Small g (21 page)

Renate shot a look at her, but did not interrupt her lecture-in-progress to Vera about a piece of work now in Vera’s machine.

That evening, Renate did not mention Luisa’s dashing out that morning, and they watched a TV episode of
The Trackers
, of which Renate was especially fond.

Luisa would write a note of thanks to Dorrie, easier than phoning, even though she’d see Dorrie Saturday night. And what might she give Dorrie in return? She could make a black velvet vest for Dorrie, or design a jacket. No, a vest. But when could she make it, with Renate peering—everywhere?

S
ATURDAY MORNING, LUISA HAD A LETTER
from Teddie. The envelope bore a typewritten address and had no sender’s name. Having recognized the type as easily as if Teddie had written it by hand, she pushed the letter into her pocket and deposited the rest of the post on the kitchen table. Renate was in the workroom, where Luisa had emptied the five wastebaskets, and in a few minutes, they were going out to Jakob’s, as on working days. Luisa opened her letter in her room!

Dearest Luisa,

I just sent off my finished article to the
Tages-A
. “A Bump in the Road” or alternative title, “Night Adventure 2,” about being clobbered from behind, after dancing at a Biergarten. Be assured—no names! Didn’t write Jakob’s or the Small g. Or you, God forbid! About being knocked nearly out, and being helped to my nearest friends by total strangers! Human kindness!

How are you? Please write a note or phone me as I’m usually in by orders. This reminds me, I can’t come to Jakob’s this Sat. night, but shall be thinking of you—dancing, being happy. Doctor says I can go out by next Wed., if I am careful. I take showers now and never think about it. No bandage. The scar will always remind me of you. That may not sound nice, but I mean it in a happy way.

XX My love, my love, T.

Luisa and Renate were going to Jakob’s Saturday night and Renate was even creating a dress for herself. This was an electric blue satin, embellished with flat gold braid depicting a serpent with a red eye, and red open mouth. The frowning, spitting dragon might have been a portrait of Renate, Luisa thought, so it was comical to Luisa on Saturday night to see Renate’s finely wrinkled face break out from time to time in quick, polite smiles, almost grins.

By contrast, Luisa wore a white shirt whose tails hung out, black cotton slacks, and a thin red tie tied in a loose knot, casual gear, though Luisa felt tense and excited. She and Renate arrived shortly before ten. The dance floor swayed to “The Tennessee Waltz,” and a few of the dancers clowned to the sentimental melody. Luisa had a glimpse of Rickie at a table in the far corner to the right, then she avoided looking at him, lest Renate make a remark. Three strangers sat at the long table that Renate liked to think of as hers.

“A coffee?” Luisa asked.

“A white wine,” replied Renate.

Luisa took her time getting to the front bar to order. First there was already a dense crowd, and second, Luisa loved feeling lost for a few seconds, moving toward invisibility, among a lot of people. It was the opposite of being stared at.

“’Evening, Luisa!” said Ursie, working two beer taps.

Luisa gave her order, wine and a small beer, and paid, then made her way carefully back to the long table. She was glad to render this service for Renate, because she knew Renate’s shyness about her crippled foot. It even pained Luisa a little that Renate tonight hadn’t bothered putting on one of her pretty slippers, of which she had five or six singles. Some were of patent leather, one of pale blue kid. One foot could show, the other must not, so most of the time Renate chose to hide them both.

“Who’re you looking for?” asked Renate.

Luisa hesitated. “No one!” She had, in fact, glanced over the dance floor for Dorrie, and hadn’t seen her. Still standing, Luisa saw Rickie in the far corner, talking with one of his friends. “I’ll be back!” she said to Renate, and started toward Rickie, circling the dancers to her left.

Renate had a moment before pulled her sketchpad from her big handbag, and lit the cigarette in the long black holder. The present scene wasn’t ideal for sketching: young people in cool and careless garb, older ones in square-tailed sportshirts and loose summer dresses. A loud young man occupied the half-open telephone booth, and another fellow yelled at him to wind it up.

“Rickie!” Luisa was smiling, making progress, but he hadn’t heard her.

Then he shouted, “Ah, Luisa! Here she comes! Make room!”

But nobody did make room, though Philip waved cheerily and the dark-haired Ernst called a greeting. Beer and wine glasses and ashtrays covered the table.

Philip got up from a chair. “Dance?”

Luisa pushed her beer onto the table.

The lanky and limber Philip danced at a little distance from her. He wore white slacks, white shirt scarcely buttoned, and a T-shirt beneath. His hands were cool. How did he manage that? When Luisa touched his side, she felt his ribs.

“Weren’t you taking
exams
?” she shouted.

“Yep! Passed ’em!” Philip waved a hand.

Luisa glanced toward the main door, the big bar, and saw Dorrie coming in, wearing a red vest, white shirt, and dark trousers. Was she alone? Luisa didn’t look again.

