by Hill, Roxann
When we got out, Emma ran around the car and grabbed my hand. The first few times she’d done that, it had bothered me a little. It felt as though I was tethered. Strangely, though, I’d come to like it a lot, and if she didn’t come to me on her own, sometimes I’d be the one to grab her hand. If I couldn’t feel her tiny fingers, it felt like something was missing.
A couple roughly my age neared us on the sidewalk. Both were dressed elegantly, their hair freshly styled. They were young and free. The enviable woman could have been me, walking with a good-looking, obviously wealthy man.
Yet here I was instead with my junker and a nice, but extremely annoying, little girl. And the only cash I had totaled twenty euros.
“Your trunk is open a crack,” the man said to me in impeccable German.
Naturally, he’s the owner of the SLK, I thought. This scene could not be topped for its embarrassment. But then, to cap it all off, Baby started barking like crazy, causing the Citroën to shake.
“The trunk is open?” I repeated loudly to drown out Baby’s barking. “Not a big deal—it happens constantly. The lock doesn’t close anymore.”
The young woman looked at me compassionately. “Well, the car isn’t exactly new.”
“But it’s very reliable,” I countered. “It may not look like much, but”—I knocked on the pink tin fender—“it’s still kicking.”
The couple replied with a polite smile.
I pushed down the cover of the trunk resolutely and waved good-bye to the two lucky kids, who’d just climbed into their sparkling clean and shiny Mercedes. Then Emma and I marched across the street to the pawnshop.
23
The door opened with a chime and revealed a veritable smorgasbord: clocks, statues, appliances, paintings, rugs, and sparkling jewelry in a glass showcase.
I conjured up my most engaging smile for the woman behind the counter. “Bonjour,” I said. “Y-a-t-il quelqu’un ici qui parle allemand?”
The woman smiled, but her eyes remained cold.
Great, I thought. Mrs. Money Shark in person.
“My husband is from Saarbrücken,” she said in German with a thick accent.
I lifted my arm and opened the latch of my Cartier watch. Valentin had given it to me for our one-year anniversary. He’d even told me its price—something he did every time he gave me a present. That was one of his quirks, and I’d quickly become fond of the habit. The watch was the most valuable thing I was wearing. In many respects.
I took it off and placed it on the counter for effect.
She didn’t even look at it. “What should I do with that?” she asked.
“A genuine Cartier,” I said. “It cost 16,795 euros.”
“That’s clear to me.”
“I’d like to pawn it now.”
“Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” she said snippily.
“Fine.” I exhaled. “What are you able to give me for it?”
“For that watch?” She smiled widely now. “Absolutely nothing. Such an expensive item screams theft, stolen goods, and police. Or do you happen to have a purchase receipt on you?”
I shook my head.
“Then I can’t do anything. I’m not about to burn my fingers on hot merchandise.”
I didn’t deign to respond; I just picked up my Cartier and headed for the door.
“That lady is mean,” Emma said to me. “I don’t like her.”
Just as we were about to step outside, the lady cleared her throat. “There is one possibility,” the pawn dealer said.
I turned.
“I could give you a little money for the watch . . . unofficially. Privately. But it’ll have nothing to do with the shop. And if someone asks about it later, I’ll categorically deny that it ever happened.”
I went back to the counter, set down the Cartier, and waited.
“Four hundred euros,” she said.
I shook my head. “Five hundred. Not a penny less.”
She was poised to answer, but then she looked me in the eyes and just shrugged. She went to the cash register and counted out five hundred euros. I grasped the money, and without looking back once, we left the shop.
“Don’t be sad,” Emma said as we left. “The watch wasn’t even pretty.”
“No?”
“Nope. It looked kind of clunky, didn’t it?”
Outside, it was just beginning to get dark. Baby’s barking echoed above the traffic noise. Loud and piercing. He seemed terribly upset about something. Once we got back to the Citroën, I realized what was wrong. The trunk was wide open. My two suitcases were gone. Stolen. Only David and Emma’s duffel bag was still there.
I pictured a glamorous young woman in a brand-new Mercedes SLK opening the bags and appraising the stylish, designer clothing.
Oh, well. Merry Christmas, I thought.
24
We got in the car and tried to calm Baby down. He was still completely agitated. He kept sniffing the window, snarling, and acting like he wanted to jump out.
“What’s wrong with him?” Emma asked.
I stroked his neck. “Baby is a really cool dog. He immediately knew that the couple with the fancy Mercedes were worthless. As soon as he saw them, he started barking. He tried to warn us. We just didn’t understand him.”
Emma, who was now sitting in the front passenger seat, turned her back to me, lowered her head, and began to tremble. I could hear her soft sobs.
I gently placed my hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Her crying got louder.
“I’m not angry at Baby,” I said, “if that’s what you’re worried about. He did his job really well.”
“That’s not it,” Emma sputtered in between her sobs.
“What is it, then?”
“Your watch is gone, and now your two suitcases are gone, too, with all your beautiful clothes.”
