by Maggy Diak
10.
Loud banging on the door woke me up. Confused, at first not even knowing where I was, I jumped out of bed, ran to the door and flung it open. After that, I found myself face to face with the inspector J.E.!
“What the hell …”
“We have to talk!” He entered my room without waiting to be invited.
“What about?” I asked angrily. “About your foreigner!”
I stared at him wide-eyed. “What foreigner? I don't know any ‘my ‘foreigner!”
“Tell me about his criminal record or don't you chase criminals in your country,” he continued coldly.
“Whose record, for God's sake?”
“You know whose! Of the one with the lost suitcase!”
“Oh, you mean Peter Otrin?”
He did not answer. A trace of a wry smile played across his lips. I didn't like it. It was the smile of somebody who was preparing an ugly attack.
“Don't make a fool of me,” he growled. “You know perfectly well what I am talking about!”
“I don't have the slightest idea what you are talking about!”
“Your man smuggled a suitcase of explosives into our country, into France. He wants to blow up a … Who knows what. My duty is to find him as soon as possible to prevent the catastrophe. And yours is to help me!”
I couldn't help laughing. “So it is true that you believe all this rubbish? I was certain that people were exaggerating!”
“The woman, who sat beside him in the plane, is his accomplice not a thief! “he yelled.
“Don't yell at me! The woman is neither a thief nor an accomplice. She is an old, retired professor, who …”
“Those are most dangerous! Old women who can trick anybody, pretending to be harmless. And the criminals are well aware of that! They know that the customs officers would examine their suitcases thoroughly, but they would never examine a suitcase of an old woman with an idiotic smile on her face! My investigations show that I am right. Her luggage was examined neither in Madrid nor in London, Rome, Berlin, Tunisia, Djerba or Egypt!”
I looked at him open-mouthed. “Has she been to all these places?”
“Yes, she has! And, as you probably remember, there were destructive explosions in all of them!”
“I sincerely hope you don't connect the explosions with the old lady,” I said, shocked.
“Of course I do! She was in each city exactly at the time of the explosion!”
“But that's no proof …”
“That is a very strong proof!”
“For God’s sake, Peter Otrin never before traveled anywhere! If the lady had anything to do with the explosions in Madrid, Rome, Egypt, Istanbul, he didn't. Paris is his first travel abroad.”
“There is no need for him to travel anywhere. The greatest terrorists act from behind. From home. They have collaborators all over the world! Usually the collaborators do the dirty job for their leaders. The leader, your Foreigner is pulling all the strings from behind! However, the sudden appearance of him, of the Leader in Paris, shows that they are preparing a special action! The greatest destruction till now! They have chosen Sorbonne as their headquarters and a place from where orders are being sent to the collaborators.”
“Peter Otrin is lecturing not giving orders!” “His lectures are nothing but disguise!”
“And his students are terrorists?”
J.E.’s face twisted in a grimace. “Some of them are and it won’t be long before I track them down!”
“How?”
He didn’t answer right away. I saw that he was weighing whether to tell me or not.
“By cracking the codes,” he said at last.
I gaped from astonishment. “What codes?”
“The moment I heard the first sentence of his ‘alleged’ lecture, I knew he was speaking in codes! He was giving orders to some ‘alleged’ students in the lecture room!”
“Codes? You have found codes in his notes?”
I couldn't believe it! I have already read many pages of his notes, yet I found nothing.
He looked at me with an evil grin. “I didn’t find them. He himself told them! All you have to do is listen carefully. But of course, “he added contemptuously, “you have to have the ear for that!”
He was sure I did not have it and he almost convinced me. Have I really not understood Otrin’s lectures correctly?
He pulled a bunch of papers out of his pocket and waved it in front of my face. “They are all in here!”
“Lectures?”
“Exactly, “he said victoriously. “I jotted down all of the codes! All of them! I am working on them and it will not take long till I decipher them all! I'm very very near!” He shoved the papers into his pocket again.
I felt stupid. Have I really overlooked such an important information? Was I too stupid to recognize it?
“May I ask you to show me the codes? “It was time to become polite, to give an impression of humbleness. “I might be able to decipher them. You know, I am a Slovenian and many words in his notes are written in the Slovenian language, so …”
“All I want from you is to tell me whether he has a criminal record or not!”