They went back to the table. Above Rickie on the broad partition behind him sat an old-fashioned electric fan that turned slowly in a semicircle back and forth.

“Your friend—Rickie’s friend,” Philip began, “the one who was hurt—”

“Teddie. I heard from him today,” Luisa said. “His doctor says he can go out next Wednesday. Leave the house, I suppose. I should tell Rickie. Or you can.”

Philip did, leaning across the table. “Teddie’s circulating again next Wednesday!”

Rickie gave Luisa a slow nod of thanks for this information.

Luisa realized with a start that Dorrie stood beside her, smiling, greeting Rickie, and giving a general “Good evening!” to the others.

“No chairs? Must we dance all ni-i-ight?” Dorrie yelled in English.

“Ye-es!” someone shouted.

“Are you by yourself tonight?” asked Dorrie.

“By myself—” Luisa, abashed, tried to laugh. Dorrie wore greenish eye shadow, spooky and effective. “Didn’t you see my boss—over at the usual table?”

“No! I didn’t and who wants to see her?”

“You alone?”

“Ye-es!” said Dorrie firmly. “I have a date with you. Want to dance?”

Luisa laughed, embarrassed. “Maybe later.” It was a good song, and the dance floor was filling. “Dorrie—the key case—it’s beautiful! Thank you.”

“Most welcome—you are. You must make use of it.” She turned to Rickie. “How’re you, Rickie? And how’s Lulu?”

“Umph!” said Lulu, which pleased Dorrie, but Rickie at once said, “That means she’s bored and wants some action.” Rickie sank out of sight, followed by Lulu, and reappeared on the other side of the table, wobbling to his feet. A man had got up to let him through. “Enough exercise to last me till next
year
! Come, dear Lulu!”

Rickie extended his palms, and suddenly Lulu was on Rickie’s shoulders. “Bravo!” He steadied her with both hands on her sides, then off they glided to the music, Lulu’s forepaws on one shoulder, her hind feet on the other.

“Look!”

“It’s a statue!”

“A real
dog
! Sure!”

Lulu was as still as a white statue, however, her expression calm. She was doing her work. The crowd gave her a hand, not a big one, but a hand, because she was balancing herself now. Some shouted her name. Ernst Koelliker whistled his admiration. Rickie was taller than most of the crowd, the dog still higher.

“Yee-aye, Lulu!”

Rickie smiled. He had rehearsed Lulu once at home, but tonight she excelled herself, because the crowd put her on her mettle.

The music improved, which was to say it became a loud irresistible beat that got a lot of people up. Couples became groups. Luisa moved off with one hand held by Philip, the other by Dorrie. There seemed to be two circles of hand-holding people. Luisa had a glimpse of Rickie moving toward his corner table, with Lulu still on his shoulders.

People were chanting “Group-a” or was it “Grappa”? A teenaged boy in blue jeans fell, and stayed on the floor rotating on his backside, with arms and legs outspread. Laughter. A blur of faces.

Minutes later, when people at Rickie’s table had ordered food and more drinks, it occurred to Luisa with a faint pang of guilt that she ought to go back to Renate for a moment and see if she wanted to order something or go home. It took Luisa a few minutes to get there. A stranger asked her about “the boy who was attacked . . .” and Luisa gave her cheerful “next Wednesday” news. Luisa got within sight of Renate’s long table, and found it entirely occupied by people she didn’t know. Luisa looked toward the crowded bar section. No Renate in sight. Five minutes past midnight, she saw on her watch. That did give her a shock, that so much time had passed. Was Renate going to be angry when she got home? But Renate could have sent Andy with a message, if the lateness were that important. Luisa went back to her friends.

23

“C
an I
see
your room?” Dorrie whispered.

Luisa, surprised by the question, looked up at the house ahead: no light in the top window. See her room. And why not, Luisa thought? She and Dorrie had just been dancing together, not the only two girls or two fellows dancing together at the Small g tonight.

“Why not?” Luisa whispered back. “Renate’s probably gone to bed, so we’d better be quiet.”

“I can be quiet.”

Luisa led the way. Keys. The feeble light of the
minuterie
. Alone, Luisa could have made it in the dark. She put a finger to her lips. They climbed two flights. Feeling for the keyhole with a thumb, then working the lock, Luisa got the door open. Again her hand found Dorrie’s easily, and she led Dorrie down the hall to a door on the right. There had been no light under Renate’s door on the left side of the hall.

“Come in,” Luisa whispered.

Then she closed the door, and put the harsh main ceiling light on, because its switch was the nearest.

Dorrie stood in her dark trousers, red vest, looking round, smiling a little.

