The Wanderess (23 page)

“There is no charge,” he said.

The doctor went to say goodbye to Saskia. He also told me
he gave the young woman his address in case she didn’t recover as
well as he thought she would.

Saskia and I went to sleep, too tired for champagne. By
morning, the patient in our garçonnière was well and she said
goodbye to us. I gave her money to keep food in her stomach, and
she left without trying to see if her boyfriend had come back
home. This was our last day living on the quai of the Seine.

Saskia and I decided that the story of Sarah Lingot
probably had enough truth in it make it a fact that Adélaïse no
longer lived in Paris. Without her, we were not needed in Paris.
Our hopes remained with Juhani, as we were almost completely
broke and had no money to leave town. We slept late that next
day, waking at noon, and when we awoke Saskia and I left our tidy
apartment for about two hours. Among other things, we went to
La Poste to see if we had a letter from Juhani. They told us that
the mail from Spain would be arriving later that day. When we
returned in front of our apartment house, we both grew
uncomfortable—a strange premonition came over us. We
climbed the stairs to the fifth-floor and went down the hall to our
door. It was strangely ajar. I opened it slowly, thinking there
might be someone in our apartment. Saskia waited in the hall
while I searched. There wasn’t a soul in our apartment, but what I
did find was bad news: our entire home had been destroyed. All
the furniture was turned upside-down. Our few possessions were
smashed and lay on the floor. Saskia’s clothes lay torn and flung
around. My papers were scattered, and some of the pages were
burned. Shreds of broken glass lay everywhere on the floor. The
only thing unharmed was the most important thing: Saskia’s
guitar. It was perched in the armoire as it always was when she
didn’t play it. Saskia came in to our room crying.

“I’m going to go mad!” she cried, looking through her torn
clothing, “Burglars! …although what did they steal?!—nothing at
all!” It’s true, nothing seemed to be missing. Everything that we
had was simply broken or set fire to. The little money we had, I
kept on me at all times. Saskia’s joy was restored when she found
her diamond earrings. Apparently the thieves hadn’t seen them.
She said that since her earrings and her guitar were safe, the rest
of her things didn’t matter, and she was happy. Since I kept my
clothing and many of my things up in our garçonnière—to give
the impression to visitors that Saskia lived alone—I went up to
the sixth-floor to see if that little room had been broken into as
well. Everything upstairs was untouched, the room was exactly
how the sick girl had left it when she left at noon that day. I
changed into clothes for travel, and went back down to get
Saskia… “We’re leaving,” I said. We still had another week left in
our apartment, the rent already paid; but I knew we shouldn’t stay
there. “Besides,” I said, “the last week of rent will help pay Mme
Gazonette for the damage done to her furniture. It wasn’t much
to reimburse her for the furniture, but I couldn’t be bothered
about this. We had no more money left anyway, and how was it
our fault if somebody broke in?—the locks should have been
sturdier…

“Take your guitar and a your suitcase and your most
important things,” I said to Saskia, “We’re leaving.” I told her we
would go have lunch in a café to calm down, and then we would
go back to the post office to see if word came from Juhani. The
Spanish mail was due that afternoon.

While we were eating inexpensive dishes at a bistro near
La Poste, Saskia repeated again and again, “It was Andrea. I know
it. He arrived in Paris just as the rumors had predicted he would,
and he found out where I was living—I have no idea how he found
it out. Then he came to break everything apart and read any
papers he could find to have some proof that you and I are living
together.” I too shared her belief that it was Andrea, although this
idea fell apart completely when we arrived at the post office…

There were two letters. To our great joy, the first we
opened was from Juhani. He addressed his letter directly to me as
though I were alone in Paris, although I had told him about Saskia
in my last letter to him. He began by making extensive apologies
for his delay in responding, saying that he had been away in the
countryside evaluating the value of a piece of land for his bank;
and he just now returned to Madrid and wrote me this reply as
quickly as he could, even before taking off his coat.

Juhani wrote that he would see about advancing me
money and buying me a couple tickets to Italy, although he
needed three days to do this. He wrote that he was sorry if this
put me in an embarrassing situation—could I wait three days?
Signed, His Truly, Juhani. Underneath his signature there was a
postscript: he wrote that if I wanted to be a guest at his home in
Madrid, I could come immediately and stay as long as I wished.
All I had to do was go to a certain friend of his in Paris and ask
him for a ticket to go see Juhani in Madrid, and I would have a
first-class ticket immediately. “I hope this offer appeals to you,”
he wrote, “It would be like old times to have you back here.”

I folded the letter and said, “This gives us the hope that
our financial problems will be over in a few days.”

Saskia seemed sad and pensive. So much so, that I didn’t
open the second letter to see who wrote it. I folded it and put it in
my pocket, and asked what she was thinking about.

“Nothing,” she said, “I’m cold.”

“Let’s find a café somewhere.” We took our suitcases and
Saskia’s guitar and walked a few streets until we found a warm
café glowing amber-colored from the light of a large fireplace in
the center of the room. We found an intimate table near the fire
and ordered two cups of chocolate.

