Look for Me (19 page)

“How do I look?”

“Worried. A bit pale.”

“Tell me what else you’ve noticed.”

“Your shirt is a little torn, at the sleeve.”

“What else? In the restaurant?”

“Nothing’s changed here. The waitress has had a haircut. That’s all.”

The waitress heard us and came over to take our order. “My friend likes your new hairstyle,” I told her. Vronsky was embarrassed, but he smiled.

She smiled back. “Thanks, my boyfriend thinks it’s too short. But everyone else likes it. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be too pretty!” She took our order. I always had the same thing, spinach cannelloni, but Vronsky went down the menu, dish by dish, and then he’d start at the top again, so that every week he had something else. He was very particular about food, and one reason he liked this restaurant was that he thought the chef was excellent. He once surprised me and the waitress by commenting, at the end of the meal, “I guess the chef’s on vacation?” He’d noticed the difference at once.

While we waited for the food to arrive I said, “Tell me about your latest patients.” This was one of our favorite topics.

“Well, today a very young child came in with internal injuries. They were rather unusual, and we were baffled, and the parents were baffled too. They couldn’t think of anything that had happened. We were all called in to see if anyone had any ideas. Finally, after we quizzed the parents for a very long time, we discovered what it was. Water. They’d held this poor child too long under the tap at the beach. The stream was too strong for him. And apparently he’d screamed his head off, but they thought it was just because he didn’t like the water. They decided for that reason to keep him under the jet longer, to desensitize him, so to speak. Get him used to the water, make
a man of him. And the pressure of the jet caused some internal damage. I’m surprised a shower jet would be that strong.”

“That’s really weird.”

“Yes, it was an unusual case. A very sensitive child.”

“No, that’s not what’s weird. What’s weird is that I know who you mean, I think. I think I saw them. A young couple, immigrants, he has freckles, she has very large breasts?”

“That may be them.”

“That’s the strangest coincidence! I saw a couple on the beach this morning and they were holding this thin little scrawny kid under the tap—it’s not a shower tap, it’s one of those low taps for washing your feet. That’s why the stream is so strong. And the kid was screaming, that’s why I remember it. The more he screamed, the more determined they were. They were in on it together, enjoying it together, it was horrible. I finally went up to them, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t say anything; I guess I was intimidated. I feel so bad that I didn’t say anything.”

“I’m sure nothing you could have said would have helped. They’re quite stupid, the two of them.”

“Will he be okay?”

“We’re keeping him under observation, we’ll see how things develop.”

“Why are doctors so vague?”

“Well, diagnosis is not an exact science, you know. The whole field of medicine is fraught with uncertainty. Look at the strange story of your ankle.”

“Don’t let that kid go back. Vronsky, promise me you’ll alert the social workers. If you don’t, I will. Those parents are dangerous.”

“In fact, the social worker has already opened a file; it’s mandatory in such cases.”

“Maybe I could adopt him,” I said hopelessly.

“Yes, him and all the thousands of other children with imperfect
lives. Dana, imperfect lives are the norm. Your childhood was the exception: doting, responsible parents, a degree of affluence—and even in your case tragedy hit when you were only fourteen.”

“That reminds me of something that happened a long time ago. Something Daniel and I saw.”

“Yes?”

“You know, I’ve seen a lot of very sad things. Sometimes they’re so sad I think I won’t be able to bear it. Refugee camps, people at roadblocks, Dar al-Damar … But the saddest thing I ever saw, the worst thing, wasn’t what you’d expect. It was a long time ago, before Daniel left. We went to pick mushrooms in the forest. It was one of those perfect days—blue sky, sunny, a soft breeze. And there was this other couple there and they had a daughter who was about four. They were lovely parents, very sensitive. They spoke to her in soft, gentle voices. And the daughter—well, I never saw anything like it. You see these idealized kids in Renaissance paintings, but they’re not meant to be realistic. But she was smiling at everyone, she was glowing, I never saw anything like it. She was the happiest kid, maybe the happiest person, on earth, and she wanted to share her happiness with everyone, she was smiling at everyone in this sweet, happy, trusting way. Daniel and I just couldn’t believe it. She was full of love. And we were both heartbroken— because she was on the wrong planet. It was just so horrible to think of what was waiting for her, how life would hurt her. Someone like that, you want them to be on an island somewhere.”

“There’s a phase in child development that matches what you describe.”

“No, this was different. She stood out. I never saw anyone like this. I never saw any kid smiling like that at strangers.”

“I don’t know. Sounds a bit sentimental to me, Dana.”

“You’d know what I meant if you saw her.”

“We all manage to survive. We all go from innocence and glory to adulthood. You want a paradise where everyone is happy. It’s unrealistic.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Maybe you and Daniel were saddened by the girl because you wanted a child.”

“No, we were sad because she was such a rare and beautiful thing and we knew it wouldn’t last, she’d be crushed.”

“If she had nice parents, and inner strength, why wouldn’t she go on being full of love? Maybe she’s one of those lucky people who stay happy all their lives.”

“I would like to believe that. But I don’t think it’s likely.”

“You identify with her. I guess I do too, listening to you.”

“Did you have a happy childhood, Vronsky?”

“At times,” he said elusively. He almost never talked about his personal life.

