"Please ... go away ... I don't want you to see me like this . . ." But she fell to her knees; I had to support her. She was very weak; I helped her clean up and carried her to the bed. I had seen a vial of sleeping tablets in the bathroom. I gave her two. The vial I slipped into my pocket. I held her while she drank.
"Now you'll sleep."
"The child," she moaned, "it's the child too. 1 told you I'm always sick now."
"It will be over soon."
"Yes..."
''We must not drink this much again."
"No .^ . Peter, she loves us! How can we ever tell her? I can never ..."
"rUteUher."
"You can't either. She trusts us. We're all she cares for. What if she killed herself—"
"She won't."
"How can we be happy if she..."
"She won't hurt herself."
Shirley's eyes filled with tears. She repeated some of the things Joan had said. "Now I have a husband again ... a daughter ..."
"Shirley! Stop it!"
"Your father gave me this ring..."
"Where is it?"
"What? Where is what?"
"The ring! Where is the ring?"
"In the case. I held it in my hand when—" She fell silent, closed her eyes, and remained quiet.
I got to my feet.
"It's late. There can't be many people on the street now. Perhaps it's on the street. Perhaps I can still find it."
I did not find it.
I searched the street and both sidewalks. Nothing. I looked up. The hotel had many balconies. The case could have fallen on one of them. I had to speak to the desk clerk. Suppose it could not be found on one of the balconies? What would we tell Joan?
Suddenly I felt very weak. Across from the hotel along the bank of the Alster was a bench. I sank upon it. The futility of it all overwhelmed me.
Someone was coming. I heard the muffled pad, pad of rubber-soled shoes on the stone pavement. I lowered my head. I did not want to see anyone. I did not want to be seen. Someone .was standing before me. I looked up.
"Here is the case," said Natasha Petrovna.
I rose.
I took the case, opened it, saw the ring, closed it.
"This is a surprise to find you here."
"I'm taking a walk."
"This time of night?"
"I can't sleep. I live right around the comer. Fm always taking walks.".
"Every night?"
"Every night."
In the moonlight her eyes shone large and luminous behind her glasses.
"And you always walk along the river?"
"Usually." She did not take her eyes off me. "Only tonieht I walked past the hotel."
"Why?"
"You were on my mind tonight." She seemed most matter-of-fact.
I stared at her. "How long have you been walking here?"
"About an hour. Is your wife asleep, Mr. Jordan?"
"How did vou know the case belonged to me?"
"I saw it fall." She looked up to Shiriey's balcony. "I heard a scream and saw you and vour daughter when I looked up. She is your daughter, isn't she?"
"My stepdaughter. What else did you see?"
"For a moment I thought your stepdaughter was going to jump and you pulled her back just in time."
"Why should my stepdaughter want to do that?"
"Possibly the scream had confused me."
"She screamed when she dropped the jewelry case."
"That is what I thought. That is why I picked it up and waited. You were bound to come and search for it."
We looked at each other in silence.
"Thank you very much," I said finally. "Now may I see you home?"
"No, thank you. I'm going to walk a little more. Good night, Mr. Jordan."
"Good night. Doctor Petrovna."
She took two steps, then halted. "I've lied to you, Mr. Jordan. I did not only see you and your daughter on the balcony."
"What else did you see?"
"I saw your stepdaughter alone too. I was afraid to call out, to cross the street, for fear she would then jump. I waited here behind this tree."
"I must explain..."
"You don't have to explain anything."
"Yes, I do. You see, my stepdaughter—"
"Good night." Her voice for the first time sounded severe. Then she did a strange thing. She stretched out one hand; made the sign of the cross before my face, said something in Russian, wheeled and walked away.
"S'bogom."
Today I know the meaning of those words.
S'bogom.
God be with you.
