Sins of Omission (26 page)

“Yes, today, but I am uncertain of the time. How is he?”

“Not good; I'll stop back around noon.” The old man shook his head and with a last worried look at Bebe left the château.

Outside in his car he blessed himself. An accident? Not likely. Reuben Tarz's injury was deliberate. Yet in his one lucid moment the young man had said it was an accident, and the young lady had also said it was an accident. He would call it an accident on his medical report. What else could he do? He couldn't help but wonder what Madame Fonsard would call it.

Meanwhile, Bebe took another bath and went to bed. She slept for nine hours and woke once when the doctor returned before dinner.

“Madame is not back yet?” the old man queried.

“No. Is something wrong, Doctor?”

“The young man is running a dangerously high fever. I've been with him the past hour. My medication is not working. He should be watched all the time. He should be in a hospital,” the doctor insisted, shrugging into his coat.

“Then that's what you should do. You should take him to the hospital,” Bebe said. She began to walk with him to his car.

“It is so far. I have other patients, one due to deliver a baby almost any second now.”

“Then I guess he has to stay here. I can sit and watch him. What am I to watch for?”

As the doctor began to issue instructions to Bebe, Mickey pulled up the drive in the Citroën. She stopped outside the barn when she saw Bebe and the doctor standing beside his car. The two of them stopped talking when they saw her, and with an ugly sense of foreboding, she jumped out of the Citroën and hurried over. When she heard Reuben's name she dropped her purse. It was then that she saw one diamond teardrop earring lying near the fetid reddish-brown stain on the barn floor.

 

All life and color drained from Mickey's face when she stared down at Reuben.

He was on his way to the hospital in Avignon. It was Bebe who comforted her and offered to go along with her to the hospital. It was Bebe who handed her handkerchief after handkerchief, just the way Clovis Ames had done in
Good-bye, My Love.

Reuben Tarz lay in critical condition, hovering between life and death, the day Bebe boarded the ship in Brest that would take her to England.

 

Although Mickey had made her promise to tell Daniel the moment she arrived in Paris, it was at the depot, while waiting for the boat train, that Bebe finally told him of Reuben's condition and how it had happened. She drew back in alarm at Daniel's incredulous expression. “You waited till now to tell me Reuben might be dying! For three hours we've laughed and joked, and you never…What kind of evil person are you?” he demanded in a hoarse voice.

“Evil?
Evil!
” Bebe shrilled. “What about me? Before you get so damn self-righteous, maybe you should give some thought to what happened to
me.
Look at me, Daniel, take a good, long look. Reuben took the one thing I had to give. To
give,
Daniel. He stripped that away from me. I could have killed him, but I didn't. He's not going to die, his kind never does. And as far as Mickey is concerned, Reuben was careless and fell on a pitchfork. She never needs to know what really happened. He was already in bed and being seen to by the doctor when she got back. She's blaming herself for leaving him because she knew he was angry. I told her it wasn't her fault. I did my best to convince her, but she just kept saying over and over that if she hadn't gone or if she had taken him with her, it wouldn't have happened. I called the doctor. I didn't have to do that. I could have let him lie there and die, but I'm not the monster you're making me out to be. Reuben himself told the doctor in the first few minutes that it was an accident. You just remember one thing, Daniel, and don't you ever forget it: I protected Reuben. I thought you were different, but you're not. You're like all the rest—you don't give a damn about me!” Bebe cried bitterly.

“Oh, two last things,” she said, reaching into her purse to withdraw an envelope and a single piece of paper. “There's money in the envelope for train fare back to the château, and I need you to sign this at the bottom.”

Daniel scribbled his name without looking at the paper. “What is it?” he muttered after handing it back to her.

Bebe smiled and secured the paper in her purse. “The contract you drew up. The one where we bet I could get Reuben to sleep with me. You owe me, Daniel. Someday I'm going to want to collect.”

With a last wave of her hand she tripped up the steps to board the train. After taking a full minute to compose herself, she waved with one hand while she dabbed at her eyes with a small white handkerchief. A cloud of steamy vapor floated in front of her, momentarily blocking Daniel from view. The train whistle shrilled as she murmured, “Cut! You couldn't have done it any better, Clovis.”

She settled herself in her compartment. They'd all meet again, she'd see to it. “Good-bye, Daniel, good-bye, Mickey, au revoir, Reuben my love,” she said. Five minutes later she was engrossed in a trashy magazine.

