by Noel Hynd
Geiger looked to Diana. “Incredible,” he said.
“Poor thing,” she said, shaking her head.
They were both thinking the same. The second lunatic animal accident in a matter of hours. Coincidence?
Rolf put his hand on hers. Neither he nor Diana could hear the conversation around the deer but from the way the vet was working on the animal’s cuts, things seemed to be going in the buck’s direction. The vet wouldn’t have been stitching cuts if the animal was going to be put down.
Geiger and Diana stayed and watched. A few minutes later, the deer wobbled to its feet. Miraculously, Dr. Goran led the animal back out through the hole created by the shattered glass. The animal wobbled to its feet outdoors and then sat down again.
“The tranquilizer wears off in fifteen minutes. The deer will wander off again. As long as it stays away from cars it will steady itself and survive.”
Rolf and Diana went back up to their room. Geiger went into the bathroom and showered. He was soaping himself, with eyes closed, when he felt something touch him.
Nerves tingling, he jumped. Then he smiled.
“Room enough for two?” she asked.
“Always,” he said. “If it’s you.”
It was Diana, completely undressed, stepping in to join him. He liked to shower with her. He massaged her back and pulled her into a tight embrace as the water splashed them.
He pulled her wet body as tightly to him as he could. For the first time in several days, he thought of nothing other than her and the female physical presence in front of him.
He reached for the water and turned it off.
“Should I carry you to bed or throw you in bed from here?” he asked.
“You may carry me, then put me down gently. Then you can be as forceful as you want.”
She kissed him.
“But dry me off first.”
“Of course.”
They shared a towel, then tumbled into bed. He again pulled her as tightly to him as he could before making love to her as passionately as if this were their first time together. It was as if, in each other’s physical presence, they were taking refuge from an ominous day.
Nineteen
Toward 2 A.M., Rolf came awake in the soft blue light of the room. For several minutes, he lay quietly thinking.
Actually, he was half-awake, dozing more than sleeping, in a comfortable inn on a quiet island. Around him in the room were objects and furniture which, if not familiar, were conducive to rest.
His hands were behind his head, folded on the pillow as he stared above him and let his gaze drift around the room.
He was struggling again, trying to put events in order. What had driven the deer to charge into the windowpane downstairs? By anyone’s account, this was no ordinary event. Was it unrelated to what was going on in Geiger’s life? Or had he drawn something to this inn, something that had made a wild animal go into a frenzy of fear?
What had been lurking in those woods beyond the meadow? Something half-dead? Something half-human? Something with a foot in two different worlds?
Like the ghost of Isador Rabinowitz?
A powerful shudder went through him.
Why had he thought he had seen Claire in Nantucket Bookworks? He reviewed what was in his memory and, by God, he was sure it had been her. Few twenty-two-year-olds are quite that alluring. He began to entertain a funny hunch that his strange feelings toward her were somehow associated with his haunting by Rabinowitz.
Yes, he was sure it had been her.
He recognized the shape of her backside, the legs that she walked upon so saucily in her short skirts. The curve of her neck and cheek. How could it have been her one minute and another woman the next? Why had he imagined the other woman’s face as his mother’s?
He had imagined that, hadn’t he? The dead didn’t inhabit living forms to revisit the world, did they?
“Did they?”
His thoughts drifted. Then there had been the violinist. The street musician. Once again, Rolf had been sure of what he had seen. That incident had been even stranger. He had rushed across the street and the musician he had seen wasn’t even there! How was he to interpret that?
Had he seen something from another world? Another reality? Or had it just been some weird coincidence. A street performer whom he had once seen from his window on East Seventy-Third Street in Manhattan turns up in Nantucket, then slips away before Geiger can rush up and speak.
Well, come to think of it, those events weren’t so far-fetched. The explanation was not that irrational. But the combination of all three?
He shuddered again. This one was a deep shiver. It roused Diana, who opened her eyes.
