Patricia Highsmith - The Tremor of Forgery (35 page)

‘
Bloody meddling,
’
said Jensen, staring with nearly closed
eyes at his canvas in progress. The picture was of two enormous soles of sandals with the tips of brown toes showing. A reclining Arab
’
s face was tiny between the sandals.

‘I’m
going downstairs to sleep
.’
Ingham said,
‘
despite your good coffee. I had a bad night last night.
’

‘
Don
’
t let her upset you! Good God, I see she
’
s upsetting you!
’
Jensen was suddenly rigid and spluttering with anger.

Ingham laughed.
‘
I want her, you see. I love her.
’

‘
Um-m,
’
said Jensen.

At his sink, Ingham washed his face, then put on pyjama pants. It was ten to twelve. He didn
’
t care what time it was. He lay down on his bed and pulled the sheet over
hi
m
,
and after a minute threw it off, as usual. One last cigarette. He made himself think for a few minutes about his book. Dennison was having his semi-realized crisis. His appropriations had been discovered. Dennison was stunned, though not completely puzzled, by the public
’
s attitude. What was worse for him was that a few of his friends were shocked that he was a
‘
crook
’
, and had dropped him, though even these, later, were going to repay the money he had given them. Ina had had an idea the other night: have the money repaid with interest, over a long period if need be, so that Dennison
’
s bank could not say he had cost them the money his stolen money would have earned. It was going to amount to a fantastic lot of money. Ingham put out his cigarette.

He turned on his side and shut his eyes, and suddenly he thought of Lotte. It gave him as usual a pleasant-painful jolt. He thought of getting into bed with her at night, every night, always a delicious pleasure to him, whether or not they made love. He had never tired of Lotte physically, in those two years, and he remembered thinking that he saw no reason why he should ever tire of her, despite what some people said about boredom always setting in. He had never quarrelled with Lotte. It was f
un
ny. Maybe that was because they
’
d never talked about anything at all complex, such as what he
’
d just been talking to Ina about
—
and he
’
d always been quite
content to let Lotte have her own way. He supposed Lotte was happier now, with the extrovert idiot she had married. Maybe she had even decided to have a child.

Ingham heard the front door being opened, a wooden squeak against the threshold. Fatma, he thought, damn her.

A knock on his door.
‘
Howard? Anybody home?
’
It was OWL.

‘
Just a minute
.’
Ingham pulled on his pyjama jacket. He hated being seen in pyjamas. He started to put on his sneakers and gave it up. He opened the door.

‘
Aha I Sleeping late. Sorry if I disturbed you
.’

‘
No, I went back to bed. I had a lousy night.
’

Adams wore neat Bermuda shorts, a striped shirt, and one of his
little
canvas caps.
‘H
ow so?
’

‘
The heat, I suppose. Gets worse and worse
.’

cAh, that
’
s August I Have you got a few minutes, Howard? It
’
s reasonably important, I think,
’
he said briskly.

‘
Of course. Sit down. Would you like a drink or a beer?
’

OWL accepted a beer. Ingham got two cans from the bucket of water on the floor. The foam spewed up. They were not very cool, but Ingham didn
’
t apologize.

‘
I had breakfast with your girl,
’
OWL said with a chuckle.
‘
If that sounds funny, I met her on the beach this morning. I invited her for scrambled eggs.
’

‘
Oh.
’
OWL hadn
’
t noticed his car, Ingham gathered. Ingham sat down on his bed.

OWL had taken the chair by his table. CA bright young woman. An exceptional girl. She goes to church, she told me.
’

‘
Yes, so did I tell you. I think just recently.
’

‘
Protestant. Called St Ann
’
s, she said. She told me about her brother, too.
’

What was he leading up to?

‘
She
’
s a
little
worried about you.
—
She said she
’
d tried to talk you out of living here and get you to take a bungalow. Just for your own comfort.
’

‘I’m
not uncomfortable. I can understand that a woman wouldn
’
t like it.
’

‘
She tells me you
’
ve got a very nice apartment in Manhattan.
’

Ingham resented the remark, as if it were somehow an intrusion on his privacy. And what would OWL
think
if he knew John
Castlewood
had killed himself there, and if he knew why?

