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[pp. 154-156]
Elizabeth had opened the bottom drawer of the bureau and found the copy of the newspaper that Dorothea had put away. It was folded open at the page carrying the story of the search for the two missing Americans. She saw the pictures but only recognized them after she had read the names in the caption underneath.
"Look!" she cried. "It's them--Bob and Dorothea! They've done something terrible!"
"Where?" asked Thelma.
She left the drawer open and knelt at Elizabeth's side. Elizabeth had the page opened out on the carpet and was pointing to the picture.
"Is that them?" Thelma asked.
"It says so," said Elizabeth. "I expect they're old pictures. I expect they've changed their appearance so no one recognizes them."
"Some of them have plastic surgery," said Thelma. "It changes how they look."
"His hair's long," said Elizabeth. "But if I put my hand over it--see?"
The face was unmistakable Burger's.
"What's it say?" Thelma asked.
"It says they're missing and no one knows where they are. They've disappeared. A lot of money's missing."
"It's what they were saying," said Thelma.
"What shall we do?" asked Elizabeth.
"If you put it in the light, I can take a picture of it," Thelma said.
"What for?"
"If they're criminals," Thelma said.
Elizabeth took the paper to the window and spread it out on the floor in the sunlight. Thelma opened the camera case hanging around her neck and peered through the viewfinder.
"I need a chair," said Thelma. "I can't get on top of it."
She took the chair from near the bookcase and set it down on the edge of the paper. When she stood on it and looked through the viewfinder, only part of the page was visible. She pushed the chair aside, pulled the little dining table nearer the window, and climbed onto it. From high above the paper she took three shots.
"What shall we do with the paper?" Elizabeth asked.
"Put it back," said Thelma.
"In the drawer?"
"Where you got it from. Then they won't know we've seen it."
"Shouldn't we tell the police?"
"No," said Thelma.
"Why?" Elizabeth asked.
"There might be a reward."
"God! How much?" asked Elizabeth.
"I don't know."
Elizabeth put the newspaper back in the drawer.
[pp. 156-159]
Thelma went into the kitchen, dropped the can into the waste bin, and began to open the wall cupboards. She was standing on a stool reaching behind a dozen packets of groceries when some distant but significant sound reached her. She stopped moving. She turned her head a little. Then she jumped off the stool and ran into the living room. "Quick!" she cried. "There's a car!"
"Not them?" Elizabeth gasped, a hand to her mouth.
"Come on!" cried Thelma.
She picked up the gun and the oily rag from the table and turned for the stairs. Elizabeth followed her. Half-way up the stairs, Elizabeth suddenly stopped and cried, "My sunglasses! They're still down there!"
"Quick!" yelled Thelma, wrapping the rag around the gun. The hum of the car was now quite audible. As she peered thorugh the banisters, she could see the big Mercedes pulling up outside.
The little girls ran into the bedroom and Elizabeth began to get out of the window. Thelma caught her by the dress and pulled her back.
"Let me go!" cried Elizabeth.
"He might put the car away!" Thelma whispered. "He'll see you!"
"What shall we do?"
"Hide."
"Where?" whispered Elizabeth, looking desperately around the room.
"Under the bed. Quick!"
The bed was just high enough for them to squeeze under it. They lay on their backs with the burlap undersurface of the bed touching their chests and tummies, and the striped counterpane on the floor beside them. Thelma could have touched it if she had put out her hand. She had the gun still in her hand and the camera by her side, between herself and Elizabeth. The bed was pushing the box of ammunition into her tummy.
"I'll suffocate!" whispered Elizabeth.
"Shh!" said Thelma.
In the distance they heard the veranda doors open and Burger say, "Jesus Christ!" in a deep bellow. There were noises from downstairs of furniture being moved and drawers being opened and closed. There was a little cry from Dorothea to which Burger responded with a bellow of "For Christ's sake, shut up!"