Luisa’s bed was made, a single bed with head against the wall on the right, a night table near with a lamp. Her dressing table with its three drawers looked presentable, and so did two posters—one a Toulouse-Lautrec from the Kunsthaus, the other a de Chirico from a smaller show. A bookcase. Two chairs, one straight, the other upholstered in a green-and-brown-patterned material which Luisa liked: this chair stood near the inner court window whence came some light for reading on good days.

“Really OK,” Dorrie said. “Much higher ceiling than my place.”

“Would you—”

Rap-rap-rap!

My God
, Luisa thought, and turned to open the door, but the door was opening.

Renate stood in one of her Chinese kimonos, scowling, then advancing. “What’s going on here? So much
noise
!”

“Noise? I’m sorry, Renate. We were whispering. This is—”

“Oh, I know, I know,” said Renate, clapping a hand to her right eye as if the light hurt her. She jerked her hand away and stood up straight, balancing on the ball of her bad foot, which Luisa could just see, naked. “What’re you doing here?” This in a throaty voice that Luisa had never heard before.

“I’m leaving, Madame,” said Dorrie with a quick smile at Luisa. “Nice to’ve seen you.”

Renate gazed at Dorrie as if at an object of horror, and stepped aside to let her pass.

“I’ll come down with you,” said Luisa, feeling her courage return. After all, she had said earlier to Dorrie that she’d walk her to her car.

“Oh, you will? To where?” said Renate, almost shouting.

“To her car,” Luisa replied. “It’s parked near where Teddie parked his.” This to Luisa was a dangerous dark area now.

The hall light was on. Luisa slapped her left pocket: her keys were there. Luisa and Dorrie went to the apartment door and out.

“What a tyrant!” Dorrie said, laughing, when they were down on the pavement. “You mean you can’t have any
visitors
?”

“She hates gays,” Luisa said reluctantly. “Claims she does.” They were whispering in the silent street. “I thought I told you, she thinks Teddie’s gay because he stayed one night in Rickie’s apartment—not the night he was attacked but the first night, when it got late or something.”

“Here’s my car, thank goodness,” said Dorrie. “Apart from the old battleax there—it’s been a nice evening! Thank you. Can I call you? In case something amusing turns up?”

Luisa hesitated. “Better if I call you. OK?”

“Sure, but do it.”

Before Luisa realized, Dorrie had touched her shoulders, and given her a quick kiss on the lips. Dorrie unlocked her car.

“Hope you don’t get hell tonight,” Dorrie whispered. A quick wave, and she was gone.

Luisa walked back toward her home, hoping Renate had decided to go to bed, knowing she probably hadn’t. Tonight furnished such rich ammunition! A dim light showed in the window of the sitting room. Once more the stairs, the unlocking. Luisa had half expected the door to be bolted from the inside and for the rest of the night.

Renate was standing in the hall, one hand over an eye. “Get the doctor!”

“What? Which—”

“Call the doctor! I can’t
see
to call!”

“Luethi?”

“
Yes
, you stupid girl!”

Luisa knew Luethi’s number was among those on a list by the sitting room telephone. She dialed the number, and got a recorded message that was interrupted by a sleepy female voice.

Renate yanked the telephone from Luisa’s hand.

The doctor had come on now.

“Hello, Dr. Luethi . . . Yes, Renate Hagnauer. It’s the
retina
, I think. You remember—I
am
keeping calm, as much as I
can
under the circumstances!”

Luisa retreated a step. Yet Renate would want her to play nurse now. She heard Dr. Luethi saying, “If I were
there
even—” a couple of times, and being interrupted by Renate.

“Tomorrow—you
must
. Please!” Renate said. “All right. At nine o’clock.”

At last, she hung up. Her right hand had stayed over her eye the whole time. “I’ve probably lost my
sight
!” she whimpered, almost in tears. “This shock—”

What shock, Luisa thought. Dorrie in her room? “Can I get you something? Tea?”

“Tea!” Renate scoffed. “A cold compress. Ice cubes. Oh, put them in a hand towel! Five or six cubes, not the whole tray!”

Luisa hastened to carry out this order, and found Renate in her bed, eyes shut, frowning. “Do you have pain?”

“Not so much, it’s these
lights
. Darting red and white—the doctor warned me, you know.”

Luisa vaguely remembered something about “a delicate retina” the last time Renate had been tested for glasses.

“If it’s really torn, then I’ll be blind in that eye. Or else have an operation that’s probably not successful!”

Renate radiated energy and wrath. Luisa wanted to remind her to stay calm, and was afraid to. “Something else I can get for you, Renate?”

“No. I’m sure you’d like to be off. So—”

“No, I’m here. Just tell me—”

“Nothing,” Renate interrupted. “So leave me.”

Luisa walked toward the door, then stopped and turned. “Good night.”

“Leave the door a little open.”