“It’s nice here,” I said. Saskia was still silent, however,
appearing sad and pensive.
“What is wrong?”
“You know, Saul, you fulfilled your promise to me. From
here on out we can be quits.”

“‘Quits?!’… Why do you say that?!”
“Because you promised me you would come with me to
Paris to find Adélaïse. We found out last night that she isn’t in
Paris. She’s in Tuscany—on her way she might be visiting Verona
or Milan. Who knows, maybe she will leave her new ‘friends’ in
Verona and stay there to look for me. I don’t need your help
anymore to find her. I can visit the cities and villages of Tuscany
myself. I can visit Verona myself. You’ve done your part. I’ll
write you a letter of honorable dismissal. Then you can go off on
your own.”

“‘Honorable dismissal?!’ Saskia, have you gone out of your
mind?!”

She didn’t reply, she looked cold and unfeeling. Then she
said to me, “Yes, Saul. Honorable dismissal. You have to realize it
will be better for me if you’re not in my life. Now we know that
Andrea is in Paris. You know he has a talent for finding out my
address when I don’t leave any traces or any clues. It’s only a
matter of time before he finds us here. And then I will lose my
inheritance. You see? It is better if you leave now.”

I stood there, stunned. For a long time I stood there,
looking at her cold, unfeeling face that was, however, trembling
each time our eyes fixed on each other. I said to her then, “Saskia,
what is this about? I know you are too poetic of a soul to care
more about inheritance money than you care about a relationship
like ours. I know you know that if you lost your inheritance, I
would take care of you and offer all you need in the way of money.
You know that we might even find relief if you lose your
inheritance. We wouldn’t have to worry anymore about living
together out in the open. We would be fully alive together. No,
Saskia, there is another reason why you are telling me to leave.
What is it?”

“You are right,” she said, and she buried her face in her
hands; then she lifted her face, her hands were covered in tears, “I
cannot lie to you, I see. It doesn’t work. The real reason why I say
we should be quits, and the reason why I say this only now—not
after our conversation with Sarah Lingot, nor after Andrea came
and ruined everything in our apartment and destroyed our
possessions and read your papers—the reason I am sad about this
only now is because the reason I am sad is because of Juhani’s
letter to you.”

“Why, because he only wrote it to
me
and not to
us
?”

“That’s only a small part of it. Of course, I wouldn’t be sad
if he’d invited the two of
us
to come to Madrid to stay with him
for awhile. But the fact that he invited you, and he said you could
have your ticket tonight... Look, Saul, if you stay with me, we are
going to have to go find a cheap, miserable place to stay for a few
nights with the hope that Juhani will come through to advance us
money in a few days. If he doesn’t come through with money, we
will be stuck and who knows what will happen! This way, you can
leave tonight, travel in comfort, and soon you will be with your
dear friend whom you’ve known since Malta. You won’t be
obliged to hang out in dirty rooms with your little gypsy girl.” At
this, she broke into tears that fell like two waterfalls, “That is why
I say you’ve fulfilled your contract, and now we can be quits.”

Now that she was crying heavily, I took her hand and led
her away from our table, away from the other tables. I took her
behind the chimney where I could see only her. I took my sad
gypsy girl into my arms, and stood there holding her, if only so
her tears could soak into the fabric of my scarf and not stay wet
on her beautiful face. I then stepped back to look into her eyes. I
asked her then to tell me if there was another reason she wanted
me to stay with her, other than simply to find her friend Adélaïse.
She had said to me once that she needed
me
to realize her
‘fortune’; that without me she would not find what she was
looking for. I said that she knew all along that her fortune wasn’t
merely to find her lost best-friend. If it were just that, she
could’ve used part of her income to hire a private detective. A
private detective would be more efficient and easier to manage
than trying to stabilize a capricious adventurer on his way to find
the white nights of Saint Petersburg. “No,” I said, “there’s
something that you’re seeking beyond simply Adélaïse and you’re
not telling me what it is. You need me for this, you know that.
So, what is it you are seeking, Saskia?”

“My destiny,” she replied, “and I can’t have it if we are
apart.”

“Why should we be apart? You are my sister, my love, my
wife, my undefiled
¹
… I will stay with you, and our life will be a
good one. I shall follow your caprices, and you shall follow mine.
But never will a caprice of mine take me away from you.”

“I believe you,” she said and pressed the side of her face
hard against my chest and kept it there. We stayed silent for
several moments.

When we returned to the table, she smiled. We both
smiled. I took the second letter out of my pocket, which was
addressed to her, and I handed it to her. She examined the sealed
envelope and couldn’t determine who had sent it. She opened the
envelope and began to read it to herself. She then lowered the
paper with a steady hand and said to me calmly, “It’s a letter from
my uncle’s trust.”

“Well, what is it?”
“It couldn’t have been Andrea who broke into our
apartment this morning.”
“Why couldn’t it have been him?”
“Because he’s dead.”