Daniel seethed with anger, his body shaking from head to toe. He wanted to direct his anger at Bebe, but she'd made a certain amount of sense, if what she said was true. And he couldn't direct it at Reuben if he was dying. When he had himself under control, he rushed back to the Paris house and threw whatever was at hand into his valise. Then he rushed back to the depot and waited four hours for a train that would take him to Avignon. To Reuben.

He hated the sight and the silence of the sterile hospital. He had thought he'd never have to enter another one and here he was, once again—as a visitor, true, but it made no difference; he still hated the smell, the whiteness, and the nurses' hushed whispers as they walked about on rubber-soled shoes.

Daniel saw Mickey before she saw him. She was sitting quietly, a rosary in her hand, her lips moving in prayer. She sensed his presence and turned. Her eyes filled immediately at the sight of him, and she floated into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder. Her tears gave way to hard, driving sobs. Daniel could feel his own eyes start to mist. “Shhh, it's going to be all right. Reuben's tough, he came through the war and he'll come through this, too.” His hands felt awkward as he tried to pat Mickey on the back and stroke her hair at the same time. When she quieted they sat down together.

“This is all my fault, Daniel,” she said, twisting her hands nervously. “I never should have gone to Dijon. I knew he was angry and I delayed…thinking he'd come outside to see me off. But he didn't. I've never understood how deep his anger goes. We all get angry at one time or another, but not the kind of anger Reuben carries. I never thought…never expected that anger to be directed at me. I should never have gone. If I'd stayed, this wouldn't have happened. How can I live with this? What if he dies? It will be my fault. How could I have been so stupid? I don't know what to do…I need to do something…something to make a difference. There's nothing…nothing either of us can do. I know that, I'm talking to hear myself. Wait and pray. Pray and wait. If he dies…”

“I don't want to hear you say that ever again. Reuben is not going to die. He's too…young,” Daniel said lamely. He remembered Bebe's words:
His kind never dies.
He wondered if it was true.

“I want to see him,” Daniel said firmly. “I want him to know I'm here. Where is he?”

Mickey shook her head. “He's delirious. He didn't recognize me. Don't torture yourself. Why do you think I'm sitting out here? I can't bear to…Go, I understand.”

Nothing in the world could have prepared Daniel for his first look at Reuben. He was white as death and just as still. His skin looked dry and parched. Daniel reached out a steady hand and placed it on Reuben's forehead, then brought his hand back to his own cheek, feeling the heat. A high fever.

He pulled a white cane chair to the side of the bed, perched on the edge of it, and reached for Reuben's hand. How hot it was, how dry. He swallowed hard. “I don't know if you can hear me, Reuben, and I guess it doesn't matter. I'm here and so is Mickey. She's praying for you. If you could hear, I think you'd probably laugh. But she needs to do it—to pray, I mean. I think it's nice that someone cares enough to pray to God for your recovery. You're going to get better, pal, I know it. Hell, we went through the war, and something like this just isn't in the cards for you. We have things to do, places to go—”

He broke off, choking back his tears. “Can you hear me, pal? Can you give me some kind of sign? You know, flutter your eyelashes, move your finger, anything so I know that you know I'm here,” Daniel pleaded. Reuben stirred, his dark head moving from side to side, his lips twisting. Horror filled Daniel at his friend's condition. He ran to the door and motioned for Mickey to join him. “I think he's trying to say something. I think he heard me talk to him. He knows I'm here, I'm sure of it. Did you try talking to him, Mickey? Did he react to you?” Daniel asked hopefully.

Mickey placed a gentle hand on Daniel's arm. “He's delirious, Daniel. I…when I tried to talk, to tell him I was here, he seemed to…I think it upsets him more. When I simply watched from the doorway, he remained quiet. I…can't bear to see him like this, Daniel. Come, we'll wait outside.”

“I don't understand how our presence could upset him. If there's any possibility that he can hear us, know we're here, that should give him comfort. He loves you, Mickey, and he and I are friends. I don't understand.” Of course, he understood only too well, but he couldn't say anything to Mickey. He wished then that he was as ignorant of Reuben's accident as Mickey was. Bebe hadn't sworn him to secrecy; he could tell Mickey what had happened. But if he did, it would be to unload his conscience, and the knowledge would destroy Mickey. For now he had to keep his own counsel.

