Dark Memory

by Jonathan Latimer

  “Did he ever talk to Mr. Salles?” Jay asked.

  “No. We’d shipped him off to Nairobi before Salles appeared.” Mr. Palmer held his glass up to the light. His blue eyes went from it to Jay. “Cool beggar, that Salles.”

  “Poor Cable,” Jay said.

  “Are you really sorry for him, laddybucks?”

  “A little. Damn little, though.”

  Mr. Palmer finished his drink. He stood up. “Want a doctor for your arm?”

  “In the morning.”

  “There’s food coming.” Mr. Palmer went out to the door. “And someone’s drawn a bath. It’s down the hall.”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “You’ll be better after you sleep.”

  “Sure.”

  “Good night.”

  The bath was in a windowless room off the hall near the head of the stairs. There was warm water in the tub. He was undressing when a black boy came with a bucket of hot water. Jay motioned for him to put the water in the tub.

  The black boy held up the empty bucket questioningly. Jay felt the water in the tub. It was hot. “Non,” he said. The black boy went away.

  The warm water in the tub made him sleepy. He lay quiet at first, with his eyes closed, thinking how tired he was, and then he soaped himself, letting the creamy lather lie on his beard and head while he cleaned the rest of his body. It seemed strange to have a beard. He splashed water over his head and dried himself and put on the pajamas. They were too small for him. He did not touch the bandage on his left arm. On the way to his room, carrying his clothes in a bundle, he saw light under the doors of Salles’s rooms. He heard voices. He went in his room and took his traveler’s checks out of his trousers and put the clothes on the dresser. The traveler’s checks were wrinkled, but the ink had not run. He had another drink before the porter brought him food on a tray. There was bean soup and a tomato omelette and bread and a bottle of white wine. While the porter was bringing in a chair to put the tray on, Jay heard footsteps in the hall. There was a clink of silver against china. They were bringing food to Eve.

  “Does Monsieur wish anything else?” the porter asked when he had put the tray on the chair.

  “No.”

  “When should I come for the tray?”

  “I will put it outside the door.”

  “Bon.” The porter lingered by the door. “Is it very bad in the forest?” he asked.

  “Very,” Jay said.

  “I have been along its edge myself.”

  “That’s very interesting.”

  “I have been to Beni and to the mines at Butembo.”

  “You must tell me about them sometime.”

  “And I have been to the elephant farm,” the porter said.

  “I can hardly wait to hear about the elephants.”

  “Monsieur jokes,” the porter said.

  “No. Yes. I am very tired.”

  The porter went away. Jay ate the food and drank some of the wine. The wine was slightly corked. He fixed a drink of whisky. People kept passing in the hall while he drank the whisky. He put the tray in the hall and closed the door and got in bed and pulled the light cord. The bed felt queer after sleeping so long on the ground. A tree toad made a rasping noise outside the window. He was tired, but he could not go to sleep. He wondered about Eve. What was she doing? He missed her so. What was Lucien Salles doing? Wasn’t it Soames Forsythe who raped his wife when she was in love with another man and would not have him? How many husbands raped their wives? He was sorry for Eve, but he was also jealous. He would like to shoot Salles. Should he go down to their rooms and demand that Salles give her up? No, it wasn’t his fault. It was nobody’s fault. What would Eve do? It was her problem; she would work it out. He would trust her. Anyway, he would be able to tell in the morning if she had slept with her husband. He would be able to tell just by looking at her.

  The pillows felt as though they were filled with lumps of cotton. He pushed them off the bed. It was funny, he thought, what sordid affairs fate could think up. It was not a nice thing to be wondering if the woman you loved was sleeping with her husband. Or was being raped. It was a lousy thing. Yet it wasn’t really their fault. They had assumed that Salles was dead. And they had loved truly. We did love truly, didn’t we? Didn’t we? Be true, now, Eve. Oh, please be true. Be true tonight and tomorrow we will go away together. We will go to Stanleyville. We will go to France or England or Buenos Aires or Mexico or any of the fine places there are to go to in the world. Never to be anything but together again. To be true and together and together and true. To be truly true. He reached down and found one of the pillows and put it over his head. It would shut out the noise of the tree toad and the footsteps in the hall. Maybe it would shut out his thoughts.

  He pulled on the light and got up and brought the bottle of whisky to the bed. He took a long drink, the liquor warming his throat and stomach, and stood the bottle on the floor beside the bed and put out the light. Later he took another drink and sometime later, he did not know when, he went to sleep. Once he partly woke in the night and felt for Eve and was frightened when he could not find her, thinking they were still lost, and called her name, and in calling completely woke, and then remembered. It was a long time again before he could go back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 36

  WHEN JAY WOKE it was raining. It was gray in the room and water dripped outside the window. The air was damp. When he got out of bed he kicked over the whisky bottle, but he caught it before much whisky had spilled. The bottle was about half full. His clothes were hanging on a hook by the washstand. They had been washed and mended. He dressed and went downstairs to the dining room. On several tables were china and silver and napkins folded like admirals’ hats. He took a fork and struck a glass. The dining room smelled of salad dressing and cheese and starched linen. A waiter with a drooping, rusty mustache came in and showed him to a table by the courtyard window. He looked like the night porter, but he wasn’t. The hair on his head was thin.