Then Burger ran upstairs. They heard him go into the bathroom and open and close the window. He lifted the toilet seat and put it down again. Thelma thought he was looking for clues. He went into some other room, opened and closed a cupboard door, then came into the bedroom. He kicked the counterpane out of his way and part of it fell right up against Thelma's right arm. It blocked out most of the light and air. He leaned right out of the window. The little girls could hear him breathing heavily and occasionally letting out expletives. They heard him get out of the window and onto the garage roof. The soles of his sandals scraped on the gritted roof covering. Then he got back into the bedroom, went to the door, and shouted downstairs, "Dolly! Come up here!"
They heard Dorothea's footsteps on the carpeted stairs. Then Burger said, "Did I say check the windows? Didn't I say that? What the hell's the use of locking the doors when all the windows are wide open? Didn't I say that?"
"Bob, I swear . . .," said Dorothea. Her voice was a lot higher than usual, as if she might be going to cry or scream.
"All right," said Burger. "Christ, it's too late now. The bastard's gone. He got in over the garage roof and through the window."
"You sure?" said Dorothea.
"Look at the carpet. Look at the sand from his shoes. God--the metal ladder, the roof, the open window--what an invitation!"
"Bob, I swear . . . !"
"Never mind. Take a look around. See what he's taken."
He bent and picked up the counterpane and threw it on the bed. Thelma could see the thick brown arm covered in fair hairs and the bare feet inside the sandals. She could hear his breathed fury. If he just saw her, she thought, he would drag her from under the bed and throw her out the window. She clutched the gun tightly. She held her breath. She was caught between terror and trembling excitement. She could feel Elizabeth's arm along hers. It was quivering. The burlap pressed down across her cheek.
"My jewelry," Dorothea was saying. "It's scattered all over the place."
"How much of it missing?" said Burger.
"I don't know," said Dorothea. "I don't think anything."
"Then what the hell was he after?" said Burger.
He went to the wardrobe and threw open the door. Thelma heard him rattling the coat hangars along the rail.
"It's all here," said Dorothea. "All of it. Nothing's missing."
"Then what the hell . . .?" cried Burger.
He went out onto the landing, stood for a moment, then ran downstairs. After a moment he was calling upstairs, "What the hell's this money order from the bank?"
"It came this morning," called Dorothea.
"You didn't say anything," called Burger.
"It came with the negative--the picture. I forgot all about it."
"Why the hell didn't he take that?"
"Could he have cashed it?"
"How was he to know? Some damn peasant--how was he to know?"
He was opening and closing drawers and moving furniture. Dorothea was putting all the jewelry back in the box.
"Dolly! The gun--my gun. You seen it?" shouted Burger.
"It's in the drawer. In the bureau," called Dorothea.
"It's gone," called Burger.
"But why?"
"How would I know? But it's gone. And some of the ammunition."
"What are you going to do?"
"Better come down," called Burger. "Better take a look outside."
Dorothea closed the drawer of the dressing table and went downstairs. Thelma heard Burger's voice rumbling in the living room, then his feet padding on the boards of the veranda. Then the place was silent.
[pp. 159-161]
Elizabeth whispered, "Let's go--please!"
Thelma said, "No."
"I'm suffocating! I can't breathe! This hairy stuff's pressing right across my moth!"
"Turn your head."
"It's no use."
"Shut up!"
"If I don't get out, I'll scream. I can't help it. I know I'm going to scream!"
Thelma got hold of her arm with her left hand and squeezed it tightly. "If you scream, I'll shoot you," she said.
"I don't care!" said Elizabeth. "I can't stay!"
She began to struggle to get out from under the bed. Thelma held on to her arm. The struggling increased Elizabeth's panic. Once she had started to try to get out, she realized how tightly the undersurface of the bed held her. The realization increased her determination to get out. Her struggles became more violent. The bed itself moved a little away from the wall. Thelma drew back her left foot and kicked her twice as hard as she could on the ankle. Elizabeth moaned. She began to cry, but she stopped trying to get out.
"They'll come back in a minute," said Thelma. "We've got to wait."