Mickey reached down to brush Reuben's dark hair back from his forehead, her face filled with sorrow. Reuben's hand lashed upward, brushing her hand away. He muttered something Daniel couldn't understand. Mickey stepped away, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Mickey!” The agonized, passionate cry from Reuben's lips drew her backward until she was once again at his bedside. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached for the hand that caressed her so often.

“Help me, Dan'l, help me!” came the second cry as Reuben thrashed about the bed. For one terrifying instant Daniel's heart stopped beating. He'd never heard such agony in a voice before.

“I'm here, Reuben,” he said, trying to sound calm. “I'll help you. I'll do whatever I can. It's my turn now, to help you. Hey, pal, we're the Three Muskeeteers, one for all, you know. I'll help.”
Even if it means keeping your awful secret. I know there's more to it than Bebe said. I know you, pal.

A nurse appeared, her uniform crackling about her ankles. Gently she shooed Mickey and Daniel to the foot of Reuben's bed while she attempted to take her patient's temperature. Daniel watched helplessly as Reuben fought the nurse, his movements frenzied. He was shouting now, the words almost incoherent, but Daniel knew what was coming, he could see it in Reuben's twisted features. “You bitch! I'll kill you for this!…Getaway…no…Don't…Jesus…please…No! Oh, God…Bebe, no!”

Daniel rushed to Mickey, who was leaning her forehead against the door. His arm about Mickey's shoulders, he led her from the room to the small waiting area.

Daniel Bishop entered manhood in the space of time it took him to lead Mickey to her chair. “As you said, Mickey, he's delirious.” How calm his voice was, how matter-of-fact. “Reuben called your name and mine, too. He asked for help and…I heard the love in his voice when he called your name. As for Bebe, we've known for a long time how he feels about her. I understand he's confused and doesn't know what he's saying. I think we should go outside and get some fresh air, perhaps take a walk. There's nothing we can do for now.”

Mickey looked up into Daniel's eyes. For a moment she felt baffled at the change in him. He'd rushed in like a tormented boy and now he stood so calmly before her, a tall, lean young man with kind, compassionate eyes. She clung to him as they left the hospital to walk around the grounds.

They stopped to rest once on a low stone wall. Daniel stared off into the distance, wondering if Bebe's ship had made port. Why had she told him the sordid little story? For sympathy or out of malice? He thought he knew her, understood her, but this…Once again Reuben's words rang in his ears.
No, Bebe, no!
Bebe's calm, matter-of-fact voice telling him Reuben had stripped away her virginity. The bet. The goddamn bet! He'd actually signed the stupid paper, but he'd been in a daze and Bebe had taken advantage of his befuddled state. Bebe was an expert at taking advantage of people. More than ever, Daniel was convinced that somehow, in some way, she had been responsible for the rape—if there really had been a rape.

“What was he doing in the barn, Daniel?” He jerked his thoughts back to the present when he realized Mickey was speaking.

“There was no hay to be pitched. The manure hadn't been disturbed. Reuben is not clumsy. I simply do not understand. What do you think he was doing with a pitchfork?”

“Probably cleaning up the barn, working off his energy until you got back. Reuben…when Reuben gets angry he does that so he doesn't dwell on…whatever it is that…that made his anger…I don't know, Mickey. When he's well—and he will get well—he'll tell us.” What was it he was going to owe Bebe Rosen? How quickly she'd snatched the ridiculous agreement from his hands. No, it wasn't ridiculous, it was deadly, and it would hang over his head until she called in her favor. Bebe had succeeded in driving a wedge between the Muskeeteers because she couldn't belong. What Bebe couldn't have, she destroyed. Still, he couldn't hate her. If anything, he pitied her. If he could pity her instead of hating her, it would be easier to deal with the debt he owed her.

“Perhaps you're right, Daniel. But I have this feeling…this awful emptiness in me. I feel what we had…the three of us…is over. Why do I feel this way? Do you feel it, too? Are we lost?”

He supposed he could have lied, but he couldn't do that to Mickey. He nodded.

“I have this awful feeling,” Mickey said sadly, “that Bebe is somehow responsible. Do you feel that, too?” Again Daniel nodded.

Back in the little hospital anteroom, Mickey and Daniel settled themselves for the long wait ahead.

Day after weary day passed. One week led into the next, and still the Two Muskeeteers kept their vigil. Both were haggard and drawn, yet neither would leave the hospital except to eat and change clothes for fear Reuben would either rally or slip into a coma. It was during one of their brief absences that Reuben became coherent for the first time. The nurse, a kind-faced older woman, raced to fetch the doctor.