  “What will Monsieur have to eat?” the waiter asked.

  “What time is it?”

  “It is just past four.”

  “Past four?” Jay was surprised. “It can’t be.”

  The waiter looked hurt. He took out a thick gold watch. “It is six minutes past four.” He held the watch so Jay could see for himself.

  “I do not doubt you,” Jay said. “I didn’t think it was so late. Please bring me fruit and chocolate and bacon and eggs.”

  He was eating the scrambled eggs when Eve came to his table. She looked thin but beautiful. She had on a gray silk dress that was puffed a little at the shoulders. It was fastened at the throat with a cameo. He had never seen her so lovely. He pulled out a chair for her.

  “You didn’t shave,” she said.

  “No razor. My, you look nice.”

  “I’ve been wondering how you’d look shaved.” She smiled at him. “But I don’t mind. You look so masculine with a beard.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Very well.”

  He felt shy and happy and upset looking at her. There was a silence and then she said: “I talked with him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He won’t hear of my leaving him.”

  “Did you tell him about us in the forest?”

  “No. But he knows.”

  “And he doesn’t mind?”

  “Yes, he minds.” Her voice was husky. “He minds a great deal. But he won’t let me go. He pretends it’s simply a girlish infatuation.”

  “Is it?”

  “Oh, darling!”

  There were cobblestones in the courtyard. The rain had made them slick. Small pools of dark water lay between some of the stones. Jay could see rain dropping in the pools. In a corner of the courtyard was a pile of blond straw.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had a very bad night.”

  “I did, too,” she said. “I kept thinking of you all alone in that room.”

  “Eve, were yo
u alone, too?”

  “Oh, my poor darling!”

  “I kept thinking of Soames Forsythe.”

  “I should have screamed for help.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “Lucien isn’t like that.” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Oh, Jay, what am I to do?”

  “You’re to come with me.”

  “Oh, I’d like to.”

  “You mean you’re not?”

  “I don’t know.” She took her hand away and looked out the window. It was raining gently. Two small birds were pecking at the pile of straw. Their feathers were soggy from the rain. At last one of the birds flew away with a short straw and the other followed.

  “Father André has been talking to me,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “Darling, I am a Catholic, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “It’s so difficult. I don’t know what I should do.”

  “The religious part is entirely up to you.”

  “Please don’t be angry.”

  “I’m not.”

  The waiter came to clear the table. He took off the plates and then he brushed crumbs. He was a long time brushing. Then he straightened the tablecloth. He put new silver and a napkin in front of Jay. Then he arranged the salt and pepper shakers. At last he went away.

  “But you do have to decide,” Jay said. “All I can say is that I want you to come with me, darling. I love you. I’ll probably die if you don’t come.”

  “Oh, sweet.”

  “No, I won’t die. But almost. Please decide now.”

  “I can’t, sweet. I want to so much, though. But I promised Father André I’d talk to him again.” She glanced over Jay’s shoulder and said, “Darling, here comes Lucien.”

  Lucien Salles had fine manners. He bowed when Eve presented Jay, then shook hands. He was thin and tall, and he had a black mustache. He was a distinguished-appearing man, but he did not look well. His cheeks were hollow and the bones of his face showed through his yellow skin.

  “I will never be able to repay you for taking care of my wife,” he said in English, standing with one hand on Eve’s shoulder.

  Jay said, “There is nothing to repay.”

  “I must disagree,” Salles said. “You are too polite. But we will not argue. Would you care for some champagne? I have some quite good Cliquot on ice in the bar.”

  “Do let’s have some,” Eve said.

  They went to the bar and sat at a table by the window looking out on the courtyard. Jay could see the pile of blond straw from another angle. There was a checkerboard cloth on the table and round paper blotters for beer glasses. The blotters had blue crests printed on them. The waiter got the champagne from the ice bucket and opened the bottle between his legs and filled their glasses.

  “To your health,” Salles said to Jay.

  “Thank you.”

  They drank the champagne and talked about the Ituri. Salles did most of the talking. Apparently he was not going to speak of their problem. Maybe he didn’t believe there was a problem. Jay did not know what to do. He did not know what Eve wanted him to do. He agreed that the Ituri was a place of mystery. Yes, he had seen pygmy elephants. But only briefly. None with four tusks, however. Salles described an elephant spoor he’d seen. It was incredible, he said. It was as large as a barrel. He acted as though he was talking to a hotel acquaintance instead of the man who had been sleeping with his wife. Jay realized suddenly how easy it was to deal with a man like Lew Cable compared with a man like Salles. With Lew Cable there was the conflict, someone got beaten, and it was over. With Salles there could be no conflict; nothing in the open. He was too clever. It would only strengthen Eve if he got angry. Jay sipped champagne while Salles talked about the pygmies he had stayed with. The champagne was good and it was good to look at Eve. If only she would come with him. Yes, he had seen a hunting dance. Very interesting. Had he seen a marriage dance? No. Salles described one. There were many towns in America where he and Eve could live, Jay thought. And if she did not like America there were many other towns in other countries. He had always wanted to live in Mexico City. Or Buenos Aires. He could earn enough with his writing for them to live. They would not be rich, but they could get along. He saw Salles looking at him.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lucien asked if you were scientific,” Eve said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear him. I am not.”

