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[pp. 80-83]
They could almost follow on sound alone. Burger never stopped talking nor lowered the volume of his voice. Either he was too preoccupied to do so, or he was quite convinced that the two of them were alone in the forest of pines. When he did not come into view, ahead of them on the narrow path with the shadows of the trees patterning his moving figure, he was almost always in the same position, his head bent forward and his hands thrust into his pockets.
"Wish I knew what they were saying," said Elizabeth.
"Something's happened, maybe," said Thelma.
"Can we get nearer?"
"We can try."
It wasn't quite as easy as it looked. They couldn't simply run along the path because there was always the chance that Burger or Dorothea would see them. And it wasn't too easy moving quickly through the trees themselves. Over years and years the pines had laid down a springy floor of dead needles and shed twigs that was not entirely secure to walk on. Slowly they did manage to get closer to Burger and Dorothea, but not close enough to be able to hear what was being said.
Then suddenly Burger stopped, and at the same time the two little girls stopped. Burger was still talking but much more quietly. They could see the movements of his lips but couldn't hear the sound of his voice anymore. He took hold of Dorothea and turned her to face him. He kissed her. After a moment he took his lips away from hers and looked up and down the path. Then he took her by the hand and led her off the path and into the forest. All the urgency had gone out of him. The rhythm of his movement had changed. He moved with a relaxed quality. To the little girls, watching him from some fifty yards away, it looked as if he and Dorothea had gone into some kind of slow-motion dance that led them into the shadow of the pines. They were moving away from the little girls.
"Come on," said Thelma. She had the nylon bag in her hand and her camera swung against her as she ran toward the path. Elizabeth's hair streamed behind her. They crossed the path and entered the pines on the far side of it. They stopped behind a tree and looked. Burger had his arm around Dorothea. He bent and kissed her neck, still moving up the rising ground through the trees.
The trees began to thin. A growth of brambles and stunted silver birches grew among the pines. It grew lighter. The sun penetrated the growth of trees and cast a lattice of strong shadows across the forest floor. The little girls waited, hidden behind the bulk of a tree, until Burger had disappeared from sight; then they ran forward again to some new point of vantage. They changed positions. At one moment Elizabeth was pulling Thelma forward by the hand, then Thelma was whispering, "Come on!" as Elizabeth stopped to tighten the strap of a sandal. Ahead of them lay the crest of the rise. When they approached it they went down on hands and knees and crawled forward. The pine needles stuck into their knees. Thelma dragged the nylon bag behind her. Just before they reached the ridge, Thelma opened the bag and took out the bottle of lemonade. She put the bottle to her lips and drank. She gave the bottle to Elizabeth. Their cheeks were pink with excitement and exertion. They grinned at one another. "What are they doing?" whispered Elizabeth.
At the top of the ridge they lay on their stomachs and looked down the other side. The land dropped gently away through a cover of dwarf silver birches and brambles and occasional pines. Far away it rolled upward again to another forest of black pines. Burger and Dorothea had disappeared. Thelma raised herself to a kneeling position and said, "Where've they gone?"
They got to their feet and looked down through the growth of scrub. Nothing moved. It was absolutely silent. The sun shone down from high in the sky. Burger and Dorothea had gone. Disappeared completely.
"Have you been here before?" said Elizabeth.
Thelma shook her head.
"Don't you know where they are?"
"No."
"Is there a cave or something?"
"I don't know."
"They've just disappeared."
They walked into the scrub. Gray and brown moths rose from the grass and heather, flew a yard or two, then settled again. The air hummed with other insects. Crickets leaped from their feet. It was so still, despite the natural noises. The air was so heavy. Despite the earlier rain, the ground exuded heat.
"Do you think anybody knows about this place?" said Elizabeth. Her voice was quiet because the atmosphere of the place seemed to demand it.
"I don't suppose so," said Thelma.
They stood together holding hands. Now in the open, they had put their sunglasses on. They were looking in opposite directions. Suddenly Elizabeth pointed. Thelma turned to face the great mound of brambles. A bird had risen silently out of it. From behind the mound there were whispered voices. Thelma crouched down and walked toward the thicket of brambles, still clutching Elizabeth's hand. When they reached the brambles, they knelt on the ground and peered through the mass of intertwining foliage. They couldn't part it with their hands because of the spines. They could only look, hoping that somewhere inside the dark green interior they might make out some human figure. The whispering continued, one voice intertwining with another. The words ran into one another, if indeed they were words.