“You're in capable hands, Mr. Tarz,” the doctor said quietly. Reuben thrashed about in the bed, his entire body drenched with sweat. As the doctor continued to speak softly, the nurse reached for Reuben's hand and held it tightly in her own. She echoed the doctor's words, her voice gentle and motherly.

“I want you to open your eyes, Mr. Tarz, and look at me. Do it now,” the doctor ordered in a firm, quiet voice. He nodded approval when Reuben's eyes fluttered open. “Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened to you?”

Reuben struggled from the black vaporous pit he'd been sunk in for so long. He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to fill the whole of his mouth. The nurse wiped a moist cloth over his lips. “No,” he said hoarsely.

The doctor's voice turned cheerful. “I didn't think you would, at least not right away. It's all right, take your time. You've been here a month now. You injured yourself in a barn with a pitchfork that had manure on it. We've bombarded your body with everything at our disposal. I'm not making light of your injury, Mr. Tarz. You've been very ill, but I think you will mend. It's going to take time, however. I also think you should know that Madame Fonsard and your friend Daniel have been here since the day you were brought in. They leave only to eat and change clothes. They've been staying at a pension not far from here. You have wonderful, caring friends, Mr. Tarz, whose only wish is for your recovery. Nurse is going to feed you some broth now, and later, if you're up to it, you can visit with your friends. I'll be back to check on you later this afternoon. In the meantime, rest.”

Reuben gagged on the first spoonful of broth. The nurse wiped his chin and tried again. From somewhere his mind ordered him to swallow, to eat, so he could regain his strength. He wanted to think, but opening his mouth and swallowing drained all his energy.

When the nurse returned to her chair in the corner of the room, Reuben lay back exhausted, perspiration beading on his forehead. He tried to wipe the sweat away, but he was too weak, his thoughts cloudy and disoriented. The broth he'd taken was bubbling around in his stomach. He wondered if he would die. He moved restlessly, his body sticking to the damp sheets. He was in Paris standing under a blooming chestnut tree, seeing a girl in a pretty, flowered dress walk by, and then he was paddling his feet in the Seine with someone whose shoes were too big. He felt himself slipping into black, murky water. “No. no. Don't do it!” he cried feverishly, his head spinning, spinning. “No!” He fought then, with the bedsheets and the nurse's firm hands. “She should have killed me. I thought she…Help me…” The water was pulling at him, the oversize shoes in his hands pulling him under, deeper and deeper.

“Come back, Mr. Tarz, come back and talk to me,” ordered the kindly nurse. “Now. You're dreaming, and the dream is over. Talk to me, Mr. Tarz. Tell me about Daniel. I want to hear about your friend. I want to hear now.”

From far away, past the murky black water full of overhead bubbles, Reuben heard the authoritative voice and struggled to obey. “Daniel…Daniel…Daniel…Yes, Daniel…my friend,” he murmured as he broke the surface of the black water.

“Yes, tell me about Daniel.” The old nurse sighed.

He was lucid then, and coherent. He spoke of Daniel until his tongue failed him. The nurse relaxed her hold on his hand, but she didn't leave his side. Instead, she spoke quietly, explaining about his accident. He was lucky to be alive, she told him.

Reuben listened, reliving the scene firsthand as the nurse described what she'd been told. He swore he felt the cold hand of death touch his shoulder at that moment. It all came back to him then—his own voice, Bebe's screams, the pain of the pitchfork going into his groin, his drunkenness, the old doctor's disbelieving face. The pain, God, the pain. The same pain he was feeling now. A month, she'd said, this woman in white. Daniel, where was Daniel? And Mickey. He'd betrayed Mickey. Reuben could feel his eyes roll back in his head and he panicked, thrashing about in the bed. The fever was sweeping through him, starting in his loins, fanning out to cover every inch of his body until he would explode into thousands of pieces of burned flesh. He'd seen that once, a body exploding, the flesh plummeting down on Daniel. Who would pick up his pieces?

Ah, that feels good, he thought as the nurse placed a wet cloth on his forehead and one around his neck. “I need to hear more,” she said in that same school teacherish voice, the one every child had to obey. “I want to hear about Madame Fonsard, too. You call her Mickey. You must tell me now. Don't go to sleep, Mr. Tarz. You must tell me about Mickey and Daniel. Jake misses you, Daniel told me. Who is Jake, Mr. Tarz?”