The Dogs and the Wolves (21 page)

‘I’m afraid . . . afraid of dragging you down with me . . .’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked softly.

She hid her face in her hands.

‘I used to dream about going into your house. You would be sitting with your mother and your aunts, surrounded by them, protected by them. But I came up from behind. No one saw me. I grabbed you by your long hair – you had curls like a little girl, Harry . . .’

‘Oh, have pity,’ he said, smiling, ‘don’t drag up that terrible memory . . .’

‘I would take you by the hair, like Delilah took Samson, and I’d say, “Come with me!” and you would leave everything to go with me. But where would I take you? That was what I never knew. I would wake up quivering with joy. But I know the answer now. It wasn’t that I was climbing up to your level: I was dragging you down, pulling you down, by force, to mine!’

‘Ada, I belonged to you before anyone else. Laurence wasn’t wrong about that. She would have forgiven me an affair with a woman like her, but it is you that she cannot forgive me. It is not within our power to change what someone else has decided.’

It was an evening at the end of August, and Ada was alone. The divorce proceedings were about to begin. It was almost impossible to believe that life was going to change this way, that she was going to become Harry’s legal wife . . . and yet . . . Hadn’t everything in her life fallen upon her like lightning from above? Everything: both happiness and misfortune. God grants some people a peaceful, secure path, thought Ada, but for others an abyss awaits every step they take. From the depths of her memory, her father’s words came to her, and his sad, mocking voice:

‘God knows what He is doing and so He gives these unfortunate people a light, agile tread that saves them from the edge of the precipice; the storm rains down on them but they survive. He also grants them moments of great happiness, which are just as unexpected and almost as terrifying as their disasters.’

The bell rang. It couldn’t be Harry; he had only just gone. She opened the door and saw Ben, the same Ben, or so it seemed, as the one who had left a few years before. He looked untouched by work or weariness or time. It had always seemed as if he was ruled by different laws to those of other mortals: disappointment made him look older; a glimmer of hope made him seem young again. He slipped into the room rather than entering it, sliding
furtively through the door, as silent as a shadow. ‘But of course he’s just the same as ever,’ Ada thought wryly. It was in exactly this way that he used to come back from one of his errands in the lower town, or from a secret fishing trip to the river, at night.

Just as she used to, Ada leapt towards him, grabbed him by the arm and shook him.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ he replied.

‘You’re going away?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yes.’

‘What have you done?’

He had gone to sit on the bed.

‘There’s a warrant out for me,’ he said, leaning against the pillow and closing his eyes for a moment.

‘Just one?’ she asked.

‘You’ve always had a great sense of humour, my girl,’ he said, smiling.

She took his hand in hers.

‘Well, then! You should go, get away; what are you waiting for?’

‘They never arrest anyone at night. And besides, by the time it all gets going, all their complicated legal, bureaucratic, police procedures, I’ll be far away . . .’

‘But what have you done?’ she pleaded, her voice full of fear.

He stood up and paced back and forth around the room, opening and closing the cupboards.

‘What are you looking for? Money?’

He didn’t reply.

‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

‘No. Just thirsty. I’m dying of thirst. Give me something to drink.’

She poured him a glass of water.

‘Give me a drop of wine, Ada.’

‘You already seem drunk!’

He wasn’t listening to her. He’d found a bit of white wine and mixed it with the water. He sipped it slowly, standing up.

‘No luggage?’

‘No.’

‘Just like before,’ she murmured, ‘with three shirts and a raincoat, always ready to leave, as light as the wind, a passport in your pocket . . .’

‘Why do you want me to have changed?’ he asked dryly. ‘And what about you? The mistress of that rich Sinner, but you’re still here!’

He thought for a moment, then added, ‘You do know that I won’t be the only one who has to leave, don’t you?’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning that someone – who is certainly not expecting it, someone who is now sleeping in his lovely French bed – would be wise to do what I’m doing, tomorrow morning or even tonight, if he doesn’t want to lose everything along with me.’

‘Are you mad? Have you been drinking?’

‘I’m not mad and I’m not drunk. But you’ll soon find out what I’m talking about.’