“Tiger?” she asked.
“Yes, honey?”
“Why are you awake?”
“Thinking,” he said.
“Don’t think too much,” she said sweetly. “Unless it’s about me.”
She closed her eyes and snuggled close to him. A moment later, she opened her eyes and looked at him. She propped her head up on her hand.
“Hey,” she said. “I want to know something.”
“What’s that?”
“What kind of man was he? What kind of life did he have? Before you knew him.”
“Who?” he asked.
“The man whom you’re always thinking about. Rabinowitz.”
He felt a sinking sensation. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because sometimes I feel that he’s here with us.”
“What?”
“What I mean is, Tiger, that he’s gotten into your psyche so deeply,” Diana said. “I live with you. I sleep with you. I’m intimate with you. I want to know what kind of man got so far into your mind.”
Several seconds passed before Geiger could answer.
“Sometimes I think I never knew him at all,” Geiger said to the dark room. “I knew the sour old musician, the great recitalist who wanted me to fail. I don’t know what was further inside that. He didn’t permit people to see inside him.”
“Do you think he was dangerous? Devious? Mean?” she asked.
Geiger deflected the question. In the corner of the room something shifted. A crack on an old floorboard. All four of their eyes settled upon the spot for a beat. Nothing was visible.
“A lot of people thought so,” Rolf answered.
“But what do you think?” she asked.
“I think all those adjectives applied in one way or another.”
“But where did all that malice come from?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Where does evil come from? Where does genius come from?” he asked.
Another second passed.
“So he was like those Russian dolls. The matruskas,” she suggested. “One inside another inside another, till you get to the last one.”
“Sort of,” he said. “What I never understood about the dolls was which one was real. The outermost or the innermost? Or was one a reflection of the other?”
“And one never can see into the final one, either. That one doesn’t open,” she said. He sighed.
“You think too much,” he said to her. He pulled her close and kissed her. He savored the touch of her head against his shoulder.
“Know what I’m going to do?” she said sleepily. “I’m going to go over to Lincoln Center next week when we get back to New York. I’m going to find out everything there is to know about Isador Rabinowitz.”
`”Why?”
“I want to know why he’s gotten so deeply into your head,” she said. “I want to know so that I can help you chase him out.”
She closed her eyes and settled back to sleep. He tried to do the same, but he was still bothered. Shortly thereafter, with Diana breathing evenly as she slept, Geiger’s eyes came open.
He heard piano music. It sounded like Rachmaninoff, played by a master. He lay still and listened. It was at the edge of his consciousness, but it was there. It was right there!
The music grew loud
er and the room, it seemed to him, grew cold. It was as if someone had opened a door to the winter. He thought he sensed a presence in the room.
When Geiger had been a teenager, Rabinowitz had always wondered about Rolf’s sex life. He had frequently asked to hear about it. Standard questions sprinkled through a recital, attempting to test his concentration: “Do you now make love with a girl, Rolf? Is she good?”
Was the spirit of the old master now here to watch him make love to Diana?
Of course he was, Rolf decided. It made perfect sense! Geiger whispered aloud.
“You’ve followed me!”
Then, a voice emerged from the darkness.
“Yes.”
Geiger’s nerves surged.
Rolf was sure he had heard an answer! The old man was present somewhere nearby. The music continued. A Chopin étude, this one played with a sad and sinister touch.
“What do you want?” Rolf asked.
“Your Diana. She makes love to another man these days, you know,” the voice told him.
“What?” Geiger asked.
“The woman lying next to you. Another man mounts her and penetrates her.” Rolf recognized the voice. The old master.
“Go away!” Rolf whispered in return.
“No woman is true to a single man. Diana is unfaithful. You’re sharing her. She accepts another man’s seeds.”
“Lies!”
“She wants him to impregnate her since you won’t.”
“Burn in hell, Isador,” Rolf thought in return. Geiger shifted in his bed, trying to banish the ugly thoughts.
