly’s makeup and perfume counter after Carla had frequented it just minutes before. She herself had spent over four hundred dollars on assorted beauty-enhancing products, not to mention the two hundred dollars she had later spent on the new dress and high-heeled shoes that adorned her body and fe
et. The conversation halted as all three women’s heads turned toward the gate.
Doug entered the park and released Bern from his leash. Bern immediately sprinted to where Paddy, Fuchsl, and Walter playfully romped. Doug raised his hand and threw a wave to the trio of women. They all waved back. He headed along the path, pushing Katie in her stroller, unconcerned by Bern’s antics. Doug didn’t mind what his dog did, as long as he didn’t poop in front of the women.
“My, oh my, she’s a real beauty,” said the old man as Doug and Katie approached him on the chipped-wood path that circled the park. “Just look at them peepers and that big, wide smile.” The old man grinned as Katie giggled and bobbed up and down in her stroller. Doug smiled. He frequently saw the man in the park, walking his old Cairn terrier, and they often nodded and exchanged afternoon or morning greetings.
“I think she likes you,” said Doug as the old man knelt beside Katie’s stroller.
“You really are a pretty one, aren’t you?” said the old man. He looked up at Doug. “What’s her name?” he asked as Katie continued to smile and laugh.
“Katie,” replied Doug.
“She’s so sweet.” The old man returned his attention to Doug. “You Australian?” he asked, turning back.
“English,” replied Doug.
The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Page 6