  “I fear Mr. Nichols is tired,” Salles said.

  “No. I’m very sorry. My mind wandered. Please continue.”

  “Some other time.” Salles stood up and looked at Eve. “I think we must go.”

  “I was wondering,” Jay said, “what you were going to do about Eve.”

  Salles stared down at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am in love with her. I want her to go away with me.”

  Salles’s lips thinned into a smile. “How does that concern me?” he asked.

  Jay got up. It was awkward talking up to Salles.

  “I thought you would be interested,” he said.

  “I have already discussed it with Eve. I am opposed, naturally.”

  “Naturally.”

  “I see no reason for any further discussion.” Salles no longer smiled. “But I might remind you that I am a rich man. Eve has become accustomed to wealth. I have given her servants, fine homes, clothes, jewels, everything she has wanted. Is not that so, my dear?”

  “Yes,” Eve said in a low voice.

  “Will you be doing her a service, Mr. Nichols, to ask her to leave this life to take what you can give her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And then there is her religion. Are you a Catholic?”

  “No.”

  “I did not think so.” Salles bowed. “Good-by, Mr. Nichols.”

  “Good-by,” Jay said.

  Eve touched Jay’s arm. “I’ll see you in a little while, Jay.” She followed Salles out of the bar. She looked sad and frightened. Jay saw Father André waiting in the corridor. He had been there all the time. His face was very solemn. He walked away with Eve.

  The waiter took the champagne bottle from the bucket. Water glistened on the yellow seal and the glass was beaded. “There is some left,” he said. “Will Monsieur have it?”

  “Why not?” Jay said.

  The waiter laughed. “Why not?” he repeated, and laughed again. “Ha, ha, ha,” he laughed.

  “You should see me when I’m not losing my girl,” Jay said. “I’m a scream then.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing.”

  The champagne was very cold and dry. The waiter filled his glass twice, but the third time there was only enough champagne to cover the bottom. Jay drank it and stood up.

  “Please ice another bottle,” he told the waiter. “Present it to Monsieur Salles with my compliments.”

  “Oui, monsieur,” said the waiter. He was very impressed.

  In the parlor Jay met Madame Chambord. She had been searching for him. The doctor had come, and she had a note from Mr. Palmer. She gave the note to him and watched while he read it.

  LAD,

  I’ve arranged for you to ride to S. with the mail driver. He leaves at seven. Let me know what’s to be done with Bill. Good luck.

  P.

  “The mail,” Jay asked, “does it leave promptly?”

  “Always at seven,” Madame Chambord said.

  “I am going with it to Stanleyville.”

  “Yes, monsieur.” She knew it already.

  “Where is the doctor?”

  “I will find him.”

  “Have him come to my room.” She turned to go, but he stopped her. He wrote, “Please come, darling,” on Mr. Palmer’s note and handed it to her. “Give this to Mrs. Salles. I may not see her again.”

  The doctor was a small, dried-out man with an air of secrecy. He tiptoed into the room and closed the door very quietly and put his case on the bed.
He undid the bandage on Jay’s arm, handling the dirty cloth with great distaste. He cleaned the wound. There was a large scar, but the wound had nearly healed. The doctor fingered the arm and made a clicking noise with his lips.

  “What’s the matter?” Jay asked.

  “There is going to be a bad scar.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “You should have sent for a physician,” the doctor said. “Then there would be no scar.”

  He evidently hadn’t been told where Jay had been. Jay did not tell him. He agreed a physician should have been sent for. The doctor put on a clean bandage, winding the gauze firmly around the arm. The wound itched.

  “Now,” the doctor said, “it will heal. But there will be a scar.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “You must always send for a physician.”

  “I will remember that,” Jay said.

  He sat on the bed after the doctor had gone. It was darker outside, but now the rain was not coming down. A mist had taken its place. Out of the window he could see nothing but moving gray mist. It was like being shut off from the world. The mist smelled of snow and the damp forest and the mountains. It drifted through the open window, making the room feel like the out-of-doors. It was cold on his skin. He wondered what Eve was doing. She was probably talking to the priest. He felt sick and scared, the way he felt when he went into a fight. Only he was not going to fight. There was nothing to fight. You could not fight the church. He shivered. He folded the blue pajamas and put them on the bed. He did not know who had given them to him. There was nothing else of his in the room. He was wearing everything he owned. He was ready to leave.

  He went back to the bar and ordered a cognac. A little later the priest came.

  “May I speak to you for a moment, Mr. Nichols?” he asked.

  “Certainly. Please sit down. Will you have a drink?”

  “A vermouth, please.”

  Jay spoke to the waiter.

  “It will be difficult to say in English what I must say,” the priest said. “I do not speak it well.”

  “You speak it very well.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jay waited for the priest to go on. He noticed again how white and fine his skin was. It did not make his face effeminate, though. There was something of the hawk about him, the asceticism and the cruelty.