Small g (25 page)

28

A
few days passed before Rickie had a glimpse of Luisa, and that was around 10
A.M.
at Jakob’s, when she appeared with Renate—a rare sight these days. Renate often came alone.

“Wah-wah-wah,” Rickie said silently with his lips, and gestured with thumb and fingers to Luisa.
Yack!
He pointed to himself.
Call me up. Something to say
. Rickie wanted to discuss his and Dorrie’s idea for giving Renate a shock.

When the telephone rang around four that afternoon, Rickie had hopes. Renate sometimes sent Luisa out for pastry around this time. To Rickie’s surprise, his caller was Ursie.

“It’s Ruth,” said Ursie. “You know, Frau Riester? She’s been drinking a lot this afternoon.” The idea was, could Rickie help her get home?

“Of course,” Rickie said at once, and only fifteen seconds later felt rather annoyed. Pity there wasn’t another friend of Ruth’s at Jakob’s to do the favor.

Rickie explained the situation to Mathilde. Ruth lived in Rickie’s atelier building.

At Jakob’s, Rickie found Ruth gazing into space with an empty wine glass before her. At the same time he saw Luisa near the telephone booth, and she saw him.

“Rickie, I was just going to phone you!”

“Hello, my sweet! Got to see Ruth home—to my studio building. Hello, Ruth! Rickie.”

Ursie hovered. “She wouldn’t eat lunch, though I offered her a plate. It’s the anniversary of her husband’s death, she says.”

“I’ll walk you home, OK?” Was that hostility he saw in those milky eyes under the gray brows?

“Oh-h—Rickie—n-nice boy!”

Rickie grasped the hand she extended, and thought: Thank God! Up, up and away.

Luisa helped.

“You know—a year ago m’husband died,” murmured Ruth. The front of her gray dress was wet with something she’d spilled, maybe white wine. “I mean—”

“I understand,” said Rickie. He nodded at Ursie. They were going to make it. Ruth swayed, but she didn’t sag.

“Thank you, Rickie,” said Ursie, sighing with relief.

On the pavement, Rickie said, “Take some deep breaths, Ruth.”

“I’m
fine
!” said Ruth, supported under each elbow now.

“Luisa, I’m so happy to see you!” said Rickie. “Did you hear from Teddie?”

“You mean about the newspaper article, yes. He phoned. I had luck. Rather I just hung up after half a minute. Had to!”

“My husband Eric—it was a year—no, many years. It was
today
,” said Ruth.

“True. It was,” said Rickie.

“’S natural to remember—”

“Listen, Dorrie and I have an idea. Can you come in my studio for—even two minutes?”

“I’m supposed to be buying sweet rolls at L’Eclair,” said Luisa, ready to laugh at the incongruity of what she was actually doing.

Rickie said, “Almost there, Ruth. Got your key?”

She woke up a bit at the sight of the six steps up to the front door of the apartment house. Rickie and Luisa wafted her up. The key was in her purse, good. Then another aerial flight up some polished granite steps to Ruth’s door.

They left Ruth with a glass of water by her bedside table, and Ruth lying on her own double bed in her bedroom. He made sure that the window was slightly open.

Outside, they were only a couple of steps from the stairs that went down to his studio. Luisa said she had to start back now, as she was off course for L’Eclair anyway. Rickie knew.

“Look—” He began to walk back with her, slowly as he dared. “Renate—” Here he laughed. “She finds Dorrie in bed with you one night—or even early evening. Opens your room door, for instance. A shriek of horror. Renate—she’s bound to fire you. Or she may have a real heart attack!”

Luisa gave a laugh. “Dorrie’s idea?”

“Ours. You can count on me for a roof over your head—money if you need it. Philip Egli’s sister thinks her boss might take on another apprentice.”

“But Rickie—it’s so uncertain. And getting Dorrie into it—”

“I know Renate’s type. What other way is there?”

“Got to say g’bye, Rickie.” Luisa turned and trotted away.

Trotting, Rickie thought with some resentment, watching her figure grow ever smaller, trotting back toward Renate Hagnauer.

Rickie realized that Ruth’s keys were in his trouser pocket, that he’d been squeezing them while he talked with Luisa. He walked back a few steps and went down his atelier steps. His own door was locked, and he had to ring for Mathilde. “Rickie!”

She opened. “Hi. Mr. Hallauer phoned again—you know, about the aluminum spoons.”

“The aluminum spoons—”

“It’s your airplane idea.”

“Ah—right.”

“He doesn’t like the crossed spoons but he likes the spoon design you did. Wants you to phone him.”

