Garden of Eden (29 page)

"Good,"
said David. "Take it as easy as you can. Sleep at Nimes the first night
unless you get off early. They know us at the Imperator."

"I
thought I'd get to Carcassonne."

"No,
Devil, please."

"Perhaps
I can get off early and make Carcassonne. I'd go by Aries and Montpellier and
not lose time by Nimes."

"If
you get off late stop at Nîmes."

"It
seems so babyish," she said.

"I'll
drive with you," he said. "I should."

"No,
please. It's important that I do this by myself. It really is. I wouldn't have
you."

"All
right," he said. "But I ought to go."

"Please
don't. You must have confidence in me, David. I'll drive carefully and I'll
drive it right straight through."

"You
couldn't, Devil. It gets dark early now.

"You
mustn't worry. You're sweet to let me go," Catherine said. "But you
always did. If I did anything I shouldn't I hope you can forgive me. I'll miss
you terribly. I miss you already. Next time we'll drive it together."
"You've had a very busy day," David said. "You're tired. At
least let me run your Bugatti down to town and back and give it a check."
He stopped at Marita's door and said, "Do you want to go for a ride?"
"Yes," she said. "Come on then," he told her.

DAVID
GOT INTO THE CAR and Marita climbed in beside him and he put the car at a
stretch of road where the sand drifted across from the beach and then throttled
back and held it in, watching the papyrus grass ahead on his left and the empty
beach and the sea on his right as he saw the black road ahead. He put the car
at the road again until he saw the white painted bridge coming at him fast then
held his speed as he calculated the distance, raised his foot from the throttle
and pumped the brakes gently. She was steady and lost momentum at each pump
with no devia tion and no binding. He brought the car to a stop before the
bridge, downshifted and then put her at the road again in a rising disciplined snarl
along the N.6 to Cannes. "She burned them all," he said. "Oh
David," Marita said and they drove on into Cannes where the lights were on
now and David stopped the car under the trees in front of the cafe where they
had first met. "Wouldn't you rather go somewhere else?" Marita asked.
"I don't care," David said. "It doesn't make a hell of a lot of
difference."

"If
you'd rather just drive," Marita offered. "No. I'd rather cool
out," David said. "I just wanted to see if the car was in shape for
her to drive it." "She's going?" "She says so." They
were sitting at the table on the terrace in the dappled shadow of the leaves of
the trees. The waiter had brought Marita a Tio Pepe and David a whiskey and
Perrier. "Do you want me to go with her?" Marita said. "You
don't really think anything will happen to her?" "No, David. I think
she's done her damage for a while." "Could be," David said.
"She burned every fucking thing except the narrative. The stuff about
her." "It's a wonderful narrative," Marita said. "Don't
buck me up," David said. "I wrote it and I wrote what she burned.
Don't give me the stuff they feed the troops." "You can write them
again." "No," David told her. "When it's right you can't
remember. Every time you read it again it comes as a great and unbelievable
surprise. You can't believe you did it. When it's once right you never can do
it again. You only do it once for each thing. And you're only allowed so many
in your life." "So many what?" "So many good ones."
"But you can remember them. You must." "Not me and not you and
not anybody. They're gone. Once I get them right they're gone." "She
was wicked to you." "No," David said. "What then?"
"Hurried," David said. "Everything today was because she was
hurried really." "I hope you'll be as kind to me." "You
just stay around and help me not to kill her. You know what she's going to do
don't you? She's going to pay me for the stories so that I won't lose
anything." "No." "Yes she is. She's going to have her
lawyers have them appraised in some fantastic Rube Goldberg manner and then
she's going to pay me double the appraisal price." "Truly, David, she
didn't say that." "She said it and it's infinitely sound. Only the
details need working out and what's more the doubling of the appraisal or
whatever makes it generous and gives her pleasure." "You can't let
her drive alone, David." "I know it." "What are you going
to do?" "I don't know. But let's sit here for a little while,"
David said. "There isn't any hurry now. I think she's probably tired and
gone to sleep. I'd like to go to sleep too, with you, and wake up and find the
stuff all there and not gone and go to work again." "We will sleep
and someday when you wake up you'll work as wonderfully as you did this
morning." "You're awfully good," David said. "But you
certainly got into a fine lot of trouble when you came in here that night,
didn't you?"

"Don't
try to put me outside," Marita said. "I know what I got into."
"Sure," said David. "We both know. Do you want another
drink?" "If you do," Marita said and then, "I didn't know
it was a battle when I came." "Neither did I." "With you
it's really only you against time. "Not the time that's Catherine's."
"Only because her time is different. She's panicked by it. You said
tonight that all of today was only hurry. That wasn't true but it was
perceptive. And you won so well over time for so long."

Very
much later he called for the waiter and paid for the drinks and left a good tip
and he had started the car and put on the lights and was letting out the clutch
when what had really happened came back to him again. It was back as clear and
unblurred as when he had first looked into the trash burner and seen the ashes
that had been stirred by the broomstick. He pushed his headlights carefully out
through the quiet and empty evening of the town and followed them along the
port onto the road. He felt Marita's shoulder by him and heard her say, "I
know, David. It hit me too."