I looked in on Shirley curled up and sleeping peacefully. I placed the gray case on her bedside table and went to my suite. Joan was asleep too. Very quietly, I took my black bag from the bedroom and went to the suite's second bedroom. I had a drink while I undressed, got into bed, and called the desk to wake me at six. I turned off the light, drank some more whisky, but sleep did not come easily.
"My dear Mr. Jordan, I don't like the look of you at all."
"Well, don't take it so seriously, after all you're not going to marry me."
"Don't be funny. What's the matter with you?" Schau-berg looked searchingly at me. He had just given me an injection after examining my heart. We were in my car parked behind the old bam.
"I've only had four hours sleep."
"Had much to drink?"
"Quite a bit."
Schauberg took off his stethoscope and shook his head. "Your heart never beat as fast as this before. Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Well, what happened? I told you in the beginning that you have to be completely frank with me. I must know what is happening to you."
"I.. . I'm afraid."
"That's the booze, dear Mr. Jordan."
201
"It's not that. It's something else!"
"What?"
I felt a dim misgiving about telling him. So I started again, "You'll have to give me something strong. I can't work like this."
"I have given you something strong. I can't start with the most effective drugs. What would we do in fourteen days?"
"It'll probably be all over by then."
"What do you mean?"
Instead of heeding my premonition, I told him of the conversation I had overheard in the studio. Finally he said, "Do you feel you played badly?"
"Now I do."
He looked at me in silence.
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking of South America." He sished and prepared another injection. "Very well then, I'll give you something to free you of fear but it will make you a little dizzy. Under no circumstances can you have a drink. Do you understand me? Under no circumstances. If you should have just a little drink, you would collapse and even Ijcan't help you then. Will you be able to do it?"
"I must. I'll leave my bag with you." I felt truly heroic when I said that.
"You can buy all the whiskv vou want in the commissary," said Schauberg and gave me the shot.
"I won't."
"You know what will happen."
"Schauberg..." *
"Yes?"
"There is something else I must tell you." "Something else?" Nervouslv, he pulled at his beret. He was obviously worried. I was his last chance, just as the movie was my last chance. I realized that as I watched him try to control his twitching mouth. I had no idea then that what I had told him was to have so deep an effect.
Soon I was to find out how right I had been in hesitating to talk about the reaction of Kostasch and Seaton.
"Go on, then!" He barked impatiently. Then, with a distorted smile, "Sorry, didn't mean it like that. What else do you have to tell me?"
"There is a young girl. Could you help her?"
"How old is she?"
"Nineteen."
"How far gone, dear Mr. Jordan?"
"Two months, dear I>r. Schauberg."
"Do you know the girl well?"
"Yes."
"How well? It could not be a trap?"
"No."
"I have to be very cautious. I must see her identification. I must know who she is. Where from."
"She is my stepdaughter."
His mouth stopped twitching. He began to grin.
"Father knows best, eh? As long as it remains in the family," he said placatingly.
"You can help her?"
"I'll have to find someone to assist me."
"Another doctor?"
"Do you think I'm mad? A student! Give me until to-
morrow."
"You'll be able to find one by tomorrow?"
"Easy. Boy! Now I need one. You don't mind?" He opened my black bag. I felt sick when I smelled the whisky. "Did you give me a fright!"
"I did?"
"Now look! First you teU me you are going to be fired from your movie. You look as if your dear Httle mother had just died and then you announce another disaster." He sipped his drink. "I thought it was something serious. And then it turns out a trifle." He laughed. "You are a peculiar fellow, dear Mr. Jordan!"
The secretary's transcript: PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: Plcasc—a brief interruption—I came to see if the taping is not too strenuous for you. SIGNORE JORDAN: Not at all.
PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: Well, I don't think so either. Your blood pressure is normal. I'll leave you to your work. Just one question: You did not know what kind of drug Dr. Schauberg gave you on that morning?
SIGNORE JORDAN: No.
PROFESSOR PONTEvrvo: Did you have a taste of salt after
the injection?
SIGNORE JORDAN: That's right,
PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: I see. And it calmed you?