“Think about it. Think where this would be taking place.”
“I refuse,” Geiger said. Rabinowitz must have leaned harder on the keys, because the volume stepped up.
“Then I will show you.”
An unwanted image accosted Rolf’s sleepy brain. He envisioned Maurice Sahadi’s art studio, crowded with young male artists. But tonight it was Diana who was the model. She was completely undressed before a dozen strong men, none of them painting, each of them madly desiring her.
“Exactly!” …and Geiger was completely shaken by the idea.
“Sharing her. That’s right, Rolf. You are sharing her. Many enjoy the beauty of her body, and several of them partake in it. Am I clear?
Geiger shuddered violently, one of those weird nighttime shakes that brings a man out of sleep.
“The only solution will be for you to murder her.”
Rolf bolted upright. His eyes were wide-open. The image, the thought, of Diana in death was too much for him to bear. And he could still hear the music. Distantly.
“I am imagining you,” Geiger said to Rabinowitz.
“No. I’m real.”
“Prove it!” Geiger demanded. “Prove that I’m not imagining you!”
He heard the old man laugh.
Incredibly, Geiger thought he sensed movement in the dark room. Low movement that he couldn’t see. Like the movement of an animal. It was coming near him.
Very near. Then it was there.
Something tugged at his scalp. An invisible cold hand seemed to close around his heart. He felt an icy fear sweep along the back of his neck and he flinched. For half a second, the foul odor of the dog on the beach assaulted him. Then it was gone. The sensation threw him into shock.
“Proof enough?” Rabinowitz asked.
Speechless, his heart kicking, Geiger threw his left hand to the lamp at his bedside. He jarred it, then fumbled with it, trying to turn it on.
“Till next time,” the old devil laughed. “Auf Wiedersehen!”
Geiger found the light switch. He clicked it and a yellow light bathed the room. Simultaneously, the room temperature rose again. The light swept away the image of Diana with all those men. Geiger listened to the thundering of his heart. He let things settle. The light did not wake Diana. He waited, expecting something unspeakable. Nothing happened. Then, cautiously, he turned off the light and lay back.
He closed his eyes again, letting the piano concerto, born on distant wings of questionable intent, bore him off to sleep.
The next morning he awoke shortly after nine.
Diana had dressed nicely. Tan shorts and a pale blue long-sleeved sweater. He loved the way she looked. They packed and prepared for their flight back to New York.
Checking out, Geiger asked if there were any pianos anywhere in the area. In any room or at some inn nearby that might have been playing music late.
David Corwin, at the front desk, pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Nothing that I know of, Mr. Geiger,” he said. “I hope you weren’t disturbed.”
“No. Not at all.”
“Rolf is so close to music,” Diana chimed in, “that sometimes he hears it in his head. Even when there’s none playing.” Geiger didn’t entirely appreciate the observation. Diana regretted it as soon as it was out of her mouth.
“Yeah. I’m a regular nutcase,” Geiger said dryly. “But my fans don’t worry about that. Only the people around me.”
Both Diana and David Corwin laughed awkwardly.
Outside a few minutes later, Diana asked, “Should I apologize or are you your usual testy world-class-musician self today?” He grimaced.
“I’m testy,” he said. “I thought I heard something last night. Sorry.”
“It’s forgotten,” she said.
They went to the airport and were soon on the one o’clock plane back to LaGuardia. On the flight, Geiger heard the music again. He recognized the touch of Rabinowitz and the harp of his own Steinway. The master was playing on the instrument in Geiger’s home, Geiger theorized. He was doing it right now while they were in the air 250 miles away.
Shortly before they landed in New York, Diana turned to him. Her hand settled on his.
“Feeling better, Tiger?” she asked.
“He’s pursuing me,” Geiger answered softly. “Rabinowitz follows me everywhere I go.”