“I have something important to tell you, Vronsky. A few things happened this week. First, I found out something about my husband. It turns out that people in the army know where he is, but they refuse to tell me.”

“Really!” He seemed very surprised.

“You don’t happen to know anyone in Intelligence, do you, Vronsky?”

“I’d be happy to know someone
with
intelligence,” he said, smiling wryly.

“Something else happened. I met someone.”

“You mean a man? That’s good news, Dana.”

“It’s terrible news! I’m married. And so is he.”

“Ah,” he said, disappointed.

“I feel I’m getting closer to finding my husband. I just need to find someone in Intelligence who can look up the information. I feel I’m really getting close. What timing!”

“You’re in love?”

“No, I love my husband. You can only love one person.”

“That hasn’t been my experience,” Vronsky said, but he wouldn’t expand.

“Vronsky, how about today after dinner we go for a walk along the boardwalk?”

“I can’t, I promised my sister I’d be home.”

“You always have an excuse.”

“There’s a television show she wants to watch, I sign it for her.”

“She’s lucky she has you.”

“I’m lucky I have her.”

“What’s she like?”

“Sonya? She has a good sense of humor, she’s fun to be with.”

“Do you think we should go on having dinner?” I asked him suddenly. I didn’t plan to say it, the words just came out on their own. They had a color: deep blue, like the sky at night in the middle of a field.

Vronsky nodded. “I understand,” he said.

“I was just asking. Because, you know, you don’t really open up to me.”

He looked stunned, and very hurt. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“I don’t. I didn’t mean it.”

“I thought you enjoyed our meetings. I enjoy them immensely. But if you’re getting bored, that’s all right.”

“No, I love our meetings. I love our meetings, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m just a mess!”

“Let’s look at this calmly, Dana. I see I was wrong to take this personally. You’ve just told me that you feel you might find your husband in the near future. And you’ve told me that you met someone you’re attracted to, though unfortunately he’s
married. So perhaps we can deduce that you want to simplify your life?”

“What’s your first name, Vronsky?”

“Konstantin. Kostya for short.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked. But as you know, hardly anyone calls me by that name.”

“Isn’t that a sort of Christian name?”

“My father was Christian.”

“It suits you. You’re pretty constant … Anyhow, it isn’t that, Vronsky. It’s not that I want to simplify my life—it’s not that vague. It’s much more specific. I’m worried that Daniel will be jealous. I don’t want anything to stand between us.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

“Even though I made it clear in my interviews that you were just one of the people helping me out, nothing more.”

“I remember.”

“But he’d be jealous if I went on seeing you. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Please don’t worry, Dana. You’re right, of course.”

“Thanks, Vronsky. You’re very kind. Will you miss me?”

“Of course I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Can I kiss you good-bye today? I don’t mean a final good-bye—I mean, we’ll stay in touch, by phone. But can I kiss you good-bye just for now?”

“We’ll see,” he said.

“When our meal’s over I’ll walk you to the car, and I’ll come inside with you and kiss you good-bye, do you agree?”

“I have to think about it.”

“You have the whole meal to think.”

When we were through at the restaurant, I walked him to his car. He’d parked in a nearly empty parking lot down the street. I sat on the passenger’s seat and he let me kiss him, and he
kissed me back. We knew it was our last time together. Tears ran down my cheeks and we both tasted the salt. Vronsky gave me a tissue and then we resumed kissing. He stroked my hair. “Take care of yourself, Dana. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for.”

I didn’t answer; I was very sad. I got out of the car and watched Vronsky pull out of the parking lot and drive away. He didn’t look back.

Only once did I feel that Daniel was hiding something from me.

One day, impulsively, for no reason at all, I kissed his feet. It was the middle of the week, and we were on the sofa watching a dreary film noir we’d rented from the video store. The overloaded symbols and clever shots were making us both sleepy, and suddenly Daniel’s bare feet looked so happy that I had to lean over and kiss them.

Daniel didn’t say anything, but I could see that something was wrong. He got up and went to the kitchen, opened the fridge door, and stared inside, his mind clearly on something else. Finally he let the door swing shut. He said, “I’m going to the corner store to get pretzels,” and left. He made that up, about the pretzels; he just wanted a few minutes to himself.

I had no idea what was going on, and he never told me. It was the only time Daniel completely mystified me.

T
HURSDAY

I
ARRIVED AT THE INSURANCE OFFICE
an hour late the next day because I’d slept in, but no one noticed or minded. I felt like an actor or a mime as I went about my work: I remembered my lines and the things I had to do, but none of it was related to who I was and what I was feeling. I asked my fellow workers whether they knew anyone in Intelligence. One had an uncle in Intelligence but he was living abroad; another had a retired grandfather who had once worked on some very secret project. Neither of those leads sounded very promising. I asked my employer, too, but he looked at me suspiciously and asked why I wanted to know. His body became hot and tense; he was familiar with my views and seemed to think I was planning to penetrate state secrets and sell them to the enemy. I dropped the subject before he fired me.

The day had a misty quality to it, but sprang into sharp focus as soon as I entered my building: a shocking smell had taken over the hallway, as if a ghoul from the pit of hell were slowly dissolving in some invisible corner. I ran into my flat, grabbed
a towel, held it against my nose, and knocked on Volvo’s door to see whether he knew anything. But he was out, probably shopping with Rosa.