‘Have you managed to get Harry mixed up in your dirty business, in your damned shady schemes?’ she shouted.

‘Absolutely.’

‘Harry? But that’s not possible! You and he have nothing to do with each other!’

‘He and I may have nothing to do with each other, but his uncles and his company do, and there are many unpleasant, painful things in store for him as a result.’

‘What are you talking about? Tell me!’

‘You can read about it in the papers tomorrow!’

Ada’s eyes were flashing.

‘Tell me right now!’ she said, leaping at him. ‘Tell me, damn you!’

‘The stock market crash of the Sinner firm,’ he said. ‘It’s been kept secret until today, but tomorrow the news will break, and with all the usual consequences: legal proceedings, scandal, public outrage, et cetera.’

His long, agile hands, never at rest, traced an elegant shape in the air, a web that was as extravagant and complicated as lace; he smiled as his eyes followed its threads.

‘You know, however brilliant and elaborate the scheme, it is a fragile, delicate structure that can come tumbling down with a single blow. And we’ve had one disaster after the other. What can you do? In the past, it was individuals who went bankrupt. But we’ve been dealing with insolvent governments. One after the other, they’ve collapsed, and every bankruptcy has been followed by some revolution or other, a change of regime or a war, and we were left high and dry with our mines flooded, our factories destroyed and our railways nationalised. What a year! I’ve lived through more this past twelve months than in the last twelve years. I did what I could . . .’

He stopped and looked at her.

‘Yes. You’ve guessed right. I stopped at nothing. I wanted to save time. In deals like these, it all finally comes down to seeing how long you can hold on. You dig a hole to fill in another hole until everything caves in and the whole thing collapses . . . or you’re saved by a single stroke of good luck. I’ve been accused of forgery.’

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘I had to keep going because of my enemies and also because of the Sinners. The past six months . . . yes, it’s true . . . I did forge their signatures. I had to. There were certain documents to do with assets that I had to . . . sort out a little . . . change the dates
to get the creditors to wait. Everything could have been saved if we’d held our nerve and kept it quiet for a few more months. The revolutions are coming to an end; the regimes are changing. The natural resources I was counting on are still there. But you’re always having to hand out bribes. That’s what can become costly . . . both for me and for them. One young lad who worked for me committed suicide. You can play around with the figures and that’s all right, but there’s always the human element; it’s inherently flawed, but you can’t do without it. Every man has his petty ambitions, his pitiful little love story, his fears. One fool lost his head and killed himself; before he died, he wrote a letter to the State Prosecutor. That’s how everything came out. Did the Sinners know?’ he asked slowly, speaking less to Ada than to himself. ‘No, of course not. Not at first, at least. And afterwards, they kept quiet because they understood how much could be gained. They were intoxicated by the idea. They rushed ahead, seeing nothing, forgetting about all the obstacles, like old horses who’ve been locked up in the stables for a long time,’ he said with a harsh laugh. ‘They hear shouting and the sound of the whip again and start running, and they run until they drop down dead. But at least I really made them run again. They had good times with me. You can’t even begin to imagine what they gained, thanks to me, and especially what they might have gained! Their company was large, famous, established, but with no power, slow, uncompromising, stagnating, dying: a corpse! I’m the one who brought it back to life, make no mistake about that!’

‘And Harry’s uncles, those old men, listened to you?’

‘Because I appealed to something within them that was even older than they were,’ he said quietly.

‘And Harry?’

‘We fixed it so he wouldn’t know anything.’

‘Well, then, he’s not responsible,’ she cried. ‘He can’t be expected to answer for what you’ve done!’

‘That will all be decided during the proceedings, my dear,’ he said sarcastically.

‘What proceedings?’

‘But . . . there will have to be an inquiry, judges, an investigation, how should I know?’

‘You mean a scandal! Is that what you wanted? A scandal?’

He didn’t reply.

‘You’re disgusting, Ben. You are the person I mistrust and detest most in the world, the person who is most evil! There is no punishment too harsh for you. Because of you, innocent people will be prosecuted, poor people will die. An honest man will be ruined, dishonoured, and all because of you! While you, you’ll disappear, calmly on your way, your hands in your pockets, your full pockets . . .’