Even though he was yelling again, I tried to be most cooperative. I told him that Peter Otrin had no criminal record. He had never been convicted of an offence, not even a road traffic offence. Of course, I did not tell him that Peter was not a car driver.
But my cooperation was terminated by his next words: “That's exactly what I thought! To escape the hands of justice, criminals in your country need nothing but bring a roasted piglet and a goblet of wine to certain people! And what happens then? They come to us, threaten us and we have to do the job you should have done long ago! We have to put them behind the bars! You damn mafia!”
I felt my eyes bulge in fury. “You'll apologize for that!”
Instead, he turned on his heel and marched away.
I was standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily when Kate came in.
“What happened?” she asked frightened.
I told her about my conversation with J.E.
“What are you going to do? Sue him? He offended us. He offended our country!”
I shook my head.” No, Kate, I won't. We have more important work to do. We have to find your husband. J.E. mentioned a code that Peter presumably used to send secret messages to his people. Do you know anything about that?”
Kate took a breath. “A code? Secret messages? That man is insane!”
“I know, Kate, but according to him your husband came to Paris to send his coded messages to his terrorist assistants. He is convinced that among those who came to his lectures were terrorists as well. In his opinion, your husband is the leader of the whole net of terrorists.”
Kate hid her face into her palms. “Oh, my God, where is this leading?” she moaned desperately. “The situation is getting worse and worse! How is it possible that Peter is suddenly accused of such terrible things? Why? Why, Tibor? “
I shrugged helplessly. I had no answer and could not offer her any comfort.
She grabbed my hand, saying pleadingly: “Tibor, I hope you don’t believe that devil, that J.E.! I hope you don't believe those who wish him evil!”
I reassured her that I did not believe J.E. even though deep in me I have always been carrying a feeling that in this world everything is possible. But before you condemn somebody you have to find proofs for his crime. I didn’t have any proofs for or against Peter being a terrorist, so my duty was to remain cautious. Not to exclude anything.
“Shall we continue reading Peter's lectures?” Kate asked and I promised we would after breakfast.
“But first I have to dress,” I added. I expected her to leave my room but to my surprise, she didn't. She stepped to the window and I undressed and dressed behind her back. The events of the previous evening began to creep into my mind. I remembered how I had tried to seduce her. I blushed and was happy she didn't see me.
During our brea
kfast, we discussed the events of the past days. Those connected with Peter, of course. We were careful not to mention the last evening.
“Do you think they are torturing him,” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Of course not,” I said reassuringly, but then spoiled everything by adding, unintentionally, it just escaped my mouth: “I am sure he is somewhere with that student girl.”
Her hazel eyes became dark with anger. “Tibor,” she said sharply, “you are completely wrong! He is not that kind of a man, I told you!”
“Every man is that kind of a man,” I answered. What I could not understand at that moment was my renewed wish to take her in my arms. What the hell was happening to me? I liked women, of course, but she was neither pretty nor young! Besides, she was my wife's friend and we were together in Paris to find her husband she obviously loved! What the hell was the matter with me? Why did I find her so attractive? Because of her sadness? Or was I attracted to her because we were far from home, alone among people who cared a damn about us? Is it possible that in the moments of loneliness one tries to find comfort with somebody he does not even know or trust, not caring about her looks and age? Or was I attracted to her just because she was the only woman within the reach? Or because I again felt a pang of jealousy? It was so strange when I was away from my wife. I knew she was not cheating on me, yet I could not get rid of a whispering voice telling me that at exactly that moment she was lying in the arms of her lover. There were moments when I thought the pain would kill me. To get rid of the pain, I had to take revenge! The revenge was going to bed with the first woman who was willing to. And to tell the truth, there were some who were. Not often, but it happened. Later I felt guilty and also angry. Angry with my wife who forced me into this!
“Tibor,” repeated Kate stubbornly, “I know my husband. His disappearance did not happen by his own will. And not because of a girl or a woman.”
We were just leaving the restaurant. I put my arm around her shoulders but withdrew it immediately, afraid she would shake my hands off her and leave. Two days ago, I would be happy if she left me. I like working alone. At that moment, I wanted her company. “Kate, let's roam the streets of Paris today,” I suggested.
“Are we not going to read?”
“Reading can wait.”
Kate looked at me disappointingly, so I added hastily: “On the streets of Paris we might come across some new information about Peter. We are going to ask people …” I made up as many reasons as I could think of to justify my wish to go to the city and finally she agreed to join me.
