Part 41 (1/2)
Then: ”Could I possibly have both?”
”I like your style.” Matt chuckled. ”You sure you're not American?”
It was twenty minutes before dawn. At the edge of a wet, fresh-smelling field, Josh leaned against his unlit car, watching a black, jagged shape climb into an indigo sky, its mutable wings twisting as it arced through an improbable angle. Then its trajectory levelled off as it whispered into darkness, and was gone.
”Good luck, my friend.”
He thought of the fractured ruin that had been an idealistic country and a symbol of freedom to the world, of self-destructive illusions that became self-fulfilling under a ma.s.s belief in Armageddon, a consensual chaotic hallucination perhaps no different from the final days of Mayan greatness or the ending of Rome, a frightening signal that civilisation is and always has been a fragile beauty, a delicate construction.
Then he climbed inside the car, tilted the seat back, and closed his eyes. Sleep was waiting for him: cold, uncomforting, but necessary.
[ TWENTY-SIX ].
They met at 5 pm in the British Museum, Suzanne arriving to find Carol in the Stone Age section, before a worn stone carving of a voluptuous, large-bellied woman.
”The original s.e.x G.o.ddess,” Carol said. ”My role model.”
”You think she was addicted to chocolate, too?”
”Allow me my one and only vice, why don't you.”
They walked on, stopping at the ancient tablet that contained the world's oldest written story, the tale of Gilgamesh. They paused again at the Rosetta Stone.
”Incredible. When you think how we went from tree-hugging apes to this” Carol pressed her fingertips against the gla.s.s, then waved at the high airy surroundings ”and on to all this. It makes you want to... eat cake and drink coffee, quite frankly. Where's the cafe again?”
”Downstairs,” said Suzanne. ”Same as the last time we were here.”
”Well, let's go.”
At the cafe entrance, they came to a halt amid a press of Parisian schoolchildren, their voices tumbling Suzanne back to childhood but not enough to prevent her from pressing the memory flake into Carol's hand, and winking. Amid the hubbub, pretending to blow her nose, she murmured: ”From Cousin Matt.”
Carol nodded, before noticing one of the French teachers accompanying the party. She gave him her broadest, s.e.xiest smile. The teacher tilted his head toward his charges, and shrugged an eloquent apology: Je suis desole. Je suis desole.
Her answering shrug said: Your loss, pal. Then the sea of kids parted, allowing Suzanne and Carol to walk through.
Once installed at a table with coffee and snacks, they relaxed. Suzanne broke off a tiny piece of her pain au chocolat, while Carol attacked a large slice of carrot cake.
”Just cause you were raised in France,” said Carol, ”doesn't mean you have to nibble croissants, not when there's cream cakes on offer.”
”This pastry is not crescent-shaped,” said Suzanne. ”Only an American barbarian would call it a croissant. Even the English know this is a pain au chocolat.”
”Jeez, there's cowflap on my boots yet again.”
”Yee-hah. So how are things in Austin? You've been in touch?”
”Well, s.h.i.+t.” Carol stared down at her cake. ”You know the city's like a bit of San Fran or maybe Seattle, smack in the middle of good ol' Texican cowboys.”
”It must be tense right now.”
”They closed the university, pretty much. Curfew on campus, kids arrested and beaten by armoured police.”
”Oh, no.”
”Meanwhile,” said Carol, ”rioters over the state border decided to protest the water rationing by going wild and setting fire setting fire to downtown Phoenix. How's that for to downtown Phoenix. How's that for
clear, logical thinking?”
”I'm sorry.””Yeah. Still... Good news here is, looks like you're off the legal hook.”
”What do you mean?” asked Suzanne.
”Mr Broomhall his own self is going nuts, speaking as one professional to another. Acute a.s.shole-itis being my diagnosis.”
”He's withdrawn his complaint?”
”Not exactly. Mr B did everything through his lawyers, except that since yesterday they ain't his lawyers no more. He screamed and shouted, then sacked the lot.”
”Oh,” said Suzanne.
”Yeah.” Carol went quiet for a moment. ”This city's going to fall to plague or drowning, so who cares? My street is piled with garbage, or rubbish as you Eurotrash put it. Plus, there are rats everywhere, some of whom aren't guys I've dated.”
”At least we still have cake and coffee.”
”Yeah.” Carol raised a finger smeared with cream. ”That we have, thank G.o.d.”
She popped her finger in her mouth, then looked over at the French teacher, who was now standing at the counter, paying for the kids' soft drinks. He looked at Carol who raised her eyebrows, still sucking her finger then turned away.
”You've made him blush,” said Suzanne.
”I'd rather make him whimper.”
”You are a bad person, Dr Klugmann.”
”And your point is?”
Outside her front door, halfway through the automatic motion of reaching forward, Suzanne paused. Something in the atmosphere felt different, yet rea.s.suring. Perhaps it was the intellectual knowledge that Josh and Richard were inside; or perhaps it was more visceral. This was her nest, where normally she was alone, and she felt almost elated by the new situation as she opened up and went inside.