"Do you think . . . ?" whispered Elizabeth. Her sunglasses had slipped a little down her nose. Her face was bright with excitement.
"Yes," whispered Thelma.
On hands and knees, careful to avoid the strands of bramble, they crawled around the thicket. Still the voices from behind the screen were audible, yet still incomprehensible.
"It couldn't be an animal?" whispered Elizabeth.
Thelma listened then shook her head.
Further around the thicket stood two stunted silver birches and behind them an entrance into the thicket. The little girls crawled between the trees. Inside the thicket it was cooler. The sun lay above the ceiling of big leaves. The slight movement of the leaves deflected the narrow shafts of light so that the whole interior of the thicket took on a shifting pattern of light that made it difficult for the eyes to focus.
A yard further and Elizabeth sat upright and put her free hand to her lips. Thelma lifted a twisting length of bramble clear of her face and peered ahead. The thicket center was hollow. Two or three tiny silver birch trees, no more than a foot high, grew out of the mossy floor. The sun lit the whole open area like a stage.
[pp. 84-85]
Dorothea lay on her back with her legs wide open. Her dress was lifted above her waist. Her lips were parted. There was a look of limpid enjoyment on her face. Burger lay half on top of her, half on his side. One hand was stroking Dorothea under her dress. His shirt was unbuttoned and he was naked from the waist down. He was muttering, "My darling, darling Dolly."
"Oh, Christ," moaned Dorothea. She put up her hands and took hold of his shirt and pulled him down on top of her. She was twisting beneath him as if she were trying to get away. But the look on her face was one of intense enjoyment. She slid a hand up his back and took hold of the back of his head and pulled his face down onto hers.
Elizabeth put out a hand and gripped Thelma's arm tightly, but she didn't look away from Burger and Dorothea. Her eyes were so widely open that the sunglasses slipped again to the very tip of her nose.
Thelma took her arm away from Elizabeth's grasp and put her hand down to her side to find the camera. She felt for the clasp that held the case closed and undid it. Without taking her eyes off Burger and Dorothea, now apparently going through some ritual combat on the floor, she looked through the viewfinder and pressed the shutter release. The noise seemed deafening, yet neither Burger nor Dorothea appeared to notice it. They were totally absorbed in their half-naked combat, neither winning, neither losing. Thelma shot again and again. Elizabeth sat, still watching Burger and Dorothea, but now with her hands to her ears to shut out the sound of the camera. It seemed as if only the thinnest screen of green leaves and twining bramble creepers lay between her and the twisting couple. It seemed that either of them had only to turn his or her head a fraction to see the faces of two staring children ten or twelve feet away. But neither turned. They were totally engrossed in each other. Thelma released the shutter again. With each change of the lovers' positions she released the shutter, until at last the shutter would release no more. She had come to the end of the film. She closed the camera case without taking her eyes off the lovers.
[pp. 85-86]
Once free of the bramble entanglement, they got to their feet and ran. They ran back up the slope, over the top, and back into the pine forest. When they reached it, they were giggling uncontrollably. They stopped running. They stood in the shadow of the trees and giggled. They had their hands over their mouths to try to bring the giggling under control. At last Thelma dropped down on the floor of dead pine needles. She was gasping for breath. In between the gasps she was gasping for breath. "Did you see them?" she cried. "Rolling all on top of one another?"
"Did you see her dress?" cried Elizabeth.
"Did you see his bottom?" cried Thelma.
"Nothing on at all!"
"He'd taken his trousers off!"
"She'd got her dress rolled right up!"
"All that funny hair where they touched!"
"Have you seen it before?" said Elizabeth. "People doing it?"
"No," said Thelma. "But I knew they did."
"They talk about it at school," said Elizabeth.
When the laughter and giggles began to subside, they got up and walked until they found a log within sight of the sea. They they sat down and finished their sandwiches and the bottle of lemonade. Thelma threw the empty bottle away into the forest. Elizabeth said, "You could have got fifty centimes on that. What a waste!"
"I don't care," said Thelma. "I'll say I lost it."