Luisa did so, not liking to, because she felt Renate somehow pursuing her down the hall. She took a shower, brushed her teeth, then went to bed. She fully expected a summons from Renate for something else during the night. How much was Renate pretending? Blinking in the darkness, Luisa reviewed the evening, Rickie with Lulu on his shoulders, waltzing and turning. And Dorrie—what a good dancer! Luisa had a vision of her slim figure, black trousers, white shirt, bobbing and spinning on Jakob’s dance floor.

S
HE AWAKENED TO THE MURMUR
of a voice: Renate was on the hall telephone with the doctor, Luisa supposed. Eight-ten by her watch, early enough for a Sunday morning, when Renate usually allowed herself to sleep till nine. Luisa got dressed, instead of putting on a dressing gown, as she usually did for her first cup of coffee.

The kettle was on, the drip pot prepared.

“’Morning,” Luisa said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible.”

“Can I get you anything, Renate?”

“Just bring me some coffee—when it’s ready.” Renate went back to her room.

Luisa prepared a tray with bread, butter, and orange marmalade. Renate sat up in bed with a damp hand towel over her right eye. At least she had dialed the doctor’s number just now, Luisa thought.

“Thank you,” Renate said coldly.

Dr. Luethi arrived at half-past nine, carrying a brown leather bag. He had a lean figure, a lean face, and a smile that pulled the corners of his mouth, while his worried gray eyes stayed the same. Luisa had let him in, and she lingered in Renate’s room near the door, ready to be of service or to be shooed out by Renate.

The doctor focused the reading light, plus his own head lamp.

“Happened last night,” Renate said. “I had such a shock—”

“Look straight at me. Now up to your left—keep still—now up to your right.” After a moment he said, “There’re no inflamed blood vessels visible, and that’s a good sign. Now these lights—”

“Red and white. You told me to take them seriously if they came again.”

“Your ophthalmologist told you that. Of course I’d like you to see him.”

“But of
course
. I started to telephone him this morning.”

“He would tell you to lie still, not to try to lift anything. You mentioned a shock?”

“Yes! A stranger in Luisa’s room. It was after midnight. I’d just—”

“An intruder, you mean?” asked Dr. Luethi in a surprised tone.

“No, but a
stranger
.”

“A friend of mine wanted to see my room,” Luisa put in. “She’d been there just a few seconds, not even sat down—”

“Dr. Luethi is talking to me, Luisa.”

Luisa had expected that.

Renate focused on the doctor, recounting her surge of fear last night, a sense of something bursting behind her eyes.

“Well, I gather it didn’t warrant that much alarm,” said the doctor, smiling. “Now you take it easy today, Frau Hagnauer, and I’ll make the appointment with Dr. Widmer tomorrow for you, if you like, and let you know.”

That suited Renate. “I was warned about my retina.”

“Didn’t I also warn you to try to relax more? Remember when you had those fast heartbeats and you were told it was due to stress?” He turned, smiling, to Luisa. “Good-bye, dear Luisa, and take care of our patient.”

“Of course,” said Luisa.

Renate decided to remain in bed, and she wanted the Sunday papers, extra coffee, her cigarettes within reach. Possibly an omelette for lunch with a small salad. And could Luisa wheel the TV set in? “Come back at once after you fetch the
Sonntags Blick
. I’ll need you near all day in case of an emergency, you know.”

“Yes,” said Luisa, not looking at Renate. There went her Sunday, her day off by right. There went any chance of seeing Rickie or Dorrie. And Teddie seemed suddenly very far away.

The kiosk where she bought the
Blick
was two streets beyond Jakob’s, and on her return, she looked into the tavern. No Rickie. It was around ten-thirty.

Ursie was behind the bar at the espresso machine. “Rickie hasn’t shown up yet, Luisa. Sunday morning, y’know.”

“Tell him hello.”

“You coming back?” asked Ursie.

“Not sure. Probably not.” Luisa went out, and looking left on the pavement was delighted to see Rickie with Lulu on the lead, one street away. “Hi, Rickie!”

“Good—morning, dear Luisa. And how did your evening finish?”

Luisa laughed nervously. “Got to hurry home with this.”

She indicated the newspaper under her arm. “Well—Dorrie was in my room a few seconds last night, just taking a look at it, and Renate barged in. You’d have thought Dorrie was a robber! Renate made a big scene and after Dorrie left, Renate pretended— Anyway, she thinks there’s something the matter with her
eye
now. A torn retina. I don’t think anything’s the matter with it.”

Rickie gave a laugh. “I can imagine
that
scene. Dorrie in your room!”

“Rickie, I’ve got to go. I’m the nurse today, meals in bed. She’s going to the eye doctor tomorrow.”

“
Schönen Sonntag!
”

Luisa walked toward home, toward the new chill that was settling into the apartment. She sensed something worse to come, something heavy, indescribable, and more important than even Dorrie.