Small G: A Summer Idyll

  “Keep this.” One officer tore a page from his notebook, a carbon of something. “Are you going to be here in the next days? At home?”

  “Oh yes. And I work just down the street. I have a studio. I’m in the telephone book, of course.”

  Gone they were.

  “I’m bushed,” said Ernst. “I think I’ll phone for a taxi, Rickie.”

  A low groan came from the bedroom, then, “Ow!”

  Rickie went in, followed by Philip.

  “You’re not to sit up, Teddie. Remember? There’s a pill here, if it hurts.”

  “Hurts! Ch-rist!” Teddie gently lay down again. “Gotta—pee.”

  Rickie had thought of that. “One second!” He went to a kitchen cabinet and returned with a liter Italian wine bottle. “Can you manage with this, Teddie?”

  Painfully, eyes shut, Teddie managed. “Thanks, Rickie.”

  Rickie took the bottle. Clear, he thought, but in the bathroom, he held it to the light, before he poured it out and flushed it. Clear.

  Teddie was awake, and Rickie persuaded him without much trouble to take one of the anti-pain pills.

  Ernst was just hanging up the telephone. He said he would wait for the taxi outside. “Good luck, Rickie, and I’ll be in touch.”

  Philip said he would stay a while. “I’ll grab a nap in the chair. You take the sofa.” He turned out the one lamp, because there was light enough. “Don’t argue. I had some sleep on that sofa, you know?”

  Rickie didn’t argue. He took off his trousers, with a mumbled, “’Scuse me,” to Philip, folded them over a chair back, and lay down on the sofa. He was aware that Philip brought a mug and set it on the coffee table announcing, “Water.”

  15

  Rickie opened his front door the next morning to a trim, dark-haired woman of about forty, in raspberry-colored linen slacks, sandals, and a woman of about the same age with fluffed-out pale reddish hair, who Frau Stevenson said was Jessica somebody.

  “A pleasure,” Rickie replied.

  “I’m sorry to be early,” Frau Stevenson said to Rickie, “but Jessica arrived so soon, ready to bring me.”

  “Perfectly all right. My apartment is this way, please.”

  More introductions to Philip, but brief indeed, as Rickie said at once, “Teddie’s expecting you.”

  “Teddie!” cried his mother, who bore a startling resemblance to Teddie, Rickie thought, or vice versa. “Well, you’re eating! Now what hit you?”

  Both women were in the room, staring at Teddie and at the bandage which was nearly fifteen centimeters square on Teddie’s back. Propped on his right elbow, Teddie had been eating with fork in left hand.

  “Since it was behind me, Mum, I couldn’t see.” Naked now, Teddie was careful to keep the sheet pulled up to his waist.

  “Any stitches?” asked Jessica.

  “No stitches, eh, Rickie?”

  “No. It’s a bad bruise—that broke the skin. My doctor put that bandage on last night. I know he intends to see Teddie today.”

  “And you were right by the car at the time, Teddie,” said his mother.

  “Walking, Mum, ready to open the door. It was dark. Then a wallop and I fell forward. I think I was knocked out for a minute.”

  Frau Stevenson shook her head and looked at Rickie, then at her friend Jessica. “As I said, I don’t care for this neighborhood. Is the doctor coming at a certain time, Herr M—”

  “Markwalder. No-o, Madame, I am supposed to telephone him—about now, in fact. Maybe you would—”

  The doorbell again.

  Rickie repressed a curse, said, “Excuse me,” and went. He overheard Frau Stevenson asking Teddie or Philip, “Do the police know anything about this?”

  Luisa stood at the front door. “Hello, Rickie. How is Teddie?”

  “Better.” Rickie held the door open for her. “He’s eating breakfast.”

  “Ursie told us this morning. I was just there with Renate, you know.” Luisa had come into the front hall. “Is it a stab?” she asked softly.

  She was thinking of Petey, Rickie supposed. They moved toward his apartment. “No. Something blunt. But it broke the skin.”

  “And Willi,” she whispered. “What happened? I’d rather hear it from you.”

  “I went over to see him—with Ernst.” Rickie had his apartment doorknob in his hand, the door closed.

  “You broke his door in, Ursie said.”

  “Well, yes. I don’t think he was going to open it.”

  “And beat him up,” she whispered, looking pleased at the idea.

  “We didn’t touch him, I swear, Luisa! Teddie’s mother’s here now. She wants to take him home.”

  “Oh!” Luisa was suddenly tense. “But maybe I could say hello to him?”

  “I would think so,” said Rickie, opening the door. They went into the living room. “Philip, Luisa’s here.”

  “Hello, Philip,” Luisa said.

  “Philip, can you be a darling and take Lulu out? Her lead is on the chair there.”

  “Sure thing, Rickie.”

  “Lulu—go with Philip. Be a good girl.” Rickie went to the bedroom door which was ajar. He knocked.

  Teddie’s mother had laid clean white trousers over a chair. Now she was looking at Teddie’s pale blue jacket which she held in both hands.