‘That’s where you’re wrong! I haven’t got a penny.’

‘Tell that to someone who might believe you,’ said Ada harshly.

‘I swear. Why would I lie to you? I have nothing. Do you think I was wanting to stash away pennies like some old farmer’s wife from the Auvergne or Flanders when all those millions were floating around me, created by me, by the unique actions of my intelligence and cunning? Don’t laugh, Ada. Just because I’ve been beaten doesn’t mean you should refuse to admit that my intelligence, my gifts, are as brilliant as yours and equally important. What is your painting, after all? You want to make people see through your eyes, and in the same way, I too want to bend the world to my imagination, to my desires. That was what amused me, it was that, not stuffing my pockets full of money or bringing glory to the Sinners.’

He said the name with such hatred that Ada cried out. ‘The truth is that you wanted to destroy Harry! Get your revenge because I left you for him. You’re so proud of yourself but you’re nothing but a poor jealous child! And just like the most bourgeois husband, just like any shopkeeper whose wife has cheated on him, you wanted revenge!’

‘No,’ he said quietly, shaking his head. ‘No. The game I was playing was so exciting, I got so carried away that I even forgot about Harry . . . But the fact that he’s now mixed up in this mess, well, that
is
some consolation to me. For two days now, ever since I’ve known that the scandal was about to break, ever since I’ve been shaking all over (because you know I show off for you, Ada, and you, well, you know me so well and you either don’t see it or don’t want to see it, so you can be tough on me, so you don’t have to feel sorry for me), ever since that moment, there has been only one thought that has consoled me: the fact that, finally, Harry’s fate will be the same as mine. And why shouldn’t it be? We’re cousins; we come from the same line; we look alike. Ah, how satisfying it will be to see our photos side by side. Harry Sinner. Ben Sinner. Tomorrow, everyone will see those photos in the morning papers, and no one will be fooled, no one. They’ll be saying: “Two dirty foreigners, two filthy immigrants. Brothers, without a doubt . . . Look at them: they have the same scheming eyes, the same greedy mouth. They’re so ugly. Prison is the only place for those two!”’

He saw she had turned white.

‘But you know, I don’t really want him to go to prison that much,’ he said, leaning towards her. ‘You can warn him and let him do what I’m doing. Tell him to get away, to disappear. He won’t have a penny, you realise that? . . . The Sinners’ business will collapse. He can go from country to country, buying and selling rubbish, trafficking in foreign currency, become a travelling salesman, a broker who trades in cheap fabric or contraband munitions, depending on what his clients want or need, and in ten years, we’ll see if anyone, even a woman in love, even you, Ada, can tell the difference between him and me.’

‘Never. That’s impossible. He’ll never be like you, never!’

‘No, he won’t. He’d drown in places where I would float.’

They heard the clock strike four. Ben shivered.

‘I’m going now.’

‘Yes, go on, please,’ said Ada, trembling, pale, her eyes burning, ‘because . . . I’m afraid of myself . . . I want to kill you . . .’

‘Ada, come with me.’

‘You are mad! Now I’m sure of it. You’re mad!’

‘Ada, he’s not right for you and you’re not right for him.
I
know you; I’m almost a brother to you. Come with me. Who is
he
? He’s nearly a stranger to you! Come with me!’

He was no longer overexcited; the unnatural fever that had been sustaining him had abated. He spoke quietly, simply, without looking at her, without moving towards her.

‘You’re thinking you’ll go with
him
if he leaves. But he won’t leave; he’ll stay, his head bowed. He’ll bear the punishment that he doesn’t deserve. He won’t have the courage to give up everything, to get away, like I’m doing. I may have more happiness and more misfortune in store, but for him, life will be over. He’ll be eaten up by shame, by futile regrets. He’ll wait for the scandal to break. Then he’ll wait for the trial, then he’ll wait for people to forget. But they won’t forget, not until after he’s dead. But if you come with me . . .’

‘And you just said how similar you both were!’ she interrupted, furious.

‘Yes: the ways dogs and wolves are similar,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Ada! Do you imagine for a moment that he’ll forgive you?’