“Ok. Just now I have to go back to Frau Riester’s—upstairs. I came away with her keys.”

Mathilde’s full red lips smiled. “I
saw
you two—with that pretty girl Luisa. What a sight! Ha-
hah
!” She slapped a thigh.

“Back in a couple of minutes.”

Rickie rang Ruth’s bell, knocked, and loudly announced himself before he used her apartment door key. Nothing had changed, Ruth seemed asleep. He went to the fridge, which to his surprise looked rather clean and tidy. He cut several cubes of cheese that looked like Tilsiter. These he put on a small plate.

“Ruth?”

She was sound asleep with mouth slightly open. So many wrinkles in her face! Horrible to grow old, he thought. And not a damn thing to do about it—except painful facelifts, of course, which soon became visible, and one got chided for that. Or an early death or suicide. Easy to see, looking at Ruth Riester’s now meaningless body, her gray hair, puckered face, why some people preferred suicide.

Rickie forced himself to remove Ruth’s shoes, dreading her waking up.

“Aw-wr—”

“Rickie, Ruth,” he whispered.

“Aw-wr—” She relapsed with closed eyes again.

Rickie found a light blanket, and covered her with it. One never knew with elderly people. Philip Egli had sounded optimistic about Luisa’s finding a slot. A couple of words about Renate had been enough to apprise Philip of the situation. “One of
those
,” Philip had said drearily. “Yes, I remember her from Jakob’s, sure.”

He left a note under Ruth’s keys:

          Couldn’t double-lock. Keep

          well, dear Ruth. Rickie.

29

T
hey chose the following Saturday night—late. Luisa was to stay at home all evening, and open the door for Dorrie at a quarter past 1
A.M.
, by which time Luisa was ninety percent sure Renate would be in bed and asleep, and if not, then absorbed in a TV program. The TV set was in Renate’s room, whose door was always closed or almost closed. Renate had announced that she wasn’t going to Jakob’s this Saturday. Luisa reasoned that even if Renate spotted them in the hall as Dorrie came in, she’d be furious enough on finding her entering the house at that hour. But better yet would be to find the two of them in bed. Luisa had after a couple of days become so used to the idea of both of them piling into her single bed, that it seemed they had rehearsed. When Luisa thought of the scene, a laugh started, but at once another thought sobered her: it was going to be a turning point. Luisa saw her life kicked upside down. She was braced for being out on the street.

Rickie as ever was an angel—so calm, so sure all would go well, that she would soon be a “free human being,” as he had said a few times.

The Saturday arrived, a sunny day—promising success, smiles, freedom, laughter, and goodwill tomorrow from her friends. Would that be? Luisa had done the shopping, using Renate’s little two-wheel trolley to roll it all back. It had taken several trips up the stairs. Renate, still resting her eye, hadn’t wanted to drive. Renate was having a leisurely morning at L’Eclair, over tea and light lemon cake that Frau Wenger claimed to have created.

That evening, Luisa studied her English, and went over at least five pages in her big book of textiles with illustrations in color, and its names of fabrics in four languages.

Nearly eleven. Renate seldom knocked or barged into her room after this hour. Luisa relaxed a little, and imagined the scene at Jakob’s now. She imagined Dorrie, behaving as usual with Rickie and others, having a beer, maybe dancing. Rickie intended to walk with Dorrie part of the way, he had told Luisa, to see if Luisa were free to open the front door for Dorrie. So at five, then ten past one, Luisa checked that Renate’s bedroom door was closed, and at thirteen minutes past, she went softly down the stairs in her slippers, slacks, and a blouse.

There was Dorrie, half visible in the dark, advancing as Luisa opened the front door. No need to signal nor to speak; Luisa led the way upstairs.

What was she to expect on the other side of the apartment door? Luisa steadily pushed it open: nothing. She took Dorrie’s hand to guide her in, released her to relock the door.

They tiptoed into Luisa’s room and shut the door. Both bent with silent laughter for a moment. A single lamp partly lit the room, and Dorrie looked round as if the room were new to her. She started removing her blue cotton jacket, still silent, glancing at Luisa.

Luisa had turned her bed down—the sheet and the light counterpane. A blue blanket lay folded across the foot of the bed. Luisa slipped out of her shoes. She felt suddenly shy, and it was like a pain, paralyzing her. Next her slacks. Dorrie was moving faster.

“Gonna keep my socks on,” Dorrie whispered. “I’m the one who’s got to leave in a hurry!”