First we went to the top of the famous Eiffel Tower. Not on foot. By lift. Kate was afraid of the height so she clung onto my hand, which did me good. We both agreed that the view from the top was wonderful. The sky was clear and we could admire the whole Paris and its surrounding.
“It was worth the effort,” stated Kate. “Despite the fear. Thank you, Tibor. Without you I wouldn't have made it.”
I drew her gently to my chest. She withdrew immediately. Our next point was Notre Dame. We took the underground.
“I'd like to lit a candle,” whispered Kate. “For Peter's safe return. “
I frowned. “I doubt candles help.”
To tell the truth, I felt somehow hurt because she was thinking of nothing else but him. The feeling was funny, of course, I had no right to it, besides we came to Paris to find him, yet …
“They might not help him,” she answered, “but they will help me. Lighting candles in a church gives me the feeling that I did something good for somebody. When I focus on the person, pray for him, I am sure I drew the attention of a higher existence to this person, which cannot be bad.”
I made no comments. To tell the truth, I hate the ridiculous talk of the positive energy that has lately flooded the world. Everybody suddenly became a guru, preaching the positive thinking, as if he had invented it! And as if thinking could change the world. It cannot change anything at all. The starved cannot be sated by positive thinking. Peter will not be found by a candle but by me! However, not to ruin the day, I decided to suppress my anger. Before going to the church, we leaned against the stonewall encircling the place to admire the breathtaking view over the river Seine and its surrounding.
“I cannot tell you how guilty I feel admiring all this beauty while poor Peter is who knows where, exposed to who knows what bad treatment,” said Kate emotionally.
I hastened to comfort her. “Kate, being sad or cry over him will not help to find him, believe me. And stop worrying! Trust me when I say that he is fine.”
She looked at me gratefully.
Then I suggested having a look at the Notre Dame surrounding first. With the illustrated brochure in our hands, we strolled around the church, making the longest stay at the three portals, Portal of the Virgin, Portal of the Last Judgment and Portal of St-Anne. They impressed us most. When we were at the back side of the church, Kate suddenly pulled my sleeve and pointed to the left, towards the bush by the wall. A man was kneeling there, digging in the soil with his bare hands.
“It's J.E.,” she whispered. “I saw his face!”
“J.E.?” I asked unbelievingly. “He can't be!”
“But he is,” she insisted. “I saw him!”
“I'll take a closer look,” I said, yet she did not let go of my sleeve. “No, Tibor, let him alone. I smell difficulties.”
Of course, I did not listen to her. I headed for the bush with Kate close to my heels. He must have heard or felt us, for he suddenly jumped up, breathing heavily, his hands covered with mud up to his elbows.
“Oh, it's you,” I pretended to be surprised.
If looks could kill, we would be dead at that moment. “What do you want?” he yelped. “Why are you here?”
I innocently threw my arms in the air. “We are tourists, J.E. Tourists.”
“Tourists are pests for our country,” he spat through clenched teeth.
“That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard,” I exclaimed. “Each country struggles for more tourists because tourists bring money.”
“Tourists bring trouble! The mob that comes here is destroying our sacred land! Do you really believe they are interested in sightseeing? Don't be naïve! Sightseeing is nothing but disguise! Under it, they seek possibilities, illegal, of course, how to settle in our country, together with the hordes of their relatives and friends. Just peep in our restaurants, hotels and shops! Who do you see? The French? Mistaken!” He pointed to an Asian group of tourists. “You can hardly see any French in our cities! They have been driven out of them and then occupied by those and those alike! If I were in power, I would immediately send them back to where they belong, dirty rats!”
He was waving his muddy hand so vigorously that pieces of mud flew all around him.
“Are you looking for anything special?” I asked him to stop his anger that might cause trouble.
“None of your business!”
“If your search is connected with Peter Otrin, then it is my business, too!”
“Who says it is connected with him?”
“It is hard to believe that you are digging for buried treasure!” I answered mockingly.
Not answering, J.E. dropped to his knees again and resumed digging. People began to gather. That was probably the last thing J.E. wanted. He jumped to his feet, trembling all over his body with fury. Pointing his muddy finger to me, he shouted: “If you don't leave immediately, I'll have you arrested!”
“Arrested,” I asked, looking at him as innocently as I could, “what for?”
“For insulting an official!”
