Bamboo and Blood (22 page)

“True, no one will miss you.”

It was a challenge of sorts, but Mr. Roh was a puppy and I didn’t have time to deal with small dogs. “I’ve got other things to do,” I said. Going to the reception might be the opportunity I needed to pass the message, but then again, probably not. There would be no chance to speak alone to anyone on the American delegation, and I couldn’t very well stand at the table with the little plate of grapes and pass a note saying, “We’re crazy and will go even more nuts if you don’t give us food.” As far as I could tell, Sohn had been right about one thing. There didn’t seem to be any danger of the talks succeeding, even if they lasted several more days. A lot of fixed stares across the table, an occasional frown, and then break for lunch, or coffee, or a trip to the bathroom. During lunch, I could write another report for Sohn. Before that, I needed to take a stroll. First things first. Geneva was boring, but at least there was plenty of air.

I set out down the narrow street in front of the mission, heading to the main road that ran beside the lake. A few reporters camped outside the gate looked up when I walked by. One of them shouted a question in Japanese and the others laughed, but no one followed me. When I reached the lake, I turned and walked along the shore in the direction of town. It would have been nice just to walk without thinking about anything, but you can’t think about nothing if that’s what you want to do. Things started slipping over the barriers and pretty soon they were running through my mind. At the front of the pack was my brother’s appearance. That disturbed me most of all. There wasn’t much doubt that he and Sohn despised each other. I didn’t care if they tore each other to shreds, but I wanted to be on another continent when they did it. I never believed anything my brother said, but he was probably right about one thing—Sohn must have known we’d run across each other in Geneva. My brother was a shark; that made me, in Sohn’s eyes, a tasty bit of chum. Maybe this whole story about passing a message to the
Americans was fantasy, and the real purpose of my being sent here was to get my brother to lunge at a barbed hook. Sohn seemed to have something to do with the Israelis. My brother was selling missiles. Here we were again—another tab A and slot B.

When I arrived at the statue of the naked lady, I stopped and looked up. Her backside faced the park. I took that as a sign and crossed the street. The park looked quiet, a good place to sit and think. Unlike the trees along the streets, the ones in the park were allowed to grow. The setting wasn’t what you would call wild. There was a plan to it; the paths wandered in a convincingly natural way, as they were meant to. Halfway up the long slope leading to a large house, there was an enormous plane tree towering above everything else, as if all the energy of the plane trees outside, the ones whose tops had been lopped off and had been forced to grow low and squat, had concentrated into this one tree. Across the lawn, there were big oaks, big maples—it was just the sort of place my grandfather would have wanted to come for an October afternoon, when the sky was blue and the first leaves, the eager ones that did not want to wait, had begun to turn. But it wasn’t October, it was mid-February and cold. Past an enormous pine tree with branches that grew just barely above the ground, I found a bench that looked out in the distance to the lake and, much nearer, a rose garden. When I sat down, I let my eyes take a slow tour around. No one seemed to be following me. M. Beret’s people were somewhere nearby, but for once they stayed out of sight.

On the far side of the lake, low clouds obscured the tops of the hills. They weren’t much to look at anyway. A signboard next to the bench said that farther inside the park were Roman ruins. I didn’t want to see ruins. I didn’t want to think about ruins. Suddenly, it was lonely in the park, and I didn’t want to be there. I walked back down the hill to the street. The clouds had rolled in, and it was starting to rain.

Halfway across one of the bridges that joined the two sections of the city, I stopped and looked down into the water. Footsteps came up beside me. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain guests. The rain had become serious, a winter rain that kept itself just this side of snow.

“Thinking of climbing over the side?” The Man with Three Fingers had turned so his back was against the railing. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Well, if it isn’t the Mexican Jumping Bean. Did you buy yourself a watch yet, or are you late for your next appointment?”

“No, I’m right on time. Right place, right time. And you, Inspector? Everything squared away?” He put the collar up on his coat. “You should check the weather forecast before you go out on these walks of yours. You’re not dressed for this.”