"Don't
let it."

"I'm
glad it did. There's nothing to do but we'll do it."

"Good."

"We'll
really do it. Toi et moi."

AT
THE HOTEL Madame came in from the kitchen when David and Marita came into the
main room. She had a letter in her hand. "Madame took the train for
Biarritz," she said. "She left this letter for Monsieur." 'When
did she go?" David asked. "Immediately after Monsieur and Madame
left," Madame Aurol said. "She sent the boy to the station for the
ticket and to reserve a wagon-lit." David began reading the letter. 'What
would you eat?" Madame said. "Some cold chicken and a salad? An
omelette to start. There's lamb too if Monsieur would rather. What would he
like, Madame?" Marita and Madame Aurol were talking together and David
finished reading the letter. He put it in his pocket and looked at Madame
Aurol. "Did she seem herself when she left?" "Perhaps not,
Monsieur." "She'll be back," David said. "Yes,
Monsieur."

"We
will take good care of her."

"Yes,
Monsieur." She began to cry a little as she turned the omelette and David
put his arm around her and kissed her. "Go and talk to Madame," she
said, "and let me set the table. Aurol and the boy are at Napoule, mixing
belote and politics."

"I'll
set it," Marita said. "Open the wine, David, please. Don't you think
we should have a bottle of the Lanson?"

He
closed the door of the ice chest and holding the cold bottle untwisted the seal
and loosened the wire and then carefully moved the cork between his thumb and
first finger feeling the pinch of metal cap against his thumb and the long cold
rounded promise of the bottle. He brought the cork out gently and poured three
glasses full. Madame stood back from the stove with her glass and they all
raised their glasses. David did not know what to drink to so he said the first
words that came which were, "Á nous et á la liberté."

They
all drank and then Madame served the omelette and they all drank again without
making a toast.

"Eat,
David, please," Marita said.

"All
right," he said and drank some of the wine and ate some of the omelette
slowly.

"Just
eat a little," Marita said. "It will be good for you."

Madame
looked at Marita and shook her head. "Nothing is helped by your not
eating," Madame told him.

"Sure,"
said David and ate slowly and carefully and drank the champagne that was born
new each time he poured a glass.

"Where
did she leave the car?" he asked.

"At
the station," Madame said. "The boy rode down with her. He brought
back the key. It's in your room.

'Was
the wagon-lit crowded?"

"No.
He put her aboard. There were very few passengers. She will have a place."

"It's
not a bad train," David said.

"Eat
some chicken," Madame said, "and drink some more wine. Open another
bottle. Your women are thirsty too."

"I'm
not thirsty," Marita said.

"Yes,
you are," Madame said. "Drink up now and take a bottle with you. I
know this one. It's good for him to drink good wine."

"I
don't want to drink too much, chérie," David said to Madame. "Because
tomorrow is a bad day and I'd rather not feel bad too."

"You
won't. I know you. Just eat now to please me.

She
excused herself in a few minutes and was gone for a quarter of an hour. David
ate all of his chicken and the salad finally and after she had come back they
all had a glass of wine together and then David and Marita said good night to
Madame who was very formal now and went out onto the terrace and looked at the
night. They were both in a hurry and David was carrying the opened bottle of
wine in an ice bucket. He put it down on the stove and took Marita in his arms
and kissed her. They held each other close and said nothing and then David
picked up the bucket and they walked to Marita's room.

Her
bed had been made up now for two people and David put the ice bucket down on
the floor and said, "Madame."

"Yes,"
Marita said. "Naturally."

They
lay together with the night clear and cool outside and the small breeze from
the sea and Marita said, "I love you, David, and it's so sure now.

Sure,
David thought. Sure. Nothing is sure.

"All
the time before now," Marita said, "before I could sleep all night
with you I've thought and thought you wouldn't like the sort of wife who
couldn't sleep."

"What
sort of wife are you?"

"You'll
see. A happy one now."

Then
he felt it was a long time before he went to sleep but really it was not and
when he woke at the first gray light he saw Marita in the bed beside him and
was happy until he remembered what had happened. He was very careful not to
wake her but when she stirred he kissed her before he stepped out of bed. She
smiled and said, "Good morning, David," and he said, "Go back to
sleep my dearest love."

She
said, "All right," and rolled over quickly like a small animal and,
dark headed, lay curled up with her closed eyes away from the light and her
long dark shiny eyelashes against the rose brown early morning color of her
skin. David looked at her and thought how beautiful she was and how he could
see her spirit had not gone from her body when she slept. She was lovely and
her coloring and the unbelievable smoothness of her skin were almost Javanese,
he thought. He watched the coloring in her face deepen as the light grew
stronger. Then he shook his head and carrying his clothing on his left arm
opened and closed the door and went out into the new morning, walking barefoot
on the stones that were still wet with dew.