Leviathan (28 page)

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Maria. The living room’s a mess. If something’s in your way, just shove it onto the floor. You’ve already shown me you know how to do that.”

“I don’t usually go in for such primitive forms of communication.”

“As long as you don’t do any more communicating with me tonight, I don’t care what happens down here. But upstairs is off
limits. Capeesh? There’s a gun in my bedside table, and if anyone comes prowling around, I know how to use it.”

“That would be like killing the goose who laid the golden egg.”

“No it wouldn’t. You might be the goose, but the eggs are somewhere else. All snug in the trunk of your car, remember? Even if the goose got killed, I’d still have all the eggs I needed.”

“So we’re back to making threats, are we?”

“I don’t believe in threats. I’m just asking you to be nice to me, that’s all. To be very nice. And not to get any funny ideas into your head about who I am. If you don’t, then we might be able to do business together. I’m not making any promises, but if you don’t screw up, I might even learn to stop hating you.”

He was woken the next morning by a warm breath fluttering against his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking into the face of a child, a little girl frozen in concentration, exhaling tremulously through her mouth. She was on her knees beside the sofa, and her head was so close to his that their lips were almost touching. From the dimness of the light filtering through her hair, Sachs gathered that it was only six thirty or seven o’clock. He had been asleep for less than four hours, and in those first moments after he opened his eyes, he felt too groggy to move, too leaden to stir a muscle. He wanted to close his eyes again, but the little girl was watching him too intently, and so he went on staring into her face, gradually coming to the realization that this was Lillian Stern’s daughter.

“Good morning,” she said at last, responding to his smile as an invitation to talk. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

“Have you been sitting here long?”

“About a hundred years, I think. I came downstairs to look for
my doll, and then I saw you sleeping on the couch. You’re a very long man, did you know that?”

“Yes, I know that. I’m what you call a beanpole.”

“Mr. Beanpole,” the girl said thoughtfully. “That’s a good name.”

“And I’ll bet that your name is Maria, isn’t it?”

“To some people it is, but I like to call myself Rapunzel. It’s much prettier, don’t you think?”

“Much prettier. And how old are you, Miss Rapunzel?”

“Five and three-quarters.”

“Ah, five and three-quarters. An excellent age.”

“I’ll be six in December. My birthday is the day after Christmas.”

“That means you get presents two days in a row. You must be a clever girl to have worked out a system like that.”

“Some people have all the luck. That’s what Mommy says.”

“If you’re five and three-quarters, then you’ve probably started school, haven’t you?”

“Kindergarten. I’m in Mrs. Weir’s class. Room one-oh-four. The kids call her Mrs. Weird.”

“Does she look like a witch?”

“Not really. I don’t think she’s old enough to be a witch. But she does have an awfully long nose.”

“And shouldn’t you be getting ready to go to kindergarten now? You don’t want to be late.”

“Not today, silly. There’s no school on Saturday.”

“Of course. I’m such a dingbat sometimes, I don’t even know what day it is.”

He was awake by then, awake enough to feel the urge to stand up. He asked the girl if she was interested in eating breakfast, and
when she answered that she was starving, he promptly rolled off the couch and put on his shoes, pleased to have this little job in front of him. They took turns using the downstairs bathroom, and once Sachs had emptied his bladder and splashed some water on his face, he moved on into the kitchen to begin. The first thing he saw there was the five thousand dollars—still sitting on the table, in the same spot where he had put it the night before. It puzzled him that Lillian hadn’t taken it upstairs with her. Was there a hidden meaning to this, he wondered, or was it simply the result of negligence on her part? Fortunately, Maria was still in the bathroom then, and by the time she joined him in the kitchen, he had already removed the cash from the table and stored it on a shelf in one of the cupboards.

The breakfast got off to a shaky start. The milk in the refrigerator had turned sour (which eliminated the possibility of cereal), and since the stock of eggs seemed to have been exhausted as well, he was unable to make French toast or an omelet (her second and third choices). He managed to find a package of sliced whole wheat bread, however, and once he had discarded the top four pieces (which were covered with a fuzzy, bluish mold), they settled on a meal of toast and strawberry jam. While the bread was warming in the toaster, Sachs unearthed a snow-encrusted can of frozen orange juice from the back of the freezer, mixed it up in a plastic pitcher (which first had to be washed), and served it along with the food. No true coffee was on hand, but after a thorough search of the cupboards, he finally discovered a jar of decaffeinated instant. As he drank down the bitter concoction, he made funny faces and clutched at his throat. Maria laughed at the performance, which inspired him to stagger around the room and emit a series of dreadful, gagging noises. “Poison,” he whispered, as he sank slowly to the floor, “the scoundrels have poisoned me.” This made her laugh even harder, but once the stunt was
over and he sat down in his chair again, her amusement quickly faded, and he noticed a troubled look in her eyes.

“I was only pretending,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “It’s just that I don’t like people to die.”

He understood his mistake then, but it was too late to undo the damage. “I’m not going to die,” he said.

“Yes you will. Everybody has to die.”

“I mean not today. And not tomorrow either. I’m going to be around for a long time to come.”

“Is that why you slept on the sofa? Because you’re going to live with us now?”

“I don’t think so. But I’m here to be your friend. And your mother’s friend, too.”

“Are you Mommy’s new man?”

“No, I’m just her friend. If she lets me, I’m going to help her out.”

“That’s good. She needs somebody to help her out. They’re putting Daddy in the ground today, and she’s very sad.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“No, but I saw her crying. That’s how I know she’s sad.”

