Mr. Gwyn (23 page)

Nine, here, it's always…

Put down that phone
.

Calm down, what's got into you?

Put it down immediately!

All right… all right, here, done.

I'm sorry.

What's wrong with you?

It wasn't a good idea.

Certainly it was.

Believe me, it wasn't.

I wasn't going to ask for two, I'd ask for one, we'd share it, and when they brought it up I'd go hide in the bathroom.

For a moment the man seemed to think that it might actually work, but that wasn't in fact what he was thinking. He was about to say something when they knocked on the door, three times. From the corridor a voice said County Police, unemphatic but loud, without hesitation. The man was silent for a moment, then he said aloud, I'm coming. He turned to look at the woman. She was motionless; the sheets had slid down to her hips. The man took off his jacket, went to the bed, and handed it to the woman. Cover up, he said. They knocked again at the door. The woman put on the jacket, looked at the man, and said softly, You mustn't worry. The man shook his head no. Then he said aloud, I'm coming, and went toward the door. The woman put her hands in the pockets of the jacket and with her right hand felt a gun. She grasped it. The man opened the door.

County Police, said the policeman, showing a badge. He kept the other hand on the butt of a gun that was hanging from his belt.

Are you Mr. Malcolm Webster? asked the policeman.

Yes, I am, said the man.

I must ask you to follow me, said the policeman.

Then he turned toward the bed and didn't seem surprised to find the woman, under the covers.

The gun? he asked her.

Everything's okay, the woman answered. I have it.

The policeman nodded assent.

He turned again to the man.

Let's go, he said.

2

She was a girl, and dressing like a woman made her seem even younger. The makeup, too: the lipstick and the heavy lines around the eyes—pale eyes, but gray, like a she-wolf. She arrived around nine in the evening, with her boyfriend, someone who was evidently her boyfriend, quite a bit older. They must have had a lot to drink already. They hadn't reserved, and to the hotel clerk they said they had left their documents in the car. The clerk was a man around sixty who had been instructed by the management not to be too fussy and to demand payment in advance. He wasn't a man who could afford to act on his own, so he gave the two a room on the third floor and asked for the payment. The boy took a wad of bills out of his pocket and paid in cash. While he was doing it, he added some rather crude remarks, because he liked it to be understood that he was a toughie. The girl said nothing. She was standing a little distance away.

They went up to the room but almost immediately came down again and went out to dinner without saying anything.

It was a fairly dingy hotel, on the outskirts of the city.

In the middle of the night the hotel clerk, lying on his cot, heard some noises in the lobby, like muffled voices. He got up to investigate and he saw the two of them leaning against a wall, kissing. The girl looked as if she wanted to go up to the room, but he kept her crushed against the wall and she giggled between one kiss and the next. The boy stuck a hand under her skirt and then she closed her eyes, still laughing. It could have been an amusing scene, but the boy had a manner that wasn't very nice. The hotel clerk gave a slight cough. The boy turned toward him and then went back to doing what he was doing, as if it didn't matter to him that someone was looking at him, or as if he liked it. But the clerk didn't like it, and so he took the key to their room and said aloud that he would be grateful if they would go up. The boy cursed, but took his hand away and used it to straighten his hair. Finally they took the key and left. The clerk remained standing behind the desk, and was thinking that there was something delightful about the girl when she reappeared in the lobby, with a shadow of weariness she hadn't had before, and said there were no towels in the room. The clerk was sure there were but went to get some in the storeroom without wondering what the story was. He returned with the towels and gave them to the girl, who thanked him politely, and moved as if to go. But after a couple of steps she stopped and, turning to the man, asked a question, as if she had been saving it up for a long time, and in a tone in which there was simple curiosity and a little of that weariness.

When do night clerks sleep? she asked.

At night, the man answered.

Oh.

In bits and pieces, of course.

All you night clerks are in bits and pieces, then.

Yes, in the sense that we have to wake up and go back to sleep many times.

How did you end up in a job like this?

I wasn't in a position to choose. And then I don't dislike it.

Certainly being a rock star would be something else.

Certainly I wouldn't have the tranquility and the time that I have the privilege of having at my disposal here.

What?

I mean that I like it here. I wanted to be tranquil.

Suit yourself. In my opinion you didn't have the balls to dream of something better. Good night.

Odd, it's the same thing I thought about you.

Excuse me?

When I saw you come in, and then afterward, there, in the lobby, I thought it was a pity.

What was a pity?

That boy. You with that boy. You, if I may say, are a charming girl, it's immediately obvious.

What nonsense are you talking?

I'm sorry. I wish you good night.

No, now tell me what you meant.

It's not important.

I'm sure, but now tell me anyway.