Elizabeth lay sobbing very quietly, but she had given up the attempt to get clear of the bed. With her face turned on one side it was easier to breathe. The tears rolled across her cheeks, warm and salty. They dripped from her nose onto her hair, spread out on the carpet under the bed. She hate, hated, hated Thelma, and when she got home she would never, ever be her friend again.
Burger was back on the veranda. His voice rumbled to Dorothea. He came back into the living room. Dorothea cried, "God, the mess!"
Burger said, "He took pretty good care not to leave any tracks. There's nothing outside."
"Nothing at all?" said Dorothea. Her voice was terribly strained, as if she was on the brink of tears or a scream.
"Nothing," said Burger. His voice was loud. He sounded very angry.
"I . . . ," said Dorothea. It sounded as if she had stopped herself saying anything else by putting a hand across her mouth.
"Well?" said Burger.
"Bob, the paper! The newspaper! With the pictures!"
"For Christ's sake, you didn't keep it?"
Thelma heard the sudden rush of movement from downstairs. A drawer was pulled out so that it fell to the floor. After a moment Dorothea cried, "No, no, Bob! It's there! It's all right!"
"Burn it," said Burger. "Get rid of it right away. Here, put it in the fireplace."
There was silence, then Burger said, "Better get rid of that bank draft. Money drawn on a Swiss account--it could give people ideas. Better cash it straight away."
"Now?"
"Why not? No good just hanging around here. Nothing we can do. We'll clear up when we get back. Only this time let's not leave any invitation for some light-fingered bum."
He climbed the stairs. The little girls heard him go into the bathroom and close the window. Then he came back into the bedroom and closed the window onto the garage roof. "The bastard! The goddamn frog-gobbling bastard!" he was muttering.
The little girls waited, holding their breath. They waited until he had gone downstairs and locked the veranda doors and started the car. And when the car had pulled away and up the track and passed out of hearing, they still waited. The silence had a positive ring to it. It seemed full of potential sound. At last Elizabeth said, "They've gone, Thelma."
"O.K.," said Thelma, and she began to wriggle her way out from under the bed.
Elizabeth was pale and shaking. She had shred of burlap fiber in her hair. She looked at Thelma with her wide-open brown eyes as if she was terrified of her. She didn't speak.
Thelma opened the window, pushed Elizabeth through it, and got out herself. She closed the window but wasn't able to fasten it from outside. They crossed the garage roof and climbed down the ladder. In the cool shadows of the pines Thelma put her hand out to take hold of Elizabeth's. Elizabeth took her hand away. She said, "I don't want to."
"Well," said Thelma, "I don't care."
[pp. 171-173]
"Come on, darling," said Mr. Harrison to Elizabeth. "She's standing outside."
"I don't want to see her," said Elizabeth.
"'Course you do," said Mr. Harrison. "She's your friend. She's a nice little girl."
"She's not," said Elizabeth.
"Oh, you've had a tiff, have you?" Mr. Harrison laughed. "Never mind. Go and see her. Go and make it up."
Thelma was standing in front of the villa looking toward the open doors. She had a finger on her mouth. When she saw Elizabeth, she grinned.
"What do you want?" said Elizabeth.
"Do you want to play?"
"No."
"Why not?" said Thelma.
"I don't like you. You're not my friend."
"Yes, I am," said Thelma. "We've been doing things together."
Elizabeth looked behind her into the living room, then came down the steps to Thelma. She said, "Don't say that. I'm not doing anything else with you."
"Do they know?" said Thelma, nodding toward the open doors.
"God, no!" said Elizabeth. "They'd die."
"I don't think they ought to know," said Thelma.
"They won't know," said Elizabeth. "Unless somebody tells them."
"No," said Thelma.
"You wouldn't!" said Elizabeth.
"I don't expect so," said Thelma.
Elizabeth took Thelma by the arm and led her away from the villa. Mr. Harrison, watching from an armchair in the living room, smiled. "Made a difference, you know," he called to his wife in the kitchen, "finding a little friend for Liz."
