"From home," she said quietly. Her voice was unusually soft and very sad. There was something suspicious about it. It bothered me.
"And where is your genius?" I kept bugging her.
"Don't talk about him like that!"
"Why? Isn't he a genius?"
I glanced at the book, open in the middle, with a diagonal pencil mark on top of the left page. This meant I was going to copy that sentence into my notebook: "When we chart the spread of violent acts on a society-wide level, we see the same sort of pattern that would be created by the appearance and withdrawal of infectious diseases over the course of time." And the part that followed also looked interesting. It was about how infectious diseases keep returning again and again, in different forms. It was not exactly clear to me what that had to do with violent behavior, but this passage kept bugging me.
"Yes, he is," Celia said. "Your mockery is disgusting. You have no right to do this."
I hated to hear the woman I love constantly praising another man.
"Of course," I answered. "How could I come close to a genius? Who am I? A simple, ignorant cop with a split personality."
"John, I've told him!"
"What?" I held on to the receiver with all my strength. I felt emptiness in my chest as if it was me who had been cheated on. Celia wanted to talk to me. Was she going to move in here? I instinctively looked around at my plain little room. Or was she about to break up with me? The feeling of emptiness grew.
"I'm working in the afternoon," I told her. It's amazing how hoarse my voice became. Celia knew as well as I did that if I really wanted to get away from work I could. I had told her about Captain Ericsson's offer. I wondered if I should explain to her how many people are on leave, and that I didn't have the nerve to ask him for time off? Celia would see through me anyway. The same number of people were on sick leave or vacation when I ran to her office like a madman. Like a madman!
"Tomorrow night then?"
My stomach shook, the nausea was pushing the half-digested chocolate back up my throat.
"I'm going to a dance club in the evening …" I began. I'm not sure what happened to me just then. Maybe I felt pity, or maybe it was because I loved this woman, and her soft, sad whisper was driving me crazy. "You can come with me if you want."
I was a little surprised when she said she wanted to come. We agreed on a time and place and then I got back to reading the book by my lover's husband. I could hardly see the lines, I could hardly get the words. I took notes automatically. "Waves of aggressive behavior sweep over mankind again and again, like an infectious disease." Not a very original thought. I'd read this metaphor before. But as I continued reading, I realized that he meant it literally. Dr. Baruch believed that there was an infectious virus responsible for the outbreak of meaningless conflicts, civil wars and witch-hunts. When the viral epidemic wanes, more tolerant times follow, there is a decrease in war and an increase in the number of international peace treaties.
The more I understood, the more questions I had. According to Dr. Baruch, certain historical events cannot be explained with economic or political theories. Of course, there are a few people in every country who may benefit from a war, but that doesn't explain how these opportunists can manipulate all of their fellow citizens. Was it a coincidence that several nationalist dictators could take power at the same time? Was it a coincidence that these leaders simultaneously found an eager audience in different parts of the world? Was it a coincidence that people listen to the preaching of war hawks in one era and ignore them in another? According to Baruch, it was a mistake to say that hard economic times bring on wars. He listed countless examples of times when deranged leaders came to power under prosperity instead of poverty.
According to my lover's husband, and I never suspected he was into history too, these phenomena have biological explanations.
This thought was frightening. I closed the book and stared into the darkness. A sense of helplessness came over me. If Baruch was right, we were all subject to some kind of incurable disease, one that attacks unexpectedly and kills like cancer or AIDS. Except that this disease doesn't just kill one individual, it can wipe out an entire miserable population. I hated Baruch for this idea.
If it wasn't for Lewis's obsessive punctuality. If I didn't picture him telling me in a pained voice that, in case I didn't know, he has an awful lot of work. If I wasn't certain that, although Lewis can be a fat head, he's a loving brother who'll be waiting for me with a team of nurses and doctors, I would have continued reading Baruch's book. But knowing all this, I closed the book, and shuffled over to the bedroom barefoot.
It took me a while to fall asleep, I stared at the ceiling for a long time. I couldn't stop thinking about questions that I should remember to write down in my notebook before leaving in the morning. I had no idea where I would find the answers to them. Maybe in books, or from Celia, or from other doctors and psychologists. I knew I'd find someone who knows. It's my profession to ask questions and find the answers to them. Before I drifted off to sleep, I realized what the most important question actually was: What does all this have to do with what's been happening to me? There had to be a link! I fell asleep with this thought in my head.
CHAPTER 24
As soon as he steps on his brakes in front of the Star Dance Club, Arany regrets having invited Celia along. He looks at Celia next to him, hunched up silent. She turns away, looks out of the window and Arany can't see her eyes.
Arany parks the car, turns the engine off, and looks at the run-down building with a young crowd hanging around the entrance. The grubby facade is decorated with colorful neon signs announcing the club. It reminds Arany of an old whore who tries to hide her age with a thick cake of gaudy makeup.
