embassy, the revolver to Bernhard. The Grand Rapids table was ungainly, graceless, the dimensions off-kilter, built to survive an earthquake or a firebomb. Florette wanted to get rid of it but Thomas refused. He told her the table had sentimental value and then he put it in his studio where she wouldn't have to look at it. He was often tempted to show the compartments to Granger, who had an appreciation of artifacts of dubious provenance, but he never did. He never spoke to Granger or anyone else about his odd jobs; that was part of the contract. Granger, accustomed to shadows, accustomed to living with contradiction and ambiguityâfamiliar with false faces, familiar with flight, familiar with altered biography, vastly disciplinedâwould propose, not a solution to the problem, but a way to think about the problem.
The world is too much with you, Thomas. Step back. Take stock.
Never discount the value of negligence.
Find out what they want you to do. Then do the opposite.
You want a kiss shot. Just brush the ball into the side pocket.
Something along those lines, Thomas thought.
The snow was steadier now, falling in bunches, flakes the size of marbles falling from a hidden sky. By morning the valley would be covered and he would be locked in whether he wanted to be or not. That was just as well. He had nowhere he wanted to go and if he could not get out, no one could get in; a fair trade. Bernhard and Russ would be boarding their train just about now, stowing their luggage, finding their seats, and departing at once for the bar car, checking their wristwatches en route, calculating the time of arrival in Paris. Surely there would be time for a nightcap somewhere in Montparnasse, and in the morning Bernhard could move on to London and begin his "inquiries." They disliked the countryside
and provincial life generally. The pace was too slow, the days predictable, nothing to do and winter coming on. From the look of things, winter had arrived, sooner than usual. How can you stand it there? What will you do all day long? It's unhealthy to spend so much time alone, a situation that gives rise to morbid thoughts.
The wind came up again, the snow swirling, eddying like a river current. There was warmth inside the house but Thomas did not move, remaining on the threshold for many minutes, the sticks of wood in his arms, imagining the train gathering speed as it left the terminal at Toulouse.
Au revoir, gentlemen.
Mind your own business.
Thomas shivered in the cold, shivered as Florette must have shivered. Had she anything to say to her captors? At the end she would not have been capable of conversation. She would be with herself. Perhaps a prayer, not spoken but thought, a wish that someone would arrive with help. She was slowly freezing to death. Her thoughts would come to her piecemeal and in slow motion. The thought was unbearable. Thomas looked through the window into his living room, Florette's portrait over the fireplace, Granger's on the long wall, Piaf near the dining room table. A room of comfort and good cheer, the sense of one conversation just ended and another about to begin. He decided to follow Bernhard and Russ's example and walk to the bar car. He opened the front door but still did not step through it. He shivered, considering vengeance and the satisfaction it would bring dear Florette. Dr. Picot had said she was surely unconscious at the end so would not have felt the knife's blade. But Dr. Picot had also said that Florette was strong as an ox, which she was not. Thomas watched the snow tumble, wishing he were twenty years younger, when he had a young man's certainty and a young man's energy and guile and love of the game, avid for adventure. He wished he had led a different sort of life.
Lebenslüge
T HE WIND BLEW every which way all night, carrying with it a foot of snow. Thomas slept fitfully, ill at ease in the howling wind. He slept, woke, and slept again. The old house creaked and time
The world is too much with you, Thomas. Step back. Take stock.
Never discount the value of negligence.
Find out what they want you to do. Then do the opposite.
You want a kiss shot. Just brush the ball into the side pocket.
Something along those lines, Thomas thought.
The snow was steadier now, falling in bunches, flakes the size of marbles falling from a hidden sky. By morning the valley would be covered and he would be locked in whether he wanted to be or not. That was just as well. He had nowhere he wanted to go and if he could not get out, no one could get in; a fair trade. Bernhard and Russ would be boarding their train just about now, stowing their luggage, finding their seats, and departing at once for the bar car, checking their wristwatches en route, calculating the time of arrival in Paris. Surely there would be time for a nightcap somewhere in Montparnasse, and in the morning Bernhard could move on to London and begin his "inquiries." They disliked the countryside
and provincial life generally. The pace was too slow, the days predictable, nothing to do and winter coming on. From the look of things, winter had arrived, sooner than usual. How can you stand it there? What will you do all day long? It's unhealthy to spend so much time alone, a situation that gives rise to morbid thoughts.
The wind came up again, the snow swirling, eddying like a river current. There was warmth inside the house but Thomas did not move, remaining on the threshold for many minutes, the sticks of wood in his arms, imagining the train gathering speed as it left the terminal at Toulouse.
Au revoir, gentlemen.
Mind your own business.
Thomas shivered in the cold, shivered as Florette must have shivered. Had she anything to say to her captors? At the end she would not have been capable of conversation. She would be with herself. Perhaps a prayer, not spoken but thought, a wish that someone would arrive with help. She was slowly freezing to death. Her thoughts would come to her piecemeal and in slow motion. The thought was unbearable. Thomas looked through the window into his living room, Florette's portrait over the fireplace, Granger's on the long wall, Piaf near the dining room table. A room of comfort and good cheer, the sense of one conversation just ended and another about to begin. He decided to follow Bernhard and Russ's example and walk to the bar car. He opened the front door but still did not step through it. He shivered, considering vengeance and the satisfaction it would bring dear Florette. Dr. Picot had said she was surely unconscious at the end so would not have felt the knife's blade. But Dr. Picot had also said that Florette was strong as an ox, which she was not. Thomas watched the snow tumble, wishing he were twenty years younger, when he had a young man's certainty and a young man's energy and guile and love of the game, avid for adventure. He wished he had led a different sort of life.
Lebenslüge
T HE WIND BLEW every which way all night, carrying with it a foot of snow. Thomas slept fitfully, ill at ease in the howling wind. He slept, woke, and slept again. The old house creaked and time
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