SIGNORE JORDAN: I felt a little dizzy; Schauberg had said
I would, but I felt no apprehension before the camera. I
made no mistakes. I thought I acted the scenes very weU.
PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: Did you still receive much praise?
SIGNORE JORDAN: YeS.
PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: But it did not make you suspicious?
SIGNORE JORDAN: No. Kostasch and Seaton appeared to be genuinely relieved—I even found the courage to ask Kostasch to hire Shirley as an assistant cutter. He said, "I'll be happy to, my dear Peter." PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: It was a good day then. SIGNORE JORDAN: A wonderful day. I was so absorbed in my work I did not even think of whisky. PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: At night you viewed the rushes again and listened to Kostasch's and Seaton's conversation? SIGNORE JORDAN: They agreed that the rushes were even
204 '
worse than those of the preceding days. But Seaton insisted that Kostasch keep his promise to give me another two days. He would agree to only one more day. He then said he would have to inform the Wilson Brothers and the distributor. You can imagine my despair when I left the studio. I drove to see Schauberg but controlled myself so he would not again become upset. He returned my black bag replenished, and told me I could drink again but cautioned me to go to bed early. PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: Did you drink then? siGNORE JORDAN: As soou as I got into my car. All the way back to the hotel. My wife and Shirley were waiting for me. I told them I felt tired and we had dinner in my suite.
PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: How Were the ladies? SIGNORE JORDAN: Considerate and solicitous. They recounted their sightseeing and shopping. Joan whispered how well Shirley and she got along. They had had a busy day too and at ten we were all in bed. PROFESSOR PONTEVivo: Did you share a bedroom with your wife?
SIGNORE JORDAN: No. My wife was very considerate. It was her suggestion we have separate rooms. She said she was afraid of disturbing me.
PROFESSOR PONTEVIVO: Did you have another drink when you went to bed?
SIGNORE JORDAN: Yes, as usual. I fell asleep quickly. That night, for the first time, I had a dream which was going to recur again and again. The dream frightened me to such an extent that many times I tried desperately to stay awake. In my dream...
... I crossed the foyer of my hotel and in the elevator pressed the button for the sixth floor. In this dream I had been living in this hotel for many years. I had taken that elevator uncountable times, with its ceiling lights, worn velvet-covered bench, its mirrors repeatedly duplicating my image.
When the elevator doors opened this time, instead of the red-covered hall, I saw a gray wall. It seemed strangely wrinkled, streaked and mottled.
Perhaps the elevator had stopped between floors. I pressed the white number six button. The elevator did not move. Suddenly a memory rose in me and I punched the gray wall. It felt rough, hard, as would the thick old hide of a large animal, an elephant...
Alarm.
Hurriedly, I pressed the red button. Through the intercom came a distorted voice I nonetheless recognized as Natasha's. She spoke calmly and friendly as always, "Yes?"
"The elevator is stuck, Dr. Petrovna."
"The elevator is working perfectly."
"No, it isn't! I'm stuck between floors! Please help me!"
"Who are you, sir?"
"Peter Jordan, Doctor. You know me!"
"I'm sorry, I don't."
"Dr. Petrovna! You examined me! Don't you remember!"
"My naihe is not Petrovna. You've made a mistake," said the calm voice.
"Then who are you?"
It was Natasha. It was her voice. She did not answer
my question. I pressed the alarm button once more. No
answer.
I sank down on the Httle bench. I saw my image in the mirrors. I could not stand it. I stared at the gray waU of elephant hide.
"Hello?"
I started, "Yes?"
"I've made some inquiries. There is no Peter Jordan living in this hotel."
"I've Hved here for the last ten years! I'm well-known
here!"
"I asked. No one knows you. Anyway, where did you
want to go?"
"To the sixth floor. I live there."
"You can't live there."
"Why not?"
"This building only has four floors."