Even though it's a weekday, there's a long line in the street. It moves very slowly, because armed bouncers search everyone at the door. Beautiful girls, giggling too loudly in their mini-skirts, wait impatiently. The swollen biceps of their dates are shiny in the colorful light.
Arany despairs. Lots of Pats and lots of Frosts, he thinks. He's still under the influence of the depressing book he'd read the day before. It didn't seem that these young people wanted to hang out and have fun, they looked like an unpredictable crowd. Like sick people. Sick with the disease that starts wars. Someone's gun is taken away at the door. He can enter now.
"Are you sure you want to come in with me?" he asks.
Celia is still not looking at him.
"Sure," she says quietly.
They had both been deep in their own thoughts on the way here, and hadn't spoken. Now Arany hesitantly reaches out and touches her thigh. Celia shudders. Arany starts slowly stroking her long muscular legs. She tosses her head back, closes her eyes and parts her lips. She shuts the world out, listens only to her body and sighs self-indulgently.
Arany touches her breasts, and Celia tosses her head to the side so her dark hair covers the headrest. Desire sweeps over him. The way this woman surrenders to his touch anywhere anytime, excites him. The headlights of an approaching car flash across Celia's passionate face. Then it's dark, and her features become obscure again.
"Let's go home!" Arany whispers.
He turns toward Celia. Her eyes are half open, her face looks hazy, with a mysterious shine. Her thin fingers touch Arany's chest and slide downwards.
"No!" he whispers suddenly. "Not here …"
The answer is only a mysterious smile. Arany feels like this woman can see through him, control him. Whatever Celia wants, and wherever she wants it, she'll get it.
He looks outside while the fine fingers undo his fly. From the edge of his vision he can see her head bending forward. He runs his fingers through Celia's hair. Her warm lips pamper him. Outside the car, at the end of the line to the club, a fight breaks out. Someone runs away; a man curses; a woman screams. A few people look on with surprised faces as they take their places at the end of the line. No one in front of them seems to care and neither do the bouncers. Arany does
n't care. He's just stares glassyeyed out of the car window, at a world that doesn't care about him either. No one notices the couple in the car, not even when a Arany cries out with pleasure.
No one notices them when they finally join the end of the line. Arany is still blushing as he looks around carefully, but Celia is not embarrassed at all. She's beaming charm. Her stylish summer outfit stands out in this crowd. Arany gently puts his arm around her, as if protecting her, and they start whispering to each other.
"Was it good?"
"Amazing! But …"
"Is something bothering you?"
They hear the rumbling noise of the bass and the drums from inside. Someone is laughing far away.
"No. Nothing …I just wouldn't have thought …"
Celia grabs his hand and squeezes it tightly.
Arany left his guns in the car, and now he feel naked without them. He lets the bouncers search him. It's strange to be on the other end of this transaction. The hands move fast, touch the inside of the ankles too, for a second. They are thorough.
The volume of the music, the sight of the bodies crowded together and the smell of perspiration slap them in the face as soon as they step inside. Arany, holding Celia's hand tightly, pushes through the crowd toward one of the bar counters. He orders a whisky, and to his surprise, she orders the same. The tired-looking young woman on the other side of the counter smiles at him vaguely.
"Are you looking for someone here?"
Arany shrugs. He doesn't want to talk about it. It's strange. At first he had completely opened up for this woman. He had discussed his fears, the dizzy spells, the attacks of aggressiveness. They had analyzed his feelings in detail: How he felt when the gun was pointed at him and Carl in the urine-stained staircase, and how he felt when he went into that bar to find Gladys Ferrow. He hadn't felt shame, he hadn't wanted to withhold anything. Celia had seemed like someone who'd understand and accept everything. But now, he doesn't even want to talk about his investigation.
"Maybe," he says finally.
He knows this answer is insufficient, but he finds it hard to explain his intuition, the fact that he is here on a hunch, sniffing around like a dog seeking a trail. You can't analyze this sort of thing.
Fortunately the music is loud and rumbling. They can hardly hear each other, so Celia makes do with his answer. She leans against Arany, and he can feel the slight trembling of her body.
The bad whiskey grates against his throat, he's hot and sweating. The air conditioner doesn't seem to work. Celia draws away from him. They're quiet, Arany is watching the people. He's looking at the dancing crowd, his eyes stop briefly at the prettiest or the most provoking girls, and at the obviously most self-assured guys. They look like ghosts in the changing light. Clothes are glittering, and unless you focus on one person, the whole scene is like a messy colorful wave. It's almost beautiful. Arany spots a pair of dark, muscular shoulders moving with agility and his body becomes tense. Frost, he thinks, and he is immediately filled with some kind of strange satisfaction. His palms sweat, his pulse beats faster, but he's not afraid. He thinks about meeting Frost and experiences pleasure. But it's not Frost. His pulse slows down to normal, he sips at his drink and, as if looking for encouragement, he grabs Celia's hand.