"Wasn't she awful!" said Elizabeth. "Did you hear what she said to him? All those awful words."
"She's awful," said Thelma.
"Bob's not bad," said Elizabeth.
"I don't like him," said Thelma. "Doing that. With her."
"She's awful!" said Elizabeth.
"Awful!"
[p. 89]
"Monsieur Burger?" she said, looking at the piece of paper.
Burger looked at Dorothea. "That's right," he said, "Burger."
"The little girl," said Madame. "She said Monsieur Burger would pay."
"Little girl?" said Burger. "What little girl? Pay for what?"
"With the teeth," said Madame. "She said you would pay for the cola."
"Well, the . . . ," Burger said. Then he laughed. "Well, the goddamn little bastard!"
[pp. 93-94]
When Mrs. Davies and Uncle David had gone out, Richard said, "Where did you get them?"
"I took them," said Thelma.
"They're absolutely filthy!"
"I wasn't doing anything. It was them. I only took some pictures. It's not wrong to take pictures."
"Well, you're not going to have them, not pictures like that."
"They're mine," said Thelma.
"I don't care."
"All right," said Thelma.
Richard began to clear away the dishes and take them into the kitchen. Thelma didn't move. She could hear him running water into the bowl. When he came back to collect the cups and saucers, he said, "You can have them if you promise not to tell anyone where you got them developed and printed. It's illegal. If you'd taken those things to a shop, they'd have told the police."
"I don't care," said Thelma. "It wasn't me. I wasn't doing anything. It was them. It's their fault. If it's wrong, they shouldn't have been doing it."
"Promise," said Richard.
"All right."
"Then promise."
"I'll say I did them. I'll say I went into the cellar . . ."
"Don't be stupid. You couldn't do them. You don't know about photography."
"I might do."
"Promise," said Richard.
"All right. I promise. Where are they?"
"We're going to do the dishes first. Then I'll show you."
[p. 98]
"I think they ought to pay for it. I think they ought to pay us for not saying anything about it."
"You're not going to tell them?" said Elizabeth. "You can't just tell them. Oh, God, I couldn't just stand there with them in my hand and tell them and ask them to pay! I couldn't! I'd die! Look, I've gone all red just thinking about it."
"We could send one of them so they know we've got them. So they know someone's seen them. We could push it through their door. We could write a note saying they have to pay for it."
"God, but if they found out!"
"They wouldn't find out," said Thelma. "We could make up a letter with words cut out of a newspaper all stuck together. We don't have to write. How could they find out then?"
"But what about the money?"
"They could leave it somewhere. We could get it when they'd gone."
[p. 99]
After dinner they worked together in Thelma's bedroom, cutting out letters and words from an old copy of the Daily Telegraph that Uncle David had brought with him from England and thrown into the bin. At first they couldn't agree on the sum of money to demand from Burger and Dorothea, but when finally they hit on a compromise they stuck all the cut-out words in order on a piece of white paper and put it with the photograph in an envelope. They were going to stick the words "Bob and Dorothea" on the envelope at first, then they thought "Mr. and Mrs. Burger" would be more suitable. Finally they decided to leave the envelope blank.
[pp. 105-106]
She turned away from the Harrisons' villa and walked down the beach toward the sea. Far out, a yacht leaned steeply away from the breeze. The waves built up, swelled, rolled toward the beach, paused, then broke and poured in a spew and hiss of foam up the sand. She took off her sandals and walked into the very edge of the water, so that it chilled her feet without bubbling over them. She stood for a moment looking directly out to sea, the sun almost at her back casting a long shadow of her onto the water, an image that shimmered and changed shape as each new wave rolled under it. At last she turned and walked up the beach, squinting her eyes against the sun.
When she reached the line of pines, she sat down and put on her sandals, brushing the sand off her feet with a hand. Then she walked up through the pines, into the dark shadowy forest and the chill air.
From the distance she could see Burger standing quite still, gripping the veranda rail with his hands and looking toward the sea. He was wearing a sweater over the top of a check shirt. He was frowning. he didn't seem to be looking at the sea, or at anything. He was just facing in that direction as he might accidentally have been facing in any other direction. What he was really looking at seemed to be something inside his head. Thelma put a fingertip in her mouth. Interest in the day returned. She knew that he had seen it.
