White Apples (8 page)

Yes, okay, Isabelle
was
beautiful but not annoyingly so. Hers wasn't the kind of face which, on entering a room, drew men's looks like a vacuum cleaner and left every other woman feeling diminished.

Sorrow. That was it—there was a great deal of sorrow in Isa•belle's face that both diminished her beauty yet gave her a distinctive compelling look. It was the face of someone who had seen both great and terrible things and was carved by the hands of both.

The two lovebirds got into the car. But then they just sat there for some unknown reason. Coco saw Ettrich hand Isabelle a small white package that turned out to be a sandwich. Which she pro•ceeded to eat—and eat and eat for minutes on end while he sat next to her doing nothing. They didn't even appear to talk much while she ate.
This
was Vincent's razzle-dazzle, soul-frazzling ro•mance? Lovers meet again after three gut-wrenching months apart. He's back from the dead, she's pregnant with his child, and the first thing he does is give her a
sandwich
?

Coco didn't begin to understand how any of this worked, but that wasn't the point. She wasn't there to study human behavior. She was there to protect Vincent Ettrich against all of the bad things that were likely to happen to him from this day on. That was what she had been sent to do. What she hadn't planned on was falling for the man, however long or short that fall was. Watching his car from her corner of the airport parking lot, Coco knew she had at least a big crush on Ettrich and that was bad news. Human emotion could cause problems. Frowning, she rolled her eyes in disgust at herself. In doing so, she looked up at one of the lights above the parking lot. What she saw there no mortal could have seen.

The parking lot was shaped like a large square. There were streetlights at each of the four corners and three down the middle of the lot. Coco's eyes jumped back and forth between them. The same thing was happening to all seven—some of the light streaming from each was slowing and coalescing into different recognizable forms. But human beings would never have apprehended it because human perception was crude and simplistic. It was like bringing a dog to the opera: the animal might notice and even bark excitedly at the hubbub, but the Mozart would only have been noise to its ears.

Although she was well aware of what this particular light show augured, it was impossible for Coco not to watch

raptly because the scene was unquestionably beautiful. Light streamed down from the lamps. Slowing, some of it began to curve and drift, stop or break apart, at times floating back upward. Like hot lead or candle wax poured into water, the light froze or curled or spread, often joining with other threads to form indescribable, repeatedly lovely forms.

If asked what was happening, Coco would have calmly said it's gaining consciousness. Emanating from the giant lamps as a solid, once out in the world parts of the light divided then met others and rejoined into different shapes, all of them alive. Coco could have named each of these living forms but there was no need. She had seen the process happen before and her reaction to it was the same—fascination and fear. Anyway there was nothing she could do about it
but
watch. These events were created by beings eons beyond her understanding and capabilities. She could only watch the occur•rences unfold and then, if necessary, act on them within the limits of her power.

The light forms swirled lower. Touching ground, they began rolling like fog across the pavement. Some of them were searching and quickly found what they sought—Vincent Ettrich's car. Coco knew this would happen the moment she saw them forming in the air. She knew they were here to find Ettrich and his Isabelle.

Oblivious to what was happening, the couple continued sitting in his car—Isabelle eating her sandwich, Vincent staring straight ahead with his hands on top of the steering wheel. Light slid up the door on the passenger's side. On reaching the window it split in two and moved in opposite directions. This learning light watched both passengers now. Languorously circling the car, it looked in from different angles and vantage points, learning about them. Things they didn't even know about themselves, things only the light could understand. Throughout this inspection both people remained oblivious. Isabelle folded the sandwich paper and said something to Vincent. He smiled but it suddenly stopped, faded and disappeared. The light, moving across the top of his shiny car, paused as if lis•tening to what they were saying. Then it began moving again. It wasn't fully cognizant yet so the couple had some time. Soon though. When the light had its full strength and intelligence it would be unstoppable.