Dorrie also kept her underpants on, but stripped on top. Luisa felt obliged to do the same.

“Got to look good on top,” said Dorrie. “That’s fine. OK?” She gestured to the bed.

Luisa got under the sheet, then Dorrie slipped in beside her.

“Good to leave the light on—don’t you think?” said Dorrie. “We’re that type, y’know, like to do it with the light on?” She struggled, but a laugh came out.

They listened for a few seconds. Nothing.

“We’ve got to make some noise,” Dorrie whispered.

“I know. I could turn my radio on.”

“Can you reach it?”

Luisa turned on her abdomen, extended an arm beyond the pillows. The radio sat on a bookcase. Classical music, and Luisa left it, rather low. She did want to hear Renate in the hall, when she came.

“Luisa—” said Dorrie, squeezing Luisa round the waist with one arm. “You don’t know how I’ve waited for this moment!”

Now Luisa laughed loudly, really shrieked.

“Shall I do it again?” Dorrie giggled. “
Ahem!
”

Silence still.

“When I think, I could’ve visited you many a night!” said Dorrie. “She
is
a sound sleeper!
Wow!
”

Silence. Then Luisa heard something in the hall.

“Luisa?” That was it, Renate.

A pause.

Dorrie, her arm round Luisa’s waist, said, “Put your arm around me. This has to look right.”

“Luisa?” The door was opening. “
Wha-at
—” It was like a scream. “
What’re
you doing here? Luisa! Get up, you—get out!”

Dorrie was out and up, dressing. “We’ll be out, don’t you worry!”

Renate’s arms flailed. “Out!
Out!
” She addressed Dorrie who was zipping her slacks.

Luisa, on her feet, grabbed her blouse.

Dorrie dodged Renate’s fists, though one blow did land on her neck.

“
What
kind of place do you think this
is
?” Renate cried. “Get out, get
out
!”

“’Bye, Luisa!” said Dorrie at the room door, and Luisa had a glimpse of Dorrie’s shining eyes and wide, amused grin before she vanished in the direction of the apartment door.

Renate was limping after her. “Human filth!
Filth!
”

When Luisa entered the hall, Renate was at the apartment door, still yelling, following Dorrie down the stairs now. The
minuterie
was on.

“
Out!—ah-h!
” That was a cry of terror.

Luisa got to the open door in time to see Renate tumbling down the stairs, bare feet visible for an instant amid the fabric of the Chinese dressing gown, and to see Dorrie’s figure in the hall below, heading for the next stairs. A loud crack and bumping sound followed: Renate’s head had struck the wall at the foot of the stairs.

“What in heaven—” cried a female voice from a door below.

Renate, a crumpled heap, lay against the wall she had hit.

Dorrie reappeared in the hall. Another neighbor opened a door.

“It’s Frau Hagnauer!”

“Knocked senseless! I’ll get a wet towel!”

A woman pulled at Renate’s arm, while a man tried to move her lower legs so she could sit up on the landing.

Luisa had descended half the steps. Someone was asking her what had happened. Renate was dead, Luisa thought; her eyes stayed half open like her mouth, her head lolled on one shoulder.

“Call a doctor!”

“An ambulance!”

“Luisa, what happened?”

Luisa glanced at Dorrie. “She followed my friend out—and she fell.”

Two men insisted over a woman’s protest in carrying Renate into an apartment, where she was carefully placed on a sofa. Someone mentioned tea.

“I’m staying with you, Luisa,” Dorrie said.

Dorrie looked white as chalk, Luisa thought, as if she were dead. Suddenly Luisa’s ears were ringing, her knees seemed to sag. A woman seized her elbow, and Luisa sat down awkwardly in an armchair. Then Dorrie poked a damp towel into her hands.

“Head down in-in-into this,” Dorrie said. “Face down, go ahead!”

There was a long doorbell ring, plus knocking. The police arrived, accompanied by a doctor.

“This has sugar. Good for you,” a woman said, handing Luisa a mug of hot tea with a spoon in it.

Dorrie held the mug for Luisa.

The other people in pajamas and dressing gowns were answering the questions of the police who had clustered at the sofa.

“Her card of identity?”

Luisa told them where it would be, in Renate’s purse in her bedroom, in her wallet there, and Luisa would have gone up herself, if Dorrie and a couple of the women hadn’t restrained her.

“I’ll get your keys, dear,” Dorrie said. “Where are they? You can’t stay here tonight.”