Your boyfriend will be expecting the towels.

My business. What's this story of the charming girl?

You keep your feet right next to one another—attached. Girls
don't always know that if they're wearing high heels the way to stand, when they're not moving, is with their feet together. Sometimes it's the width of a finger, but that's not the same thing.

Listen to this.

They don't all understand, but you know it, and then all the rest, too, you have a nice way of… of everything. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is all wrong, no?

And you—you understand?

And so I thought it was a pity. I thought maybe you didn't have the balls to dream of something better.

You should sleep a little more, you know? You're really not well.

It may be. But certain things can be understood.

And what do you think you understand?

Certain things.

What is it, did you go to school, are you a psychologist during the day, or a fortune-teller?

No. It's that I'm of a certain age, and I've seen all kinds of things.

Standing behind the front desk of a hotel?

Partly.

What kind of experience is that?

I've had others.

Such as?

Having children like you.

Big deal.

Does that seem worthless to you?

Anyone's capable of having children.

That's true. I was in jail. Do you like that?

You, in jail?

Thirteen years.

Are you making fun of me?

I wouldn't dare.

You don't seem like the jail type.

No, it's true.

Did you end up there by mistake?

I ended up there for a whole series of reasons that lined up in an anomalous and uncorrectable way.

I don't understand.

I killed a man.

Shit.

Your boyfriend is waiting for you.

You killed a man how?

I shot him. One shot, just one.

What aim…

It was at a few feet, it wasn't exactly easy to miss. But the fact that I'd fired just one shot helped, in court.

You give the impression that you didn't really enjoy it.

Right.

Something tidy.

So to speak.

Why did you kill him?

It's a long story.

All right, make it short.

Why should I tell you?

I don't know, I'd like to know.

Let's do like this…

Yes, but hurry, I have to go.

I'll tell you the story, but in exchange you'll leave this hotel, right now, without even saying goodbye to the man up there.

What?

I said that I would be glad to tell you why I killed him, but afterward, in exchange, I'd like you to leave and go home.

What the fuck are you talking about?

I don't honestly know. But this idea occurred to me. I'd very much like to see you go out that door and find a better place.

What's wrong with this place?

That man.

My boyfriend?

Maybe. You and him, yes. That's all wrong.

Listen to you.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Of course you're wrong.

You're sure?

Of course.

Then I'm sorry. Take the towels. Good night.

Just a minute, just a minute.

Go.

Just a minute. The story first.

I said that I would be glad to tell you, but in exchange you must do me the kindness of leaving through that door and going home.

What's with you, idiot? Surely you don't think that I'll really do it? Leave just because you'd
like
it.

In fact I see it as an unlikely possibility.

You could even say impossible.

Why?

It's my life, what do you have to do with it?

Apart from that?

Apart from that, in any case I couldn't go.

Why?

He'd beat me up.

Ah, there.

Satisfied?

No. Not at all. How did you get into this situation?

How do I know.

Fantastic.

I liked… that is, I
like
, except that…

What
do you like?

My boyfriend.

Yes, but what do you like about him?

What a stupid question, I like him, how he looks, I like that he's crazy, I like him in bed. You know what I'm talking about?

I think I can get an idea.

Okay, then get it.

Wasn't there someone less inclined to vulgarity and violence?

What the fuck are you saying?

Why don't you find a nice man who doesn't beat you?

Are there any?

You are splendid.

Forget about it. Give me those towels.

Here.

I think I need a good shower.

Probably.

I'll have to do it without finding out how the hell an idiot like you ended up as a murderer.

Go home and take the shower, and you'll find out.

At home? You have no idea.

You must have a house.

It's not my house, it's my mother's.

In general it doesn't matter.

Answer, it's certainly him.

Reception, good evening… Yes, she's here…I have no idea… Yes, I'll give her to you.

Hello… I'm coming… I stopped to chat a moment… With the clerk… Yes, chat… He could be my grandfather, Mike… That's my business, isn't it… No, look… I told you I'm coming…
Leave me in peace for a minute
? I told you I'm coming…
You're the one who's shouting!
… What do you mean half an hour, it must be five minutes… What do I know, it must be at the bottom of my purse… Don't shout, please…
Don't shout, shit…
I said… fuck off.

I'm sorry, it's my fault.

What the fuck…

Go on.

No, call him back for me, please.

On the telephone?

If not, then what? Hurry up.

I really think that…

Hurry up, or else he'll come down!

Here.

Hello?… Hello?… Sorry, sorry, please, I'm sorry… Mike… right… I'm coming right up… I swear… I've just got the towels…
I love you… yes… I told you… yes, I'm coming.

Now go.

Yes, I'm going.

Good night.