Coco lit another cigarette and wished she could call for help. Being this close to the light was extremely dangerous for her too. But her job was to protect Ettrich as best she could, so she had to stay. For a moment she raged at how horribly unjust all of this was. Against it she was powerless to protect Vincent. And he certainly had no way of defending himself against what was coming.

The cigarette tasted awful. Why did people like these repulsive things? She had started smoking only for Ettrich's sake and then found herself doing it more out of habit than for any other reason. She quickly rolled down the window and tossed it out. But she was so nervous just sitting there helplessly watching that she had to do something with her hands. Pulling the cigarette lighter out of its socket on the dashboard, she bit into it. Now
that
tasted a lot better than cigarettes. Coco sat there more or less contentedly eating the still-warm object while watching the beautiful menacing light move over Vincent's car. The sound of plastic and metal being crunched and chewed was surprisingly loud in the small cockpit of the Austin-Healey.

After having swallowed the last curl of metal, she was still hungry. Looking at the dashboard and then lower, her eyes stopped on the gearshift knob. It was fat and round, made of a beautiful burled walnut. Normally she didn't like the taste of wood but beg•gars can't be choosers. Like Isabelle Neukor across the parking lot, Coco wanted more to eat. Her hand dropped onto the knob and with a twist of immense strength began to unscrew it. All the while her eyes never left Ettrich's car.

"What should I get?" Isabelle's beloved voice rose from behind the large black and yellow menu she had been studying. They faced each other in a booth by one of the windows. This booth was so large six people could have sat in it comfortably. But the diner was half-empty so they didn't feel guilty being there. It was that time of night when people don't think about eating. Most of the customers were either drinking coffee or eating dessert.

Ettrich had driven here from the airport because he remem•bered Isabelle liked the place very much. It was the kind of basic but good restaurant that advertised breakfast twenty-four hours a day, and served meat loaf with real mashed potatoes to guys wearing baseball caps indoors or women in pantsuits and running shoes. The friendly waitresses were all middle-aged and had 1950s' names like Elsie and Doris. When they asked "You ready for more coffee, hon?" Isabelle grinned and nodded like a child. As a European, she loved the genuine friendliness of most Americans. She was a great fan of America. Many times he had heard her defend it to skeptical con•descending Europeans who saw his country as a great place to shop but who would want to
live
there?

"A banana split." She closed the menu with a
whop
and gave him a big smile. "With extra
Schlagobers.
"

He nodded and looked for a waitress. "Do you feel more com•fortable speaking German or English? I never asked you that before."

"Both. Either. It doesn't matter. It's just that you can say certain things better in one language or the other.
Ich liebe

dìch
is an ugly-sounding way of saying 'I love you.' English is softer and fits the emotion better." She looked around the room, taking it all in. He had never known a person so attentive to the world around them.

"Isabelle, how did you know about what happened to me?"

Her eyes slowly moved to Ettrich's face. When they stopped he saw that they were calm. "You waited so long to ask, Vincent."

"I was afraid to. I
am
afraid to."

She nodded that she understood and sighed. "Do you remember the last time we made love in Vienna? That night?" "Yes, of course."

A waitress appeared. "Hi, folks. What can I bring you?"

Ettrich was so distracted that he could only stare at this stranger standing above him and wonder who the hell she was. It clicked in his brain a moment later and he tried unsuccessfully to think of something to order.

Isabelle said, "I'd like a piece of peach pie with a scup of vanilla ice cream." "You mean a scoop?" The waitress nodded encouragingly.

"Yes, yes, a
scoop."

"You've got a cute accent. Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" "Austria. Vienna, Austria."

"No kidding? You came all the way from Vienna to eat a piece of our pie? And you, sir, what would you like?" "I'll have a Coke."

"Gotcha. I'll be right back." She winked at Ettrich and took off.

Isabelle lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. "I saw her wink at you." She smiled. "I thought you were going to have a banana split?"

She shrugged. "Never trust a pregnant woman." She dipped her index finger in one of the glasses of water the waitress had brought. Taking it out, she ran it across the top of Ettrich's hand.