Kate again pulled my sleeve, whispering: “Let's go, Tibor. Let's go.” But, I am a very stubborn person. When somebody tries to force me into something, I don't do it, no matter what. I jerkily shook Kate’s hands off my sleeve.
“Well,” I answered triumphantly, “in that case it is my duty to charge you with an insult of an official as well. We can handcuff each other if you agree. “
“You saw my badge!”
“Yes, a forged one! I know the Balkans like the back of my hand! All of you are nothing but thieves, forgers, mafia!”
I’ve really had enough of his insults. “You damn fool,” I shouted, clenching fists, ready to punch him in the face. “Who do you think you are? I came here to find our citizen and I'll find him whether you like it or not!”
Kate was trying to drag me away, begging me: “Don't Tibor, don't! Don’t you see that he wants just that? If you hit him, he’ll have you where he wants to have you! He’ll corner you. Let’s go. Leave him alone.”
Her words brought me to my senses. She was right. I dropped my arms, unclenched fists. And so did J.E. With a nervous gesture, he loosened the collar of his shirt that must have squeezed him, half turned to leave, but before he did, he had to vent some more anger on me.
“You damn, stinking Balkan, African, Asian and another mob, you flooded the whole world! You … you … thieves! Rascals! If I were our government, I would wall you up in those hen houses of yours!”
“That's why you are not the government,” I retorted.
“I'll find a way to get rid of you! Believe me, I will,” he hissed and left.
It was then that I became aware of how many tourists gathered around us.
“Let’s go into the church,” I said to Kate and she followed me without a word. People stepped apart to let us pass through, observing us with interest.
There was nobody in the church, so I coughed loudly and immediately an elderly monk appeared. He asked what we wished.
“We saw a man, digging in your garden,” I began politely, “and we wondered, hmm, I mean, if you could tell us …”
He laughed, rolling his eyes: “Ah, I guess you have met our famous Police inspector. So he came back.”
“What is he looking for? Something special? Da Vince's code maybe?” The church was Notre Dame and when I saw J.E. digging under the wall the famous book Da Vinci’s Code immediately came to my mind. I read it only a few weeks before and enjoyed.
The priest had to cover his mouth with his hand to silence his laughter. He shook his head: “No, no, no code. He is looking for a suitcase.”
That was beyond our expectation!
“A suitcase?” I exclaimed, looking at Kate's open mouth while in my mind I was asking myself if J.E. had again unraveled a puzzle I had overlooked. Did he find out that someone had brought the suitcase to this church? Peter Otrin himself? Why?
“What suitcase?” I repeated.
The monk shrugged, saying apologetically. “I wouldn't know. He didn't tell me. He asked me if I had seen anybody entering the church with a suitcase, but didn't believe me when I told him that I hadn’t.”
“You won't believe,” he continued, shaking his head in wonder, “he searched the church from bottom to top, knocked on all walls and tiles on the floor and finally almost turned over the altar! Then, thanks God, he started murmuring words bush, spring, temple, bush- spring-temple and hurried out into the garden where he started digging into the soil under a bush.”
Now, it dawned on me what J.E. was doing. He really was as mad as a hatter!
“Why does that police officer interest you?” the monk asked and I answered that he did not, we were just curious having seen him on his knees in the middle of the bush. We thought the church did not know it and came in to tell.
I hoped God would pardon me for my lies.
“That's nice of you,” said the monk gratefully, opened a drawer and gave each of us a postcard with the picture of Notre Dame on the front side. “As a souvenir,” he said.
We thanked and left.
“I can't believe it,” said Kate laughingly on the way out. “The fool thinks that the woman who was on the plane with Peter had not only stolen his suitcase but brought it to this church and buried it!”
“I know how he came to this idea, “I said.” Do you remember when we read in Peter's notes that the name Bush means the name of the most sacred spring under the Temple?”
Kate nodded and I continued: “J.E. obviously thinks that this is a code. The spring is the river Seine, the Temple is the Notre Dame church and Bush is a bush. He sees in each of Peter's word a code. That's it. A code!”
“Nowadays the whole world has gone crazy with codes,” said Kate crossly, leaning with her elbows on the wall, gazing down to the shimmering water.
“What if Peter is not alive anymore?”
I wound my arm around her waist. She didn’t object. On the contrary. She laid her head on my shoulder and seizing the chance, I gently kissed the top of her head. “Of course he is alive,” I reassured her. “And we'll find him. I promise you.”