There was a click, the intercom was silent. I was panic stricken. I began to pound against the mirrors, the wood, the elephant wall. I cursed. I begged. I screamed. There W£is the voice agauL
"Yes?"
"The elevator is stuck, Dr. Petrovna—^"
The conversation began again, was interrupted, continued, interrupted.
Hours passed; days passed, weeks, months, years passed. Hundreds of years passed.
I cowered on the little bench staring at the grating of the intercom through which Natasha had once spoken to me.
The grating of the intercom!
It took thousands of years—^thousands of years too late—for me to recognize: this latticed coverplate represented. God. I had to kneel down and pray. Then perhaps Natasha's voice would speak to me again.
I kneeled, folded my hands in prayer and bowed in reverence before the grating.
I awoke, drenched in perspiration, gasping for breath. It was eleven o'clock. A drink! Even whisky did not help. I tried to open the large window but it was stuck.
The fist.
I could feel it moving, pounding.
My one thought was to get away from here.
I dressed. In my hurry, I stumbled and fell on the bed. I was unabl® to tie my shoelaces properly.
I staggered through the living room. Joan was sleeping. Shirley was sleeping. Neither of them knew what was happening to me; what I was doing.
The fist was pounding in me. I walked down the six floors. I knew that I could never, ever again, use the elevator.
I went to the bar and ordered a double whisky. Neat.
The bar was crowded. People talked loudly to be heard above the din of the band. A voune woman near me was telling her friends, ". . . and I said now there are two uncles who want to marry your mommy, Teddy. Which one do you hke best? And very seriously he said, 'Let's take Uncle Martin, then we'll have a Mercedes.' Isn't that cute? And he is only five!"
I drank my whis
ky and asked for another double. After that, I left. In the cold, slight rain, I walked. And walked.
"I live just around the corner," she had said. "I always go for a walk at night."
Not tonight.
I would not have been able to say why T was looking for her. The raindrops felt VVre icv needles on mv skin. I walked along the two narrow roads on either side of my hotel. In the second street T found the plaque.
NATASHA PETROVNA, M.D. 208
All the buttons above the tenants' names were white. Only the superintendent's button was red. Below this button was the latticed cover o^ the intercom . . .
Natasha lived on the third floor. It was abstruse, absurd, mexplicable. I rang the bell. In a moment there was a click; the same sound I remembered from my dream.
"Yes?" said Natasha's voice.
"Peter Jordan."
Silence.
"I'm . . . excuse me . . . it's very presumptuous of me ... I thought... I wanted ..."
"Yes, Mr. Jordan?"
"You said you took a walk every night. Fve been looking for you . . ."
No answer.
"I searched for you along the Alster promenade ..."
"Why?"
"I don't really know. I'm probably drunk. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Good night." I had taken three steps when I heard, "Mr. Jordan . . ."
I returned to the intercom. "Yes?'*
"I'll be down in two minutes."
"But..."'
"I intended to go a little later tonight. Tonight I—" She halted. "Is it still raining?"
"Yes."
"Do you have an umbrella?" Her voice sounded happy. Had she had a happy experience tonight?
"No." ^ ^
"Two minutes, Mr. Jordan."
Click.
The intercom had been switched off. I stood in the doorway; the whiskv warmed me. In a little while I noticed th^t I was stroking the cold, wet, brass grating of the intercom.
We walked an hour through the rain; we hardly spoke a hundred words. Natasha smiled and offered her hand when she came down. She wore a brown sheepskm coat, a scarf over her hair. She had brought two umbrellas.
"This is all I could find. My things are still God knows where. It's a crazy situation." One of the umbrellas was a child's umbrella. I took this one although she wanted me to take the larger one.
We walked down the Jungfemstieg and the pad, pad of her low-heeled shoes was as reassuring as the sound of the raindrops on our umbrellas. Without looking at me, Natasha asked, "You are very worried?" , "Yes."
The Berlin Connection Page 17