"What's your husband working on now?" he asks.
She looks at him, confused. She says something, but it's impossible to hear, she repeats it into Arany's ears, her lips touching his earlobes for a second. He shivers with pleasure.
"He's doing research on aggression," Celia shouts.
Arany thinks of the laboratory where they took his blood, the strange maze, the white mice, Celia's embarrassment.
"Do you really think he'll find the virus he's written about?" he can't help sounding cynical "It would be the most amazing medical discovery ever."
"Yes", Celia says, and it's hard to decide whether she's answering his question or agreeing with the statement that followed.
Arany suddenly feels uncertain. He has an unexplained sense of foreboding.
"What do you do for him?"
The DJ jabbers something that Arany can only hear parts of, but it doesn't seem like he's missed out on a lot. She catches the barmaid's eyes, and orders another round. The young woman nods, pushes a beer in front of another patron, and then reaches up for the whisky bottle. As she puts two glasses in front of Arany she has a smile for him, then a quick, studious glance at Celia.
Celia pretends not to notice.
"Well?" Arany puts one of the glasses in her hand.
"I study aggressive behavior. Innate aggressiveness, aggressiveness provoked by circumstance, and to what extent one or the other encourages violent behavior."
"I must be a good guinea pig."
The glass trembles in Celia's hand for a second. She closes her eyes and nods.
A man pushes up to the bar. He ignores Arany, just shoves past, spilling Arany's drink. The guy leans on the counter, his face is red from the heat, the drinks and the dancing. He's a foot taller than Arany and has at least sixty pounds more muscle.
Arany feels a soft palm touching his shoulder.
"A typical case of aggressiveness triggered by the circumstances," says Celia, smiling.
Arany takes another look at the giant, shakes his head and smiles back at her hesitantly.
"I love you," she says.
Looking into Celia's eyes, he dissolves. He leans towards her, a delicious soft kiss meets his lips.
"I love you," Celia says when they draw apart.
Arany doesn't feel the jostling, can't hear the noise. The Star disappears, he forgets about Frost, aggressiveness, his questions. A wonderful feeling of tranquility sweeps over him.
Celia breaks the spell.
"Do you know that girl?"
Arany has to turn around.
"Which one?"
"At the other end of the bar. She's been staring at you." It's sweet how jealous Celia sounds as she says this.
Arany slowly turns his head in the other direction. A pair of blue eyes, long blond hair, a slim elastic body, huge breasts, a tight, provoking dress, and thick sensual lips.
"She is very beautiful," says Celia, envy and appreciation mingling in her voice.
Patricia Simmons. They look into each other's eyes for a second, and then the girl turns away. There's a slim brunette standing next to her, sipping some turquoise drink. She's almost as beautiful as Patricia. Or maybe even more beautiful.
"Do you know her?"
He turns back towards Celia. He nods, and with his free hand he strokes her face.
"You're more beautiful!"
He leans toward her and kisses her.
"Let's trade places!"
Celia hesitates for a second, and then moves. Arany pulls her to himself and watches the girls above her shoulder.
"This is why we came here?" asks Celia, and her warm breath tickles Arany's ear.
"Maybe. The blonde used to be Frost's girlfriend. He picked her up here, in this club."
"You think they'll meet here again?"
"No. I won't be that lucky."
The blonde leans toward her friend and says something. The other woman holds Arany's gaze with her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes. Then some slick-looking fashion plate, his hair combed back and moussed, appears out of the crowd and puts arms around both women's shoulders. He flashes a dazzling set of teeth.
"How can some people always smile?" Arany grumbles.
"What?" Celia looks up into his face.
Slick turns toward Arany for a moment, his smile replaced by a look of contempt. He only gives Arany a second and doesn't find him worthy of more attention. Then the man withdraws into the crowd dragging Pat with him. Arany tries to follow them with his eyes, but it becomes more difficult as they drift deeper into the middle of the crowd. Soon, only Pat's blond hair gleams occasionally in the mass of heads, shoulders and arms. Finally he loses sight of them completely.
Arany feels dizzy, he holds on to C
elia. Then his eyes clear again. The girl with the almond-shaped eyes is still standing by the counter. She's alone, mysterious, sipping her turquoise drink. Arany's stomach trembles. What did Celia say? Aggression triggered by the circumstances?
He puts his drink down on the counter, and lets go of her hand.
"I'll be back in a minute," he grumbles.
He doesn't wait for an answer, he breaks through the crowd using his elbows and arms. No one is polite here, no one apologizes. You just push the person aside and he'll push you back if he doesn't have enough room.
The almond-eyed young woman watches him approach, but the second he gets there, she turns away. Arany is aware of Celia's stare from the other end of the counter. He feels foolish. The young woman wears a thin T-shirt that lets her back show. Her skin is magnificent. Arany hesitantly reaches out and touches her bare shoulder.
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