  “Look at this. This should—” Frau Stevenson stopped on seeing Luisa with Rickie.

  “Frau Stevenson—Luisa Zimmermann,” said Rickie.

  “Hi, Luisa!” This from Teddie, who had turned himself in order to see her. “Can hardly move, sorry!”

  “How do you do, Frau Stevenson,” said Luisa.

  “The girl I was telling you about, Mum,” said Teddie.

  “Yes, Teddie. How do you do, Luisa? Herr Markwalder, I suppose you saw this?” She indicated the L-shaped tear in the pale blue cloth.

  Around the rent was a grayish smudge from some dirty object, that was plain. The sight of it pained Rickie. “Last night we were so busy taking care of Teddie—” He felt that Frau Stevenson was playing the detective, discovering things he hadn’t.

  Rickie went to the telephone, now atop a chest of drawers, and dialed his doctor’s home number. His wife answered, not the machine, for which Rickie was grateful. He identified himself. “I was expecting the doctor this morning. Can he—”

  “He’s not here, but he did say he was calling at your house this morning.”

  Rickie put the phone down, reassured, and announced to the room that the doctor would be looking in before noon.

  “Rickie,” said Teddie.

  Rickie came closer. Teddie wanted to whisper. Rickie guessed what it was about before Teddie had the words out, and Rickie made his second announcement, “Since Teddie cannot walk to the toilet, I must bring—something—”

  The room smoothly cleared of the three ladies, like a ballet, it seemed to Rickie. Having handed Teddie the liter bottle, which had been on the floor near the night table, Rickie strolled toward the door, and closed it.

  Seconds later, Teddie said, “OK, Rickie. Many thanks. Sorry.”

  By a door on to the hall, Rickie was able to reach the bathroom unseen. Still no blood, he saw. He returned with the clean bottle.

  “I swear, Rickie, the idea of walking—” Teddie eased himself flat again, cheek against the pillow.

  Rickie could tell from the voices in the living room that the good doctor had arrived. “I can get some more pills for you now, Teddie. Doctor’s here.” Rickie went out.

  The doctor greeted Rickie, on his way to the bedroom. “How is the urine?”

  “No blood. Otherwise I’d have telephoned.”

  A painkiller first, Rickie saw to that. Dr. Oberdorfer had a cheerful air: yes, it was painful, b
ut it was going to get better every day now. Today would be the worst day. Frau Stevenson and Jessica had come into the bedroom, while the others remained in the living room.

  The bandage was gently peeled back, and Teddie winced a couple of times.

  His mother gasped.

  Both the pink border and the red center had darkened, so the whole looked like a surrealist flower, maybe a kind of poppy. Dr. Oberdorfer put white powder on the wound and a new bandage which he taped in place.

  Frau Stevenson talked with the doctor. Of course her son could go home today, but the trip in the car would be painful, the doctor said, and the boy was comfortable here.

  “I’m free all day today,” Rickie put in. He saw Frau Stevenson eyeing a blown-up photograph of Petey Ritter smiling, near a palm tree, and Rickie knew what she was thinking.

  A compromise was arrived at: Frau Stevenson would go home soon, with the car, and return around 7 P.M. for Teddie. That would give Teddie all day to rest.

  Frau Stevenson carried Teddie’s trousers of last night, plus his shirt. “Get some rest, dear, and as for food—”

  “Oh, there’s a restaurant nearby,” Rickie put in. “I can fetch something—anything. Teddie can just give me his order.”

  “Teddie—the street where the car is—” said his mother.

  “Yes, Mum.” Teddie explained, and Rickie listened.

  Wasn’t that Feldenstrasse? Luisa confirmed that it was, and she was quite sure, when Teddie said the car was in the same place as where she had once met him. Rickie said he would like to accompany Frau Stevenson, if he might, as he wanted to see what might be lying around by way of a weapon.

  “Herr Markwalder—I’m off!” said Dr. Oberdorfer. “Four more pills there in a little container, four-hour intervals, don’t forget. That ought to see him over the worst. Good day, everyone!” He turned back and said to Rickie, “I’ll phone you. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. Something to say to you.” Neutral yet foreboding. He was gone.

  A pang had gone through Rickie. What kind of news? He could have told him any good news now, out in the front hall.

  Frau Stevenson calmly and seriously asked, “Do you know what the police are going to do—for instance? Anything? I can speak with them.”

  Rickie took a breath, hesitated as he looked at the woman’s dark eyes that were disconcertingly like Teddie’s. He went ahead. “The first thing, they’re going to come at me again for breaking in somebody’s door last night. With a friend. In fact the police were here last night.”

  “Whose door?”

  Luisa was listening.

  “Someone I suspect. You see—” Rickie glanced at the ceiling, feeling for words. “Since I didn’t see what happened—it’s wisest if I don’t say any more just now.” He glanced at Luisa, who kept silent.

  Rickie appreciated that. That was neighborly solidarity.

  Jessica was to drive Frau