“I tell you what.” I made a show of going through my pockets as the water streamed down my face. “How about I give you a detailed itinerary of my plans for the next several days? That way you won’t have to hang around out in bad weather, shadowing me. You can just pick a spot and I’ll be there, right on time. Twice a day should do it, don’t you think? Shall we set that as the goal?”

“Goal? Inspector, my goal isn’t to see you twice a day. It’s not to see you at all, ever.”

“And you think that’s doable?”

“Oh, it’s doable, alright. Just a question of time.” He pushed himself away from the railing and brushed against me. “Well, take it easy, comrade. Buy a hat or something. Green felt is on sale this time of year. See you around.”

He walked back in the direction I had come, toward the mission. I waited until he was out of sight. I was already so wet, it didn’t make any sense to hurry. There was a café open just at the end of the bridge. It looked quiet enough. The coffee had just been set in front of me when M. Beret sat down at the next table. He had a large umbrella, which he hung on the back of his chair. “A good afternoon to you, Inspector. You look a little damp. Go ahead and drink something hot. Do you take sugar in your coffee? Of course you do, one spoonful, then you stir it slowly, counterclockwise. Usually five times, six if you are feeling pensive. You don’t drink espresso. Well, once you did, but after a single sip you made a face, a very funny face, and left the rest of the cup. Brioche?” He took a croissant from his pocket and tore it in half.

“That’s not a brioche. I know the difference.”

M. Beret laughed. “Good for you, Inspector. Those talks, the ones that make your eyes glaze over, are almost wrapped up, I hear. Whatever you came to do, you’ll have to hurry because it seems that so far, you’ve gotten nothing done.” He pointed a finger at me. “If the talks
end, then what? What is your final report going to look like? All those miles, all that travel money, all for nothing? Perhaps I could help. Should we conspire? Eh?”

I stirred my coffee, three times. “Is your service so short of things to do that the chief has time to follow me around personally? Nothing more important?”

“Three times, unusual, must be when you are agitated. Or wet.” He took out a notebook and wrote something down. “It’s not that I’m meticulous in all things, Inspector. But I want to take you apart like a Swiss watch, lay out all the pieces and examine them. Tick tock tick tock. What makes your machinery work? Things are grim at home these days, I take it. Tick tock tick tock. Pretty soon these talks you’re in will end, and you’ll be ordered back to your fatherland. Tick tock tick tock. What then?”

I took off my watch and dropped it in the coffee. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” I said and walked out. The gesture made me feel good for a couple of minutes, but then I wished I had drunk the coffee. It had started to snow.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, trying to warm up. When I called the mission to find out whether we were on schedule for the afternoon session, they told me the “instructions” hadn’t arrived yet and everything was postponed until tomorrow. I could almost hear M. Beret’s listeners scratching notes on a pad: “Instructions late.” The delayed arrival of nonexistent diplomatic traffic suited me. About three o’clock the maid knocked at the door, but I told her to go away. I kept the curtains shut, though it didn’t much matter, there wasn’t any sun anyway. Shortly before dusk the snow stopped. It drizzled for a few minutes, but then the clouds decided to call it a day and drifted off toward France. When night fell, I put on my shoes and went down the stairs to the tiny lobby. The girl behind the desk looked up. “Are you sick?”

“No. I need another bar of soap. The little one you gave me has dissolved.”

“You were in your room all afternoon. Maybe you feel sick.”

“No, I feel fine.”

“Because if you are sick, we might have to get a doctor. I hope you don’t have one of those Asian flu bugs.”

“Thank you for your concern.”

“Because if you do have one of those Asian bugs, we’ll have to clean everything in your room, and for that we’ll have to pay the maid extra. She’s Romanian, and she knows the law. It could be quite a bother.” I left before she could spin out the rest of the complaint.

This time my brother was waiting for me in the darkness. “There’s a bench down the way, where the street bends. We can sit and talk, probably for about five minutes before the Swiss show up. That will be long enough if you don’t interrupt me.”

