Rain Girl (24 page)

She was restless, groaned, tried to sit up. “Stay down,” he said. “You’re hurt. I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“No,” she said. “Don’t. Take me home. Take me to Ben.” That had been it. Nothing else.

We won’t then.

We just won’t. But how could she wreck everything?

For the second time. Wreck the dream of love that he’d had for so long.

Judith had jumped out of the car and left him. He felt it as if it had just happened yesterday. The moment had lasted an eternity. They had been swimming in the Danube, then the thunderstorm, then rushing to the car. They were still laughing, still happy. Then the child in the middle of the road, then the child on the windshield, then the blood and the drumming of the rain.

Both of them had jumped out of the car and run to the child, but she was lying there without moving. There was nothing they could do. A distant melody in the clouds.

He’d spun around, once, twice. There was no one to be seen, just Judith and him. “Get in,” he’d said. “We’re going.”

She turned to him, slowly, staring at him in horror. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her toward the car. “We’re going,” he said. “We’re going!”

She recovered from her shock and began fighting him. “Are you crazy?” she said. “We can’t just . . .”

And she turned around and started walking toward the child, but he grabbed her again, dragged her into the car. She screamed and fought back, and then he hit her.

He screamed into her ear that the child was dead. There was nothing they could do, nothing.

He screamed that his life would be destroyed if they stayed. Is that what she wanted, his life . . . destroyed.

He realized he was still hitting her, again and again, but she . . .

His voice broke, his hand stopped.

. . . she was silent, finally.

He turned around. The rain was washing the blood off the child’s head, a girl. This child—this girl—was responsible for this shit! He got into the car and drove away. Judith in the backseat was still shutting the fuck up!

He drove and drove. He wasn’t sure where to go, but somewhere where he’d be seen, where he’d be remembered. Someplace where they’d say: Yes, he was there! He was definitely there.

In case the cops went looking for him and he needed it later. He heard a sound like a woman’s voice in his ears, soft, high-pitched. Judith in the rearview mirror was lying there stiff, stupid bitch, stiff face and stiff eyes. They were all stupid bitches! Then he knew . . . no more love, no more of Judith’s love, never again, not on the Danube, nowhere, never again.

The silence and the trembling and the terrible loneliness came afterward. “Get away from me,” she’d said. “Never come near me again.” Her voice was firm and steady, almost businesslike.

He pulled up outside a pub in town, and she got out. She was swaying a little, and he tried to catch her, to hold her, but she raised her arms defensively. “Don’t touch me!” she’d said. “Don’t touch me.” Then she’d walked away, across the street and into an alleyway he was unfamiliar with. She was limping slightly, and he asked himself why. He hadn’t hit her hard enough to make her limp. He couldn’t have; it was nothing!

He shook his head and tried to laugh. He succeeded a little. Then he tried to imprint forever on his memory how she looked. It was the last look he would have of her, and it remained his picture of her for all those years. He could see how she disappeared into the alleyway in her bright, almost transparent white dress, low-cut in the front and back with half sleeves; the red straps of her bikini at her neck; her wide linen pants; the purple espadrilles; and her dark hair pinned up hastily. Loose strands of hair hung down, her neck and arms were tanned, and still the rain pouring down. It made her look more transparent than she really was.

He felt a sob inside him, an urge to cry out loud. He wanted to run after her, but already there was an invisible barrier between them. It got larger and larger the farther she walked away from him, and he realized he would never be able to cry on her shoulder again.

Eventually he went into the bar and got drunk. Death tasted of apple liqueur, love of elderberry schnapps, despair of nothing.

All those years no one had ever asked him for an alibi.

No one had ever even mentioned her name to him: Lisa Fürst. And now
her
of all people—Judith’s daughter. Was this Judith’s belated revenge, a revenge that she’d never even know about?

What’s life worth?
he thought and felt despair grip him. He hit the brakes and heard Judith’s daughter scream as she slid into the gap between the seats. The skinny little girl, skinny enough to fit into the gap—she could stay there.

Shit,
he thought,
she’s making a mess of my car. They always make a mess of my car, from the outside or the inside—why do I always have to deal with this bullshit?!

The road was wet, the car careened to the side, across the shoulder, and into the grass.

Marie groaned between the seats. She’d forfeited all rights, still crying for Ben! Stupid bitches! All of them, stupid bitches!

He’d wanted to change his life, leave his wife and children, make a whole new start—and she?

What did she do? Cried for Ben!

He got out of the car and opened the door behind his seat.

She looked up at him painfully. “My leg,” she said, “I think I twisted it.”

He didn’t reply.

“What are you doing?” she asked, astonished as he grabbed her under the arms. She screamed out in pain. Then he let go.

“You’re doing it again,” she said with a trembling voice. He could sense she was afraid. It gave him a strangely exhilarated feeling. He the cat, she the mouse—death between them.

She passed out again, all of a sudden. Shock, maybe?

He just stood there, wiping his face with his hand. He felt it was wet, but didn’t know whether it was from the rain or because he was crying. They were the same tears as twenty years ago. They felt the same as they had then, so painful, so raw. She wanted to leave him again. Wanted to walk into the alleyway in her bright white clothes, the color of summer on her arms and neck, translucent in the rain.

“You’re doing it again,” she’d said. “You’re doing it again!”

No! Not him! She was doing it!

He could hardly believe what was happening. History was repeating itself. The rain, the road, the blood, the girl.

“No!” he said. “No, it’s not like that. NOT like that!”

He looked away with a rigid gaze, wiping his face again and again, realized now that this wetness came from him, from his heart, because she was dying now, the one he’d loved. She’d weigh on him like lead from now on, inseparable. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted?

When he dragged her out of the car, she groaned, holding her head, and woke up.

“No,” she said. “No, don’t, please. Don’t leave me here, please, don’t leave me here.”

Now she begged and pleaded, stupid bitch, she tried to cling to him but he shook her off like annoying ballast, rain after the storm. What was life worth?

He pulled away with squealing tires, took off like a rocket, driving for about a hundred yards before hitting the brakes again. The car careened.
Me too,
he thought,
I’ll just die too, life is worthless
.

But the car stopped. He wouldn’t die after all. He jumped out and felt the old familiar trembling rising. He pulled one cigarette after another out of the pack. They broke between his fingers.
SHIT, SHIT,
he thought,
you goddamned whore, what have you done to me?!