She awarded me with a thankful smile.
“Shall we continue sightseeing?” I asked. She said no and arm in arm we went back to our hotel. On foot, for it was near. Being so close to her, feeling her breast against my arm, I felt almost irresistible lust for her. I struggled against it, however it was becoming stronger and stronger.
“We have an hour before lunch,” she said when we were standing in front of the door of her room. My eyes were dimmed with emotions; I could hardly see her. “I'll lie down a bit. I'm tired.”
I stepped behind her back, embraced her tightly, turned her to me and kissed her passionately. I felt her struggle, but I did not care, I wanted her, I needed her and I was going to have her!
Using all her force that to my surprise was stronger than I had expected from such a tiny, fragile woman, she pushed me away. She was breathless and angry.
“What is it?” I asked, feeling peeved. “We both want it, don't we?”
“Maybe you do, I certainly don't!”
“Don't lie, Kate,” I said angrily. “Don't you think we both are too old to play hide-and-seek? You were sending me signs the whole morning …”
“Sending you signs? Are you crazy?” she shouted.
“Yes, Kate. Leaning your head on my shoulder, holding my arm, …”
“You are sick, Tibor! I thought you were my friend. I had a nice time. I was grateful to you for offering me comfort. I did not expect this!”
“Expect what? Expect me to like you? What’s wrong with that?” I stretched my hand towards her to gently pat her cheek, saying conciliatorily: “Kate, don't be angry, I love you! I have never in my life loved a woman so much. I…”
She punched me in my chest with such a force that I nearly fell. Then she disappeared into her room, slamming the door behind her with a loud thud. She even locked it.
That pissed me off. My first impulse was to break the door. I felt so stupid! So humiliated. She had been teasing me, seducing me for two days and after she saw she had reached the aim, bringing me to the unbearable, she pushed me away like a brat! She double-crossed me! Insulted me! I had the whole right to take by force what she had been promising me! Offering me!
But I changed my mind. I would only bring more trouble into my life, which was the last thing I wanted. I went into my room and threw myself on the bed.
At that moment, I hated women more than anything in the world. They were all alike. First they provoked you and when you wanted to take what they were offering, they accused you of attacking them, behaving as some damn virgins. I decided never again to let them get near me. Never again! Especially not the hags. I knew exactly what they had in mind. Some years ago, a friend of my wife’s started to seduce me. Invited me even to her home on a pretext she needed to talk to someone who would listen to her, understand her. She believed I was the right person. I was honored, of course. And it did me good especially because my wife was constantly reproaching me that I was unable to listen to anybody except to myself and that I didn’t have the slightest idea how to offer comfort.
This woman said I was the most considerate man she had ever met. Her problem was her husband. She thought he was cheating on her. She was desperate and needed an understanding soul. I
did everything to calm her down, however, when I left her she was still distressed. So I came again the next day. She said my visits helped her immensely.
One evening, when we were again sitting on the sofa in her sitting room, she unexpectedly, while complaining about her husband, leaned towards me. She was so close that I couldn’t avoid seeing her breasts. I was more than sure that she was offering herself to me. It was like saying: Take me! Take me! I managed to keep myself in control for quite a long time but suddenly I could not endure the torture anymore and I grabbed her. She struggled, but as all women struggle for sheer pleasure, I took no notice of it and did what I simply had to do! What I was expected to do.
After that, I had to go through hell! She threatened to sue me. If she did, my marriage would be ruined and I would lose my job.
When I was waiting for the Doomsday, depressed and desperate, she called me. Not to threaten again but to tell me, she could not stop thinking of me! To tell, she would like us to meet again, to start from the beginning. She said she had never had such a lover!
“Darling, my love,” she chirped, “come to me this evening. Please …”
“I taped this conversation,” I cried into the phone, “and if you don’t let me in peace, this time it will be I who will sue you!”
I don't know how the idea entered my mind, but it saved me. I have never seen her again.
Looking at the door, I said through clenched teeth: “You’ll come back begging for it, Kate, but I tell you, no woman will ever make a fool of me again!”
Picking up Peter's notes from my desk, I settled myself comfortably on the bed again, with pillows behind my back, and started reading.
It was difficult to concentrate, but I wished more than ever to find Peter and return home as quickly as possible.