"Talk to me, Isabelle."

"Before I do, tell me about the last time we made love. It's important. Tell me everything you remember."

Ettrich sat back and steepled his fingertips over his stomach. "I said let's eat dinner at your favorite restaurant. So we went to the Stella Marina—"

"What street is it on?" Both her face and voice were a challenge.

"Windmuhlgasse. Sixth District. Is this a test? Come on, Isa•belle, you know how good my memory is." "We'll see. Go on."

For the moment Ettrich was on safe ground because his memory really was extraordinary. People commented on it. It was a good friend, having helped him countless times in both business and ro•mance. He remembered whole reams of statistics, obscure facts and details, poetry, a woman's middle name five years later.

"It was a beautiful night. We couldn't decide on whether to eat in the restaurant or at an outside table. You even started laughing because we couldn't make up our minds. Finally I just said
inside
so we could talk without all the street noise. Should I tell you what we ate?"

Isabelle shook her head and pushed a glass back and forth be•tween her hands. The water inside swayed to the edges but none slopped over.

"After dinner we walked on Mariahilferstrasse and bought ice cream. It was melting down all over your hand and I kept telling you how to lick it so that wouldn't happen." The memories made Ettrich smile. What a nice night that had been! Putting his hands flat on the table, he looked at them. For the first time he noticed a liver spot on the back of his left. "I always assumed I'd grow old. I never imagined myself dying before I had white hair growing out of my ears and lots of liver spots on my hands. But I was wrong, huh? I left the party a lot earlier than planned." His eyes were full of sadness and dismay.

"I don't remember any of it, Isabelle,
nothing.
Not getting sick or going to the hospital ... I don't remember
dying.
How is that possible? Not remembering
death
I can understand—you die and go someplace completely different. When you come back to life you can't remember that place because it's unimaginable. But how could you forget dying? That scares me most. I don't remember anything about it—not one thing."

"Here you go, folks—peach pie a la mode and a Coke."

Neither of them looked at the waitress, so caught up were they in the intensity of their moment. The woman was about to say more until she sensed what was going on between these two, and then she hurried away.

Gently Isabelle urged Ettrich to continue describing their last night together in Vienna. He made an exasperated face. "Why? Is this going anywhere? Does it mean anything?" "Yes, Vincent, trust me. It means everything."

"All right. We ate the ice cream walking back to your apart•ment. We stopped in the courtyard of your building for a few minutes to look at the trees. I always like to watch the way the streetlight comes down through the leaves in that eerie yellow-green ... I said how it reminded me of what the city must have looked like a hundred years ago."

Isabelle's eyes never left his face while she spooned up pie and ice cream. A white creamy drop fell onto her chin. Without think•ing, Ettrich reached over and wiped it off with his thumb. Then he licked his finger. Neither of them paid attention to his gesture.

"When you opened the door to your apartment, Soup went crazy. She jumped up in the air and started spinning around like a whirling dervish. You wanted to take a shower, so I went into the living room and played with her."

Isabelle dreamily looked down at her plate and was surprised to see all of the pie and ice cream was gone. She had been so involved in his account that she didn't remember the flavor of any•thing except that it had been sweet and

heavy. To remind herself of the tastes, she rolled her tongue around the inside of her mouth.

"On your bookshelf was one of those rawhide bones she loves to chew. So I took it down and started playing tug-of-war with her with it—" Ready to go on, Ettrich was puzzled to see Isabelle raise a finger to stop him. Like running back into the house when you forget your keys, he ran back into his memory to see if he had forgotten

anything important while recounting their last night to•gether. No, he had everything. Why was she stopping him? Her eyes took on an expression he couldn't decipher. She had been moving her mouth around in a peculiar way, but then she stopped abruptly and
that
look crossed her face. What did it mean? Ettrich always kept a close eye on Isabelle because her facial expressions often said what she was thinking long before she actually said anything.