“Is that where you’re going today? To watch them put your daddy in the ground?”

“No, they won’t let us. Grandma and Grandpa said we couldn’t.”

“And where do your grandma and grandpa live? Here in California?”

“I don’t think so. It’s somewhere far away. You have to take a plane to get there.”

“Somewhere back East, maybe.”

“It’s called Maplewood. I don’t know where it is.”

“Maplewood, New Jersey?”

“I don’t know. It’s very far away. Whenever Daddy talked about it, he said it was the end of the world.”

“It makes you sad when you think about your father, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t help it. Mommy said he didn’t love us anymore, but I don’t care, I wish he would come back.”

“I’m sure he wanted to.”

“That’s what I think. But he wasn’t able to, that’s all. He had an accident, and instead of coming back to us, he had to go to heaven.”

She was so small, Sachs thought, and yet she handled herself with almost frightening composure, her fierce little eyes boring steadily into him as she spoke—unflinching, without the slightest tremor of confusion. It astonished him that she could mimic the ways of adults so well, that she could appear so self-possessed when in fact she knew nothing, knew absolutely nothing at all. He pitied her for her courage, for the sham heroism of her bright and earnest face, and he wished he could take back everything he had said and turn her into a child again, something other than this pathetic, miniaturized grown-up with her missing teeth and the yellow-ribboned barrette dangling from her curly hair.

As they polished off the last fragments of their toast, Sachs saw by the kitchen clock that it was only a few minutes past seven thirty. He asked Maria how long she thought her mother would go on sleeping, and when she said it could be another two or three hours, an idea suddenly occurred to him. Let’s plan a surprise for her, he said. If we get busy now, we might be able to clean the whole downstairs before she wakes up. Wouldn’t that be nice? She’ll come down here and find everything all neat and sparkling. That’s bound to make her feel better, don’t you think? The little girl thought so. More than that, she seemed excited by the prospect, as if she were
relieved that someone had finally stepped in to take charge of the situation. But we must be quiet, Sachs said, putting his finger to his lips. As quiet as elves.

So the two of them set to work, moving about the kitchen in brisk and silent harmony as the table was cleared, the broken crockery was swept up from the floor, and the sink was filled with warm suds. In order to keep the clamor to a minimum, they scraped the dishes with their bare fingers, smearing their hands with garbage as they dumped uneaten food and crushed cigarettes into a paper bag. It was foul work, and they registered their disgust by sticking out their tongues and pretending to vomit. Still, Maria more than kept up her end, and once the kitchen was in passable shape, she marched out to the living room with undiminished enthusiasm, eager to push on with the next task. It was getting close to nine o’clock by then, and sunlight was pouring in through the front windows, illuminating slender trails of dust in the air. As they surveyed the mess before them, discussing how they should best attack it, a look of apprehension swept across Maria’s face. Without saying a word, she lifted her arm and pointed to one of the windows. Sachs turned, and an instant later he saw it, too: a man standing on the lawn and looking up at the house. He was wearing a checkered tie and a brown corduroy jacket, a youngish man with prematurely thinning hair who looked as though he were debating whether to walk up the steps and ring the bell. Sachs patted Maria on the head and told her to go back to the kitchen and pour herself another glass of juice. She seemed as if she were about to balk, but then, not wanting to disappoint him, she nodded her head and reluctantly did as she was told. Sachs then picked his way through the living room to the front door, pulled it open as softly as he could, and stepped outside.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he said.

“Tom Mueller,” the man said. “
San Francisco Chronicle
. I wonder if I could have a word with Mrs. Dimaggio.”

“Sorry. She’s not giving any interviews.”

“I don’t want an interview, I just want to talk to her. My paper is interested in hearing her side of the story. We’re willing to pay for an exclusive article.”

“Sorry, no dice. Mrs. Dimaggio isn’t talking to anyone.”

“Don’t you think the lady should have a chance to turn me down herself?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“And who are you, Mrs. Dimaggio’s press agent?”

“A friend of the family.”

“I see. And you’re the one who does her talking for her.”

“That’s right. I’m here to protect her from guys like you. Now that we’ve settled that question, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“And how would you suggest that I get in touch with her?”

“You could write her a letter. That’s how it’s generally done.”

“A good idea. I’ll write her a letter, and then you can throw it away before she reads it.”

“Life is filled with disappointments, Mr. Mueller. And now if you don’t mind, I think it’s time for you to be on your way. I’m sure you don’t want me to call the police. But you are standing on Mrs. Dimaggio’s property, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks a lot, pal. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

“Don’t feel too bad. This too shall pass. In another week’s time, there won’t be a person in San Francisco who can remember what this story was about. If someone mentions Dimaggio to them, the only person they’ll think of is Joe.”

That ended the conversation, but even after Mueller had left the
yard, Sachs went on standing in front of the door, determined not to move until he had seen the man drive away. The reporter crossed the street, climbed into his car, and started the engine. As a farewell gesture, he raised the middle finger of his right hand as he drove by the house, but Sachs shrugged off the obscenity, understanding that it was unimportant, that it merely proved how well he had handled the confrontation. As he turned to go back inside, he couldn’t help smiling at the man’s anger. He didn’t feel like a press agent so much as a town marshal, and when all was said and done, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling.

The moment he entered the house again, he looked up and saw Lillian standing at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in a white terrycloth robe, looking puffy-eyed and touseled, struggling to shake the sleep out of her system.

“I suppose I should thank you for that,” she said, running a hand through her short hair.