Elizabeth, still gripping Thelma's arm, said, "What do you want?"
"Richard's done the pictures. Do you want to see them?"
"No, I don't!" said Elizabeth. "I don't want anything to do with them. And I don't like you."
"You took the money," said Thelma. "You took fifty francs for the other picture."
"I'm going to give it back," said Elizabeth. "I'm going to tell them and I'm going to say I'm sorry."
"Tell them?" said Thelma. "Everything?"
"Yes."
"I expect they'll be cross when they know."
"'Course they will. I know. But it's not fair. I like Bob," said Elizabeth.
"Will you just tell them about you?" said Thelma. "Or about me as well?"
"I'll have to say we both did it. I'll have to, won't I? They won't believe I did it by myself."
"You could say there was someone else," said Thelma. "Just someone-- not with a name."
"But they'd know, wouldn't they? They know you're my friend--were my friend. They'd know it was you even if I didn't say a name."
Thelma nodded. "I expect so," she said.
Elizabeth sat down on the warm sand. Thelma sat down beside her. Elizabeth took up a handful of sand and let it run through her fingers. At last she said, "Listen, why don't we both tell them? Why don't we go together?"
"When?" said Thelma.
"I don't know," said Elizabeth. "We could go after supper."
"Mummy doesn't want me out late," said Thelma. "She was cross when I was late for lunch."
"Well, tomorrow," said Elizabeth. "After breakfast."
"All right," said Thelma.
"You will?"
"All right."
"Oh, God!" said Elizabeth. "I'm so glad. We can tell them everything and they'll be livid and we'll say we're sorry and they'll say it's just because we're little girls and never mind so long as we've learned our lesson and we can give them back the photographs and it'll all be over."
"It'll all be over," said Thelma.
"Then we can be friends again," said Elizabeth. "I'll be so glad. It's been awful this afternoon, remembering the bed and Bob looking everywhere and nearly finding us. I nearly died. Remembering you weren't my friend anymore."
"'Course I'm your friend," said Thelma.
In a sudden flood of relief, Elizabeth put her arms around Thelma and kissed her. "I'm so glad!" she said.
[pp. 173-175]
Dorothea was clinging to Burger in the bedroom. He had his arms around her and one hand was caressing her shoulder to comfort her.
"Bob, I've tried," said Dorothea. "Honest to God, darling, I've tried to be good, to keep quiet, not to complain. I knew it was going to be a strain-- for a while--but Jesus, not this! We didn't get away from anything, leaving the States. We just moved into something one hell of a sight more frightening."
"I know, Dolly," said Burger. His voice was deep and resonant and comforting. "I didn't foresee this. We'll move."
"Really? Oh, God, could we really?" said Dorothea. She was looking up at him with a look of sudden hope in her eyes, as if suddenly she saw the possibility of getting away from St. Julien and never never seeing the place again.
"I'll see the agent tomorrow," said Burger. "We'll go the day after. Maybe we shouldn't have stayed so long. But I thought--well, I thought if anywhere on earth was safe, this would be it."
"You don't know what it means," said Dorothea. "The thought of leaving!" She laughed and stroked his cheek. She kissed him. She took one of his hands and put it on her breast. She turned him toward the bed, but he was looking at the window.
"Wait," said Burger. "Don't. I shut that window. I locked it. Did you open it?"
"The window? I didn't touch the window. Not since we came in," said Dorothea. She still held his hand against her breast.
He broke away from her and went to the window. It was closed but not fastened. He said, "Jesus!"
"What's wrong with the window?" said Dorothea.
"It's been opened again. I locked it. I put the fastener right down. Christ, I ought to remember! After the break-in! I checked every damn window in the place. I went around the whole place--doors and windows!"
He went out of the room. She heard him checking the window in the bathroom. When he came back he said, "Sure, I knew it. The toilet window's locked. And this one was locked as well. I pulled the catch right down."