Chapter Twenty-six

Saskia had informed her uncle’s estate that she would be in Paris
for several months but she didn’t give them an address where she
could be reached. They sent the letter because Andrea claimed
Saskia as his last of kin; although he didn’t explain exactly
how
they were part of the same family—if they
were
related at all. As
last of kin, they were obliged to contact Saskia immediately
following his death. They wrote that, not finding an exact address
in Paris for her, they made some failed inquiries about her address
before finally deciding to write her via the central post office.
This was the one letter they sent to the central post office: it
confirmed that Andrea had in fact been on his way up to Paris
from Rome on some “family business” after learning she was
there; but that passing through Genoa, he was killed in an
accident. His death occurred about ten days before our
apartment was broken into.

“Are you a little sad?”
“I’m relieved!” she smiled, “and worried.”
“Worried? Why?”

“I never really thought of Andrea as being part of my
family. After my uncle died, I considered myself an orphan. If
Andrea was a relation, he was a bad relation; as family members
are supposed to help each other out, not try to steal money from
the other family members… Still, now that he is dead. If I wasn’t
an orphan before, now I truly am an orphan. No one can even
claim to be part of my family. I truly am a wanderess now!”

“You are a wanderess,” I said, “but now you and I are part
of the same family. We won’t ever wander alone anymore.”

“I just can’t figure it out,” she said, “since the estate didn’t
have our address, Andrea couldn’t have had it either. Otherwise, I
might think he hired some men in advance to come destroy our
apartment. So then…
who did it?”

“A mystery. Let’s not go back to see.”

We didn’t go back. We walked around, bundled-up warm,
carrying our luggage. We asked here and there for the most
inexpensive place to stay imaginable, where we could pay by the
day. People looked at us strangely when we asked this, since I was
dressed like a gentleman and Saskia like a lady of the first-rank. If
I judged that the astonished people were fools who didn’t deserve
a response, I simply laughed at them. If they seemed to be good
souls who might try to help, I would point to Saskia’s guitar case
and tell them, “We are poor travelling musicians. We are obliged
to dress in these bourgeois costumes.” The worthy souls took this
as a worthy explanation, and after a couple hours of searching, we
were led to a place off the rue Saint-Denis that announced itself as
a sort of hostelry for people with very low means. We decided to
spend three nights there and no more; as we were convinced of
the fidelity of Juhani, we believed he would soon come through to
save us.

The outside of the hostelry gave the appearance of a
prison. Residence structures on either side were loaded with
barred windows. There was a closed entrance gate in the center
of the structure. Once inside the gate, the place didn’t look any
less discouraging: ugly walls with windows surrounded a cold
courtyard. In front of the courtyard, in the center, sat a stoopy
little box where an attendant waited behind a grill. At the rear of
the courtyard there were no windows, just a high, solid wall of
stone that was as black as the gate, while the residence halls on
the left and the right side were white-washed, and each contained
windows that were closely spaced together, suggesting that the
rooms were very small.

At the grill of the box, the attendant told us that there
were rooms available, and that each room cost two francs per day.
We didn’t think it was possible to find a room so cheap, and had
counted on paying at least five francs; however it turned out it
was forbidden for women and men to share a room, so we would
therefore need two rooms at a total of four francs per night. In
addition, there was the displeasure that we couldn’t share a bed.
Even married couples had to sleep in separate parts of the
hostelry. The women’s quarters were in the building on the left
side of the courtyard, walking in. The men’s quarters were on the
right side. Each building had a separate entrance, and men were
forbidden to pass through the women’s gate, and women through
the men’s gate. There was a curfew every night at ten o’clock, all
tenants were required to be in their rooms, the lights
automatically shut off.

We could afford more than four francs per day, but we
were exhausted from looking for lodging morning till night. We
didn’t pay any money at first. I gave the attendant a two-franc tip
when we first arrived on condition that he watch our luggage for a
half-hour while we talked it over. Before leaving him, I asked,
“What kind of people stay here?”

“Travelers mostly, travelers on a tight budget.”
“What kinds of travelers?”

“We don’t let riffraff through, if that’s what you want to
know. Still, I’d advise you both to lock your rooms from the
inside at night.”

“Thank you, we will be back in a half-hour to let you
know.”

Outside, the wind had died
down, and we were dressed
warmly, making for an agreeable walk—although the
neighborhood was bad.

“If you want, I will leave you the rest of our money,” I said,
“I’m sure you can buy a ticket to London or Italy, since you will
only need one… I could go down to Madrid today.”

“I was just thinking how I don’t like it that we will have to
sleep in separate rooms these next few nights.”

“Seriously Saskia, why don’t you leave today without me
and go to a country where you can collect on your inheritance?
You can avoid sleeping in this prison.”

Saskia turned to me with a look of horror. Her eyes went
searching into my eyes. “Saul! Listen to me! I was an orphan
today, till you told me we were from now on family, you and me.
You are my brother, my lover, the only husband I will ever know!
I don’t care where I have to sleep, just so long as I am not far from
you.” She held her hands as if to pray, and put them against my
chest. I held her, and while I held her, I thought to myself about
the way she used to talk about her fortune being everything, and
about Adélaïse being everything. I asked her to whom she now
gave her allegiance. “Is it to me you give your allegiance, Saskia?
Or is your allegiance to your fortune, and to Adélaïse?” Saskia lied
to me then and said it was to me she pledged her allegiance; and I
believed her and held her even tighter.