Love Is Pink! (11 page)

26

W
hile 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 wan
t . . .
” 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

D
avid 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.”

“The main thing is that Baby will be well again. As far as my suitcases are concerne
d . . .
pfft.
All they held were stupid clothes. That stuff can be found as easily as sand at the beach. And the watch wasn’t that nice, anyway. Too
clunky
, Emma thought.”

That comment was meant to be funny, but David examined me even more thoughtfully.

Somebody must get men. I don’t.

28

T
he Citroën’s engine was purring and it was snowing outside, for a change. Baby’s head rested on my lap. His tongue was still hanging out the side of his mouth. His eyes were half shut. The one hind leg had a splint and was tightly wrapped. Around the wound, his fur was shaved off and a thick bandage hid the stitches. From time to time, he shivered or cried very softly. It was a good thing that the backseat had enough space for both of us.

Emma had curled up in the passenger seat and covered herself with my ski jacket, as usual. She didn’t sleep. Instead, she kept looking back every few minutes to see how Baby was doing.

David set the windshield wipers on high because the snowflakes were nearly blocking all visibility. It started to look more and more like somebody higher up was bombarding us with fat cotton balls. Mother Hulda was definitely barking mad.

“Global warming,” David said, mostly to himself.

“Yeah, I can hardly remember a winter as harsh,” I said. “Definitely not at Christmas. Your windshield wipers are incredibly loud. Are you sure they’re working right? I mean, are they merely spreading the flakes around?”

“What’s wrong with you? They work perfectly. But with this weather, they have no chance. That’s how it is with such a—”

“Classic.” I finished the sentence drily.

He looked at me and we snorted with laughter.

“I’m hungry,” Emma said.

I searched in the plastic bag we’d brought back from the Christmas market. Everybody got a smiley-man cookie. They tasted just like the gingerbread cookies I love. Afterward, I gave Emma and David the pink, heart-shaped butter cookies.

“Fantastic,” David said as he chewed.

“Your tip was golden, Emma. Your papa does love butter cookies.”

“Of course!” Emma said. “Especially because they’re pink.”

“Because they’re what?” David asked.

“Pink. The cookies are pink. And Papa, you always say
love
is pink
.
”

David furrowed his brow. “I never say that. Maybe I’ve said once or twice that love is blind.”

“Did you refer to your previous relationships in that way?” I asked without even trying to mask my curiosity.

David shot me a quick look over his shoulder. “Who knows?”

“Love isn’t blind,” I said. “Love isn’t pink either. Love is dumb.”

This time, even Emma laughed.

I shifted positions a bit, careful not to upset Baby, and brushed against the package that lay abandoned at my feet.

“You haven’t told me anything about the urgent business you had to take care of in Nancy,” I said. “What was so important that we had to make the detour?”

David hesitated and mumbled, “Did I perhaps forget to tell you that?”

Did I perhaps forget to tell you that?
These words unleashed a feeling of déjà vu. Just two days ago, I’d heard them come out of Valentin’s mouth. The conversation that had followed would always be burned in my brain. That phone call didn’t go very well.

A dull suspicion came over me. Perhaps this phrase was some kind of guy code used by simpleminded men to announce the coming of far-reaching catastrophes. So I drilled deeper.

“No,” I said, “you certainly did not tell me why you needed to go to Nancy. But at the moment, I’m all ears.”

David cleared his throat.
Aha
, I thought,
this is also part of the ritual
.

“So,” he started, “you’ve most certainly noticed that our Citroën is something really special.”

“Hmm,” I said. I could almost physically feel David’s discomfort.

He busied himself with unnecessarily adjusting the heating. I waited.

“What was I saying?” he started again.

“Our Citroën is something really special,” I repeated.

“Oh, yes. And in order to fully restore it, rare original parts are needed.”

I couldn’t believe it. “We drove all the way to Nancy because you needed to get whatever rusty things you need for this pink tub from a scrap dealer?”

David nervously ran his hand through his hair. “The way you say that, it has a bit of a negative sound.”

I tapped the package with my foot. “And what precious things did you pick up?”

“Side-view mirrors. Made of chrome and almost as good as new,” he announced proudly.

“Are you serious? We’re touring through half of France just so you could get a couple of stupid mirrors? I knew you were off.”

“What?” he said. “You’re one to talk! You travel hundreds of kilometers just to get to a man who only uses you and keeps you like a trophy—all so he looks younger, the old geezer. Don’t you know that you mean absolutely nothing to him?”

David never should have said that. Now I wouldn’t hold back anymore. I’d let him know exactly what I thought of him.

Just then, our car hit a dreadful bump. It lurched toward the right like we’d gone into a pothole. David struggled to bring it to a stop.

“You wait in the car with Baby,” I told Emma. I carefully moved out from under the dog’s head, grabbed my ski jacket, and joined David outside.

He stood at the edge of the road and stared down at the front of the car. I heard a loud fizzling sound.

“The tire?” I asked.

David nodded. “A flat.”

“We can fix that, can’t we? Every car has a spare tire, even a classic like this.”

As we spoke, a layer of snow had already formed on my jacket. I shook it off.

“In and of itself, it’s no big deal,” David said. “But at night, in the middle of a country road, and in this weathe
r . . .
I don’t think we’ll succeed.”

“But we can’t sleep in the car. We’ll freeze to death. And Baby is too weak.”

David raised his head and looked around. “We’ll have to walk to the next town.”

“In a snowstorm? With a little kid and a wounded dog?”

“Look over there,” he said.

“Where?”

He pointed diagonally in front of me. I followed his finger and made out the contours of a large black building, about ten or fifteen meters from where we stood.

“There’s a light,” he said. “In one of the windows of the old castle.”

“Are you completely insane?” I snapped.

“Why?”

“There’s a light. In one of the windows of the old castle
,
”
I mocked him in a deep voice. “It’s like a line in a horror movie. When we get there, a hunchback with a candle in his hand will open a creaky door for us. We’ll go in. And we’ll never get back out again. Not alive and not in one piece, anyway.”

David sighed. “Do you see another possibility?”

I stuck my hand deeper into my jacket pocket. I was freezing. “No,” I said.

“So let’s try our luck.”

David’s comment sent a shudder down my spine. My good luck had left me days ago. Since then I’d been relentlessly chased by nothing but bad luck.

“What about Emma and Baby?” I asked.

“Better to leave them in the warm car for a few moments than to drag them out into the cold.”

“Okay,” I said. “But promise me: if we see ‘
Dr. Frankenstein’
written above the doorbell, we’ll turn right back around.”

David grabbed my hand, and we walked toward the light.