For a moment she had a hopeless look in her eye. Then she turned and stared out the window. When she spoke again, she had changed the subject to her art class with Maurice Sahadi.
Neither of them mentioned the name of Isador Rabinowitz for the rest of the day. The evening back in their townhouse proved uneventful. It wasn’t until the next morning that they noticed that the watcher across the street had vanished. He had left a small pile of cigarette butts behind him, but he did seem to be gone.
“Hopefully,” Diana thought to herself, “for good.” The more she thought about the gnarled little man, the more he scared her. Just like Rolf’s increasingly irrational behavior.
Twenty
On Monday morning, shortly after Mrs. Jamison arrived, Brian Greenstone phoned.
Rolf took the call in his upstairs office. Greenstone had spoken to half a dozen out-of-town promoters about doing a mostly Beethoven concert within the next six weeks.
“I’ve narrowed it down to Boston, Washington, and Philadelphia, Rolf,” Greenstone summed up. “The dates would be in either late May or early June.”
The date in Washington was a Monday at the Kennedy Center. Monday was generally not a good evening for a recital, though Rolf Geiger with a Beethoven program would have easily sold out the Center any night of the week. After listening to the particulars, Geiger vetoed Washington. The notion of playing in the capital, Geiger felt, would put too much pressure on the date. It would seem “too official.” Greenstone agreed.
“So, where does that leave us?” Geiger asked.
“It leaves you in the cauldrons of your colonial insurrection. Boston or Philadelphia,” Greenstone said. “These are the better bets, anyway. Got a calendar in front of you?”
Geiger did. The date in Boston was the last Wednesday in May before Memorial Day. A good date. The location was Lowell Hall at Harvard. One thousand seats. Not too big, not too small. Definitely possible but not perfect.
But Boston critics were not terribly friendly, treating some visiting musicians the way the
local sportswriters treated the New York Yankees.
“The Academy of Music in Philadelphia has a potential cancellation for Thursday, June 11,” Greenstone continued.
“I like Philadelphia,” Geiger said. “Does that mean the orchestra’s available, too?”
“Indeed, it does. And it’s a great orchestra, as you know.”
“Can we set it up?”
“I’ll make the calls this afternoon,” Greenstone said. “Or maybe tomorrow morning. The Academy is very anxious, so I don’t want them to think we are too anxious.”
“Perfect,” Rolf said. “Perfect.”
“Oh, and there’s something else, too,” Greenstone added. “Despite what we discussed previously, I’m looking at the possibility of starting your world tour in London.”
Geiger was surprised.
“Rather than in New York?”
“Precisely. I can get Wembley Stadium for September first. This is huge. I definitely want to start you off with very strong press notices for playing unadulterated great classical music in a mega-arena. If you’ve been watching, the British press hasn’t hit you as hard as your own American one has.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he confessed. “I stopped reading all of them.”
“So, go there, play magnificently with traditional works, conquer London, and it gives the English press the chance to say, ‘See there! Rolf is wonderful and we here in the U.K. knew it all along!’ If we come off good press in London, we’re halfway home in New York also.”
“So what do we do with New York? End here?”
“Maybe. Or maybe we end in Cairo. The Emperor at the Valley of the Kings, as you suggested. Or Tokyo. I love Tokyo. I could retire on what we might make in Japan alone.”
Greenstone laughed.
“Anyway,” the agent continued, “This is all ‘TBA’. To Be Arranged. So we need to talk more about the back end of the trip, Rolf. The main thing is, the Brits will treat you fairly and the country will feel honored to have you commence your tour there. Pigs-in-clover. Oh, and I can probably pull a taut string or two and have Prince Charles and his current concubine, Lady Camilla attend. I already know they wish to meet you. I wouldn’t leave that to chance.”
The assertion left Geiger momentarily speechless. His last contact with royalty had been in Scandinavia on the 2005 tour when a local princess wrote down her phone number and let it be known she would be home alone after a concert. Geiger had wisely misplaced the number.