Sympathetic words from a couple of the women. A shocking accident! So sudden! Luisa was welcome to stay with either of them, to sleep on a spare bed. Renate had vanished from the sofa. The police took Luisa’s name, looked at her card of identity, which she had got from the wallet Dorrie had brought. One policeman asked what had happened, and both Luisa and Dorrie said that Dorrie had left the apartment, and Renate Hagnauer had started down the stairs. A neighbor could confirm this: Luisa standing outside the apartment door, and the other girl Dorrie down in the next hall, when the neighbor had opened her door and seen Renate on the landing where she had just fallen.

“She’d been shouting at someone,” the woman said. “I heard her—that’s why I opened the door.”

“Shouting?” said the officer.

“As if she were angry. Sometimes she gets angry, I know. I can hear her voice.”

Luisa swallowed tea. Then Dorrie was beside her.

“I’ve phoned. Let’s go,” Dorrie said.

“Phoned?”

“I spoke with Rickie. He told me to phone—later tonight, you know? And I locked the apartment door.”

The one policeman who remained was leaving too, and Dorrie was saying to one of the women that Luisa shouldn’t sleep in the apartment upstairs tonight, and the woman agreed.

Luisa and Dorrie were down in the street, walking, Dorrie holding Luisa’s arm. Dorrie had brought a tweed jacket of Luisa’s. Luisa’s keys were in her pocket.

“Rickie’s waiting for us at the Small g,” Dorrie said, walking faster. “Come on, do you good!”

Luisa took deep breaths of the cool night air, and saw again the shocking image of Renate’s bare feet, one small and normal, the other rather like a thick
S
—Renate’s feet seen from three meters away, motionless after the fall. “You told Rickie?”

Dorrie gripped Luisa’s hand. “No—I just said we’d be there in a couple of minutes.”

Luisa relaxed her arm. Dorrie had been partly supporting her.

“You’re OK now. Good,” Dorrie said. “Look, you sleep at my place tonight or at Rickie’s. But it’s your decision. No arguments about it with Rickie.”

“OK.”

There was Rickie with Lulu under the grapevine trestle at Jakob’s main entrance. “
Both
of you!” he said, laughing.

Dorrie glanced at Luisa. “I was thrown out, but—” Dorrie lowered her voice. “Renate fell down the stairs.” She fairly whispered the last word. “She’s dead, Rickie.”

Rickie frowned. “You’re—”

“It’s true,” Luisa said. “She fell. She was wearing a long dressing gown—tripped.”

“The police came just now,” Dorrie went on softly, though there was no one around, except a single man who came out of Jakob’s and passed them, paying them no mind.

The Small g seemed unusually quiet just then, even its lights weaker. Ursie’s voice from somewhere inside shouted, “
Ja
—OK—we are
closing
! Finish your drinks, please!”

“Dead,” Rickie said, stunned.

“Rickie, Luisa can sleep at my place tonight or yours, but now we—”

“At mine. Come on, we’ll go to mine.”

They began to walk, Lulu leading, heading for home.

“I didn’t bring my car,” Dorrie said to Rickie. “I could phone for a taxi from your place.”

“Or you stay at my place!” Rickie felt expansive, hospitable. Tonight had presented a crisis,
une vraie crise
. Renate dead, her apprentices without a master, Luisa—free of Renate! Rickie was aware that he had had a few on this special evening when Dorrie was expected to liberate Luisa, and that the reality of Renate’s demise had not sunk into his brain.

Rickie put his key into his lock. Then he switched on lights in his flat.

“Come, now we make the bed,” Rickie said, pulling back the dark blue counterpane that covered his double bed.

With three changing the sheets, the work seemed done in a trice.

“Stay with me tonight, Dorrie. It’s a very strange night.”

Dorrie nodded. “Sure, Luisa.”

Rickie was to take the sofa. “If you ladies don’t mind,” he added, “I shall be here in the morning to prepare your tea or coffee.”

Rickie poured himself a small Scotch, straight, and easily persuaded Dorrie to have the same. “You’ll sleep better,” said Rickie.

By now Dorrie had told him about Renate plunging down the stairs, just as she rounded the banister into the hall, and of hearing the terrible
crack
. Dorrie said the doctor had pronounced Renate’s neck broken. Now Rickie believed. Luisa was free, and also jobless. But tomorrow they would talk about all that.

Luisa had washed at the basin, and now she lay face down, head turned toward Dorrie in the big bed. St. Jakob’s church clock tolled one note for the half hour. Which? Rickie was out of sight in the living room. “Thank you,” Luisa said softly, not sure if Dorrie was awake or not.

“Nothing to thank me for. Go to sleep.”