[pp. 103-104]
It was not till the next morning that Burger opened the mailbox that hung from the wall next to the veranda doors. There was one plain envelope in it. He took it out, looked on both sides for a name and address, then opened it. The photograph fell out on the floor. He picked it up. He could see at once what the subject was, even as he stooped to pick it up, but it took a moment for him to realize it. He couldn't fit the obvious facts together because he couldn't believe that there wasn't some more significant meaning behind them. The simple facts were too simple. Then he was outraged and furious that such a thing should have been pushed through his letterbox in a plain envelope. Only when he looked at the picture in more detail did he see the real significance: the man's face was his face, the woman's face was Dorothea's. Unlike the faces in the newspaper, both these were immediately recognizable. They could be identified at once by anyone who had seen Burger and Dorothea since their arrival in St. Julien.
[pp. 107-108]
Dorothea wore her red and black robe. She called to Burger and he came in from the veranda and sat down. She said, "Anything wrong?"
"Hm?" said Burger. "No. Nothing."
"Bob, you sure there's nothing wrong?"
"Nothing. I was--I was thinking when I should drive to Geneva to make arrangements about the money."
"You wouldn't go alone?" said Dorothea.
"I guess I'd better. I guess two of us--it might be a risk."
"But you said . . ."
"I know, I know. But there's always some small element. . . ."
She put a cup of coffee in front of him and sat down. She leaned across the table and took his hands. She looked at him for a moment. He was staring at the cup of coffee. She said, "Honey--what is it?"
He said sharply, "I've told you. It's nothing. I was thinking about the money." Then he lifted his head and looked at her. She was looking straight into his eyes. Her whole face and manner showed concern. It showed in the line of her shoulders. He could feel it in her hands. He sat up and put a hand in the back pocket of his jeans. He took out the envelope and dropped it on the table in front of her. "You better take a look," he said.
She looked at the photograph with disbelief and then with mounting horror.
"For Christ's sake!" she said. "Who would take it?"
"I don't know," he said. "Read the note."
She put the photograph carefully on the table and took out the note. It said, "Leave one hundred franCS used NOTES in a envilop in your car. ParC outside hotel de VilLE at three o'clock tomorrow. DO not WATch. Or ELS."
"What you going to do?" said Dorothea. She was trembling.
"For God's sake, don't do that!" said Burger. "I want to think. I can't think if you don't stay calm."
"We've got to move," said Dorothea. "We've got to get right away from this place." She was trying to control her voice.
"You're crazy," said Burger. "We've got to stay right here--until we find him--this guy."
[p. 109]
"A local?" she said.
"Of course," said Burger. "Some peasant. Look at the spelling. He doesn't know the language, that's obvious. And look at the money he wants--a hundred francs. Christ, that's less than twenty dollars! Do you think if he'd read the story, if he knew what we'd got away with, he'd be satisfied with that? It's some local who knows we're Americans and thinks we're an easy touch. A hundred francs maybe sounds like a fortune to some of these bums!"
[pp. 109-110]
"What's happened?" said Elizabeth.
"Nothing," said Thelma.
"I can't see," said Elizabeth.
"If you come here," said Thelma. She took hold of Elizabeth and drew her further around the tree.
"I still can't see," said Elizabeth.
"They're inside," said Thelma.
The doors of Burger's villa were open. There was no one on the veranda and no one in sight through the doors.
"How do you know they're there?"
"Because they haven't gone out. Anyway, they wouldn't go out and leave the doors open."
"How do you know they've got it?" said Elizabeth.
"They've got it," said Thelma. "He was on the veranda very early. I could see he'd got it."
"I expect they don't care," said Elizabeth. "I expect they just tore it up and threw it away. You don't know with grownups."
"He hadn't thrown it away earlier. I saw his face. He wasn't smiling. He won't throw it away. Anyway, they've been lying. They won't want people to take pictures of them. They said they were Canadians and they're not. And people think they're married and they're not. I bet they won't throw it away."
"Do you think he'll leave the money?" said Elizabeth.
"Yes," said Thelma.
"He'll see us go to the car. He won't just leave it and go away. He'll watch."
"That doesn't matter," said Thelma.