‘I
na
’
ll
be leaving in another week or so, she told me. You
’
re staying on, Howard?
’

‘I’m
not sure. If my book is finished
—
the first draft
—I
suppose I
’
ll go back to New York.
’

‘
I thought maybe you
’
d be going back with her.
’
Adams smiled pleasantly, and put his hands on his bare knees.
‘
Anyway, I
’
d hang on to her, if I were you.
’

Ingham sipped his beer. Is she so keen to hang on to me ?
’

‘
I would think so,
’
OWL said with a sly wink,
‘
Would she have come to Tunisia, if she weren
’
t pretty sold on you? But I hope you
’
ll be honest with her, Howard. Honest in everything.
’

Ingham thought suddenly, Ina hadn
’
t told
Mm
much about her feelings for
Castlewood
, speaking of honesty. She might have given a fuller accounting.
‘
Perhaps adults, people as old as we are, always have some secrets. I don
’
t know that I want her to tell me everything about her past. I don
’
t know why some things can
’
t remain private.
’

‘
Maybe. But one
’
s heart must be open to the one we love, to the one who loves us. Open and bare.
’

As always, listening to OWL, Ingham saw the actual thing, the heart, cut open, full of limp valves, blood
clots, as he bad seen hearts in butchers
’
shops.
‘I’m
not sure I agree. I think actions in the present count more than those in
the
past. Especially if the other person wasn
’
t even in that past
’

‘
Oh, it doesn
’
t have to be so long past. Just an honest attitude, that
’
s all I mean.
’

Ingham smouldered gen
tl
y. He drained the last drops of
his beer and set the can down a little hard on the crate that he used for a night-table. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
‘
I hope I
’
m honest enough to satisfy Ina
.’

‘
We
’
ll see
.’
said OWL, with his happy, paunchy smile.
‘
If she leaves before you or if you both leave together, we
’
ve got to have a big send-off. I
’
ll miss you both.
—
Would you like to have some lunch at Melik
’
s, Howard?
’

‘
Thanks, Francis. I think I
’
d like some sleep more than anything.
’

When OWL was gone, Ingham drank a big glass of water, and tried the bed again. He felt as if he seethed inside, deeper than even a sleeping pill could touch, if he had had one. It was a sensation like repressed anger, and Ingham detested it. He heard Jensen
’
s soft tread on the outside steps, and was delighted when Jensen tapped on his door.

‘
Wasn
’
t that our mutual friend OWL?
’
Jensen asked.

‘
Correct. Have a stone, my friend.
’

‘
How did you guess?
’
Jensen went to the kitchen.
‘
And you?
’

‘I
don
’
t mind if I do
.’

Jensen sat down. They drank.

‘
OWL is urging me to confess, and he doesn
’
t know I
’
ve already done it
.’
Ingham said.
‘
Imagine confessing something that you might not have done?
’

‘
OWL should go back to New England, or wherever it is
.’

‘
And of course he
’
s urging me to hang on to Ina.
’
Ingham flopped back on his bed.
‘A
s if his advice would influence me in something like that!
’

‘
He
’
s a funny little fellow.
“
What a funny little man you are,
”
as Bosie said to the Marquis.
’
Jensen laughed with sudden mirth.

And Ingham smiled, too.
‘I’ll
go by the Reine around seven and see how Ina
’
s doing.
’

‘
I have never seen such meddling people
—
maybe not Ina, but I can see you depend on what she thinks. Do you know what I would do to the man who stole Hasso? I won
’
t put
into words what I would do, and I would do it slowly, and I wouldn
’
t give a damn what anybody thought of me for doing it.
’

Ingham drew comfort from Jensen.
“
It
’
s not entirely Ina and OWL. I think I live through the same kind of crisis in my book. That happens
.’
Ingham had told Jensen about Dennison.

‘
Oh, yes, that happens. You don
’
t mind if I have another stone? Or a pebble?
’

Ingham
went to find Ina at seven o
’
clock. He had slept a couple of hours, had gone for a swim, and had written three pages in an effort to make it seem a day like any other. But he felt odd, and had come to no conclusion as to what he should do if Ina
’
s attitude was this or that. The church business bothered him in an amorphous way. How
much
was she involved with the church? And it was not so much the situation now that he thought about, but future ones, in which she might take an attitude with which he couldn
’
t cope, in which she might go off on tangents that would make him feel like someone from another world
—
which would be in fact true.