"But it's impossible . . . !" cried Dorothea.
"No," said Burger. "Not impossible. He was here all the time. All the time we were talking and searching, he was still here. Hiding somewhere. He heard everything we said! Everything! Then, when we'd gone, he got out the same way he came in, through the window and across the garage roof. But he couldn't latch the window. You can't latch it from the outside."
"Bob, we looked everywhere--the wardrobes, the cupboards, downstairs. He couldn't have been here."
"Look, Dolly. Just give me a minute. Just let me think."
He crossed his arms and put a hand to his mouth. He was looking at the tiny traces of sand on the bedroom carpet.
"Bob," said Dorothea. "The bed--do you think . . .?"
Burger shook his head. "Too low," he said. "Nobody could. . . ." Then he picked up the counterpane from the floor and dropped it on the bed. "Well, could you?"
Dorothea lay on her back on the floor and began to ease herself under the bed. "It could be done," she said. "Really, Bob--if I took my bra off. They're getting in the way."
"Let's shove the bed over," said Burger. Dorothea got up and Burger pushed the bed across the carpet. There was sand underneath where it had been. "Well, that's it," said Burger. "Hey lay there till we'd gone, then he got through the window. Must have been as slim as a match."
[pp. 175-177]
In the morning there was another envelope in the letterbox. "Well, that's it, isn't it?" said Burger, dropping the picture that Thelma had taken of the newspaper on the breakfast table in front of Dorothea. "He knows now. Nothing more to hide. It's a relief, I guess--of a kind. Having nothing to hide."
"What's the note say?" said Dorothea.
"I don't get it," said Burger. "There isn't a note." He tore the envelope wide open. "Nothing. Jesus--he's got us, all right. That thing's probably covered in prints if only we could check it." He screwed up the envelope and threw it into a wastebasket. "But he knows we can't take it to the police. He knows that! He doesn't have to take any precautions at all."
"Perhaps he did," said Dorothea. "Maybe paper doesn't pick up prints anyway."
"Well--maybe," said Burger.
"But what does he want?" said Dorothea, getting up from the table. She began to walk up and down the room, squeezing her hands together. Her voice was strained. "If he'd only say!"
"That's what he wants," said Burger. "You to lose your appetite, to walk up and down because you can't sit still any longer. He wants you to be hysterical. He wants me to be unable to sleep or eat or think because of worry. He wants us reduced to quaking . . . imbeciles!"
"But why, why, why!" sceamed Dorothea, beating one hand against the pine-planked wall.
"Because then whatever he asks for he can get," said Burger.
"Jesus, he could have it now," sobbed Dorothea. "I can't stand it any longer, Bob. I can't!"
Burger went to her and put his arms around her, and she put her head on his chest and sobbed. She was trembling violently and taking in great gasps of air.
"Shh," said Burger. "There. Don't, Dolly." He put a hand in his pocket and took out a handkerchief. "Here," he said. "Wipe your face. What a mess you're making of yourself."
"How do you stay so calm?" she said, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "I'd go to pieces without you."
"Well--all at once I know who it is," said Burger.
"You do? For God's sake, who?"
"That little girl."
"Thelma?"
"Thelma," said Burger. "You remember she has a brother. I saw him when I took her the present, the evening of her birthday. A thin, pale kid around sixteen."
"Well--yes, I remember," said Dorothea.
"And do you remember what Thelma said about him when she came to thank us for the present? She said he spent his time in the cellar--you remember that? At photography. At developing and printing his own pictures because he's going to be a professional when he leaves school. You remember?"
"And you think Thelma . . . ?"
"Nothing to do with Thelma," said Burger. "You can't think a little kid . . . ? No. This brother--Christ, what did she call him? I mean it's been obvious, hasn't it? No guy could simply walk into a drugstore and ask them to develop and print that kind of picture. He's got to do it himself or he's got to have some quiet-mouthed friend to do it for him. Richard! That's the little bastard's name."
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File: lsbook05.htm
Updated: January 13, 1999
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