“Good, let’s get it over with. Maybe we won’t have to see each other again.”

It was a quiet street, but then again, they were all quiet. The bench sat by itself in a small park, about thirty meters from the nearest house. The paving stones were uneven in places, but mostly the place was tidy and well kept; but then, so was almost everything in Geneva.

The night mist was just settling through the trees when I heard a car stop; the engine wheezed before it died. My brother appeared and sat down, frowning. “We don’t have five minutes after all. We have two minutes. Check your watch.”

“I’m listening.”

“You have been sent here by people who no longer enjoy the confidence of the Center. Your mission is terminated.”

“I’m still listening.”

“Don’t think you can ignore me on this. The talks will be broken off by the end of this week. You should return home before that. Am I clear?”

“As always.”

A car door creaked. It was hard to tell how far away it was.

“My advice is that you leave immediately. Take a train tomorrow to Berlin. The embassy there will have further instructions for your return. If the Swiss ask any questions, tell them one of your relatives died.”

“Of what?”

He paused and then stood up. “Don’t forget what I said. You’re not bamboo. You’ll bleed.”

“If I don’t starve first, you mean.”

“No, first you’ll bleed. Someone is out here in this city to make sure of that. I don’t know who, exactly. I can only guess why.” As footsteps came up the hill, my brother crossed the street and disappeared.

M. Beret looked disappointed when he came close enough for me to see his face. “A pity, I wanted a picture of the two of you together.” He pointed a small flashlight down the street and clicked it on and off once. “Family portraits are always precious when we get older, don’t you think, Inspector?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like chatting. I’m soaked to the skin from this damp air. It’s the second time today I’ve been soaked, and there isn’t a lot of heat in my hotel room. Not much soap, either. Do you know they gave me one little bar and want it to last the entire week? I thought the West was supposed to be overflowing with creature comforts.”

M. Beret’s laughter bounced across the paving stones. A light went on in the closest house; someone opened the window and shouted. M. Beret stood up and shouted back.

“That sounded rude,” I said.

“The old man told me to be quiet or he would call the police.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I was the police.” M. Beret reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll. “Hungry?”

“Yes, actually. I haven’t eaten all day. But then why tell you that? You already know.”

“Annoying, isn’t it, Inspector? I should think you’d be used to it, where you come from.”

“Hunger?”

“No, being watched.”

“Believe me, we’d never approach anything like what you’re doing. Much too much trouble. Eats up manpower. Not really necessary, anyway. No one could actually get lost for very long where I come from, at least, that’s how it used to be.”

“Now?”

“Changing circumstances, you might say. New winds blowing.”

“True enough, following someone is a lot of work. Easier just to bring them in, I suppose.” He was thoughtful. Then he remembered the roll in his hand; he tore it in half. “Don’t ever let it be said we Swiss are not hospitable, soap notwithstanding. I don’t want you to have a bad impression of my country, Inspector. I just don’t want you ever to come back.” He took a small bite. “I could order you out, but that would cause a diplomatic incident. Besides, then I’d be forced to order the whole pack out. We’d have to rent a bus or something.” He reached into another pocket and pulled out my watch. He thumped the face once, held it up to his ear, and then handed it to me. “You forgot this. It’s waterproof, but it isn’t Swiss. It’s counterfeit.”

“Surprise,” I said.

“Why don’t you go across the border into France? Or Italy? Then we could deny you reentry.”

“I don’t think I want to do that.”

“No, I didn’t suppose you would. Incidentally, your mission is looking for you.” He watched me put the half of the roll in my pocket. “Saving that for later?”

“Since when does the mission use you to pass phone messages?”

“If they don’t start paying their phone bill, they’ll have to use semaphores.” He unzipped a small bag he was carrying over his shoulder and took out a book. “I bought something for you. It’s in English, I hope you don’t mind.”

I took the book and read the title aloud.
“The Great Depression
.”