I laughed. “You shouldn’t worry about that. Those are just things. They can be replaced. I’ve got a ton of clothes at home. Believe me.”
Emma looked at me incredulously. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I thought you were sad.”
I considered this briefly, then shook my head. “No, I’m not. And you know what we’re going to do now?”
“What?” Emma’s eyes looked a bit dull, but she seemed to be regaining her cheerfulness.
I pointed to the intersection. “I saw a square up there, with shops and no cars. What do you say we take Baby? I can’t promise you anything, but maybe we can find a few Christmas stands and buy something nice for you and the dog?” After a second I added, “Maybe we’ll even find something for your papa.”
It was a short walk to the traffic-free area. Baby proved himself to be a proper city dog. He didn’t pull, and he walked obediently. As soon as Emma saw the stands decorated with lights, she was the one doing the pulling, hurrying to get there. They had herbal candies, handmade leather goods, hand-carved figurines, Christmas stuff—everything that was necessary at this time of year.
We found a simple but well-made collar and leash for Baby. Emma got a gigantic cotton candy, and since I couldn’t find the gingerbread cookies I love so much, I bought three oversized Christmas cookies in the shape of a funny man with a smile. They looked like they might also be ginger. I didn’t see anything that seemed quite right for David.
“What could we get for your papa?” I asked Emma.
“Butter cookies,” she said promptly.
We went back to the bake stand. There was a whole section of cookies that looked as though they’d been baked with a lot of butter. The sign next to them included the word beurre.
“Which of the cookies should we buy?” I pointed to the vast assortment.
Emma did not need time to answer. “Those little hearts with pink on top.”
“But Papa loves pink.”
“Really?”
“Papa always says love is pink.” Emma stressed the last word.
I had to laugh. “No, I’m sure your papa means love is blind.”
Emma stood with both hands on her hips. “Is it your papa or mine? My papa always says love is pink. And since he loves butter cookies, he should get the ones with the pink on them.”
25
After searching for ages, I finally found the building where we’d left David. I guessed it was way after four but couldn’t say for sure without my Cartier. I decided to get myself one of those cheap “Made in Taiwan” digital watches the next chance I got—I needed at least an approximate idea of the time.
I found an empty parking space on the opposite side of the street from the building. I waited until traffic gave way, made a U-turn, and took it.
“Papa’s going to be so pleased,” Emma said. “I’m going to give him the cookies right away.”
“Do! Men are always hungry after stressful business negotiations.”
We got out of the Citroën. Emma had the little bag of cookies in her hand.
“Stay close to the car,” I said. “There’s a lot of traffic. It’s dangerous.”
“Where is he?” Emma asked impatiently. She looked above the hood of the car, toward the entrance of the building.
“He’ll be here soon,” I said, and bent toward Baby, who was happily wagging his tail in front of me. “You want your new handsome leash, don’t you? Every self-respecting dog wears genuine leather.”
Over the sound of traffic, I heard a voice calling my name. I stood up. David was waving from the other side of the street, holding a package under his arm.
Then things happened quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small shape move into the street. Emma. She was running right across the road. A big truck was just a few meters away from her. With all the snow and ice, the driver wouldn’t be able to brake in time.
“Emma!” I screamed.
Baby catapulted forward, ripping the leash out of my hand. He rushed across the street and jumped through the air. His front paws pushed against Emma’s back. She flew onto a pile of snow at the edge of the road, and David, who’d rushed toward her, was able to scoop her up almost instantly. Then came a muffled crack and a loud cry, as the truck’s bumper crashed into Baby’s flank.
I ran to them. Emma clung to David’s neck. They were both shaking and as pale as ghosts. Baby lay whimpering on the ground. Blood seeped out of a nasty wound. His right hind leg seemed somewhat crooked.
The truck had stopped. Its door opened and the driver looked toward us. He climbed out and went straight to David and Emma. He looked at the wounded dog remorsefully and spoke to David in French. David shook his head after responding briefly.
“Tell him he couldn’t have avoided it,” I said. “And is Emma all right?”
“Yeah,” David said hoarsely. “That was close. But what about Baby?”
I knelt down next to the poor, shivering animal. Resting a hand on his head, I said, “He needs a doctor immediately.”
26
While David drove us around the city, frantically looking for a veterinarian, I sat in the back with Baby, his head on my lap. I petted him steadily, and he whimpered softly, heartbreakingly. David had to stop five or six times to ask pedestrians for directions. I worried we were taking too long.
Emma sat up front with her father. Uncharacteristically, she didn’t speak a single word. Now and then I heard her sniffle and repress sobs.
David accelerated. “I can see the office. Hang in there!” The Citroën had barely stopped when he jumped out. His hasty steps crunched on the snow, and soon he was ringing the bell at the entrance to the practice. A man in a white coat came out. David exchanged a few words with him, and they both hurried to the car.
David opened the door. An old, bald-headed man put his head in and said, “Salut.”
I pushed the blanket back. Carefully, the doctor felt Baby’s hind legs, examined the open wound, and stroked the dog’s rib cage, uttering soothing, melodious words all the while. Baby didn’t protest the exam. His eyes were fixed on me the entire time.
After a bit, the vet spoke with David outside the car.
I waited as long as I could. “What is he saying?” I called when I couldn’t take it anymore.
“We need to take Baby into the clinic immediately. He needs to be treated at once.” David leaned into the car. “Try to push the blanket underneath him so he’s lying on it. Then we’ll pull him out with it and carry him that way.”
I began maneuvering the blanket. I tried to move Baby as little as possible, but I couldn’t avoid it altogether. Every time the dog whimpered, he licked my hand and cringed from the pain.
Finally, I got the material under his body. The doctor returned with his assistant, and the two of them and David grabbed the ends of the blanket, hauled it out of the Citroën, and carried Baby into the building. Emma and I followed.
In the waiting room, a half-dozen pet owners sat with their charges.
They looked at the injured dog with compassion as he was carried past them.
“Bonsoir,” I said, trying to smile. I just couldn’t do it.
I turned to Emma. “I want you sit in this chair and wait. OK?”
“But I want . . .” She pointed in Baby’s direction.
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s better for you to stay out here. Papa and I will take care of it together.”
Emma started to cry. “Will Baby die?”
I hugged her tight. “The doctor is going to do his best. We’ll come out soon and report every last detail.”
“You won’t lie to me, right?” Her blue eyes were full of tears.
“I’d never do to that to you.” Without another word, I got up and joined David and the vet in the operating room.
As I entered, the vet was pulling a needle of out Baby’s neck. The dog looked at me and wagged his tail. Then he closed his eyes. His tongue protruded until it hung half out of his mouth.
I felt ill. “Did you put him to sleep?”
“No, no,” David hurriedly reassure me. “Dr. Flaubert only gave him some anesthesia so he’ll be able to treat him.”
The vet started the examination. This time he proceeded more systematically. He moved the injured leg, checked the wound, and tapped Baby’s ribs. He pushed his eyelids up and shined his light in them.
Finally, he turned to David and began talking. While doing so, he pointed to the wound and the injured leg. At the end of his explanation, it seemed to me as though he’d asked a question.
“David, what’s wrong?” An icy feeling came over me.
David seemed calm and collected. “Baby’s right hind leg is broken. The wound on his side is not that bad. It has to be stitched. But even if they operate on him, there’s a chance that he’ll remain handicapped, and his leg will stay stiff.”
“Oh,” I said, holding back tears.
David stared into my eyes as if he wanted to look inside my heart. “The operation won’t be cheap. Three hundred and fifty euros. The doctor also said that putting him to sleep would only cost—”
“No,” I said.
Again I had the impression that David was listening to every single word I said, that he was watching even the slightest emotion I showed. Then he reached into his back pocket. He obviously wanted to show me his wallet to prove that he really didn’t have a single euro to help Baby.
I held his arm still. “Wait,” I said. I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled out the cash that I’d gotten for my Cartier watch. “I know you’re broke. But look, I have enough money.”
An expression of complete bafflement came over David’s face
. Then he turned and spoke to the doctor in French. The doctor smiled at me, nodded, and pointed to the door.
“We’ll need to stay outside while he operates on him,” David said to me.
He put his arm around my shoulders and led me out of the operating room, almost against my will. In the waiting room, I sat next to Emma, who was pale and fearful. She gripped my hand.
“Baby will be operated on,” I whispered, “and he’ll be healthy. He may always have a limp, because of his leg. But that’s OK.”
Emma scooted closer, pressed her head against my shoulder, and began to cry.
27
David found an empty chair on the other side of the waiting room. More and more four-legged patients and their owners kept arriving, filling the narrow space.
Soon the air got very stuffy.
Emma eventually calmed down a bit. I took her onto my lap so that an older woman with an Angora cap could have her chair.
David shot me an encouraging smile, and I returned it. He rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned forward to quietly ask me, “Where did you get the money?”
I made a vague hand gesture.
David was still for a moment, then he nodded. “I thought you might do that. You pawned your watch.”
I tried to grin. “Almost. I sold it.”
“And why did you do that?”
“My, you’re inquisitive! So that we can get home, of course.”
“The lady in the shop was really mean,” Emma added. “And Michelle got very upset.”
“Emma, you’re exaggerating,” I said.
“No, Papa, I’m not. And then they stole Michelle’s suitcases.”
“The people in the pawnshop stole your luggage?”
“Not them,” I said. “It was two snotty-nosed upstarts with a Mercedes. You know, the trunk doesn’t close properly. They noticed that. You can figure out the rest.”
David’s gaze became even a touch more compassionate, if that was possible. And now it also held a trace of remorse. “You can help yourself to my bag at any time, if you need a sweater or something like that. I’m really sorry for everything that’s happened to you.”