[p. 111]
He reached the main road and turned right toward the village. Two hundred yards along the road he saw them, two little girls with their thumbs up waving to him. For a second he dismissed them and would have driven straight past. Then he recognized the enormous sunglasses and Thelma's wide grin. Without really considering it, he took his foot off the accelerator and put it on the brake. When he looked in the mirror he could see them racing toward him. He leaned across and unlocked the front door.
Their sunglasses had slipped and they were panting for breath. Thelma opened the door and said, "Thanks, Bob."
They both sat on the front seat, their arms around one another to prevent themselves slipping off.
"Sit right back," said Burger.
When they sat back, their hands against the leatherwork, their legs lay straight along the seat with their feet sticking clear of it.
[pp. 111-113]
Burger said, "What you up to?"
"We're going into St. Julien," said Thelma.
"What for?" said Burger.
"Just to look."
"Don't you get bored, just looking?"
"No," said Thelma.
"And you don't mind the heat?"
"No."
"I like it," said Elizabeth. "It'll be an awful winter in England."
Burger drove into the main square. He was looking around as he did so, glancing from one sidewalk to the other, bending his head to see into the dark interior of a café. finally he drew up outside the Hôtel de Ville. He got out of the car, walked as far as the end of the hood, turned, and walked back again. Then he opened the door again. He seemed surprised when he saw the two little girls sitting together on the one seat. He said, "Hell, I'd forgotten you."
Thelma and Elizabeth got out. Elizabeth rubbed her hands down the back of her skirt and said, "Thanks for the lift."
"Yes, thanks," said Thelma, slamming the passenger door behind her.
"You want a Coke?" said Burger.
"Where?" said Thelma.
"I'm looking in at the Coq d'Or."
He thought it mightn't be a bad idea to be seen with the little girls. As if he wasn't really watching.
"Not, thanks," said Thelma. "We're just going to look."
"Suit yourselves," said Burger. He was waiting for them to leave him. He still had the door of the car open.
"Thanks," said Elizabeth.
"That's O.K.," said Burger. "Maybe see you around."
"Maybe," said Thelma.
She took Elizabeth's hand and led her away from the car toward the market stalls that were closed for the afternoon.
"Why's he waiting?" said Elizabeth.
"He doesn't want us to see. He's going to put the money on the seat."
"He's going to watch from the café." said Elizabeth.
"I know," said Thelma.
"How long shall we wait?"
"Till after three," said Thelma.
It was three minutes to three on the clock over the main entrance to the Hôtel de Ville.
From the doorway of the Eglise de St. Hilaire where they could stand in the cool darkness under the great decorated stone archway and still see the entire square, Thelma and Elizabeth saw Burger leave the car and walk to the Coq d'Or. They saw him stand in the shadow of the awning, then take a chair and move in to a position from which he could see the car. It was parked by itself in the empty square in the full blaze of the sun.
"Why does he sit there?" said Elizabeth. "Why doesn't he come here? It's a much better view. No one could see him!"
"It's the only place he knows," said Thelma. "He doesn't know St. Julien."
It struck three o'clock when the minute hand of the clock had reached five-past. The sound hung in the heat in a long, long reverberation.
Burger looked at his watch. The chimes were wrong. it was five minutes past three. Madame came at last and put a beer on the table. He put out an arm to keep her clear of his line of vision. Never for a moment did he take his eyes off the car. When he drank his beer, he did it entirely by feel, reaching out a hand slowly until he could feel the cold glass, drinking when he could feel the rim touching his lips, looking all the time over the top of the glass, across the square to the big Mercedes standing in the sun.
At ten past three nothing had moved in the square. He began to find it increasingly difficult to keep his focus on the car clear. The air above the vehicle shimmered with rising heat. Shimmering air hung over the wide area of cobblestones. A long shimmering mirage of water formed over the cobblestones between himself and the car. At a quarter past three he called for another beer.
[pp. 113-114]
The church interior was cold and somber. The dark glass windows, covered in red and blue and purple saints, were illuminated by the sun outside but allowed little of its light to penetrate the body of the church. Apart from the brilliance of the window coloring, the illuminated gold altar cloth, the candles clustered around a wooden painted Madonna, the impression was of a vast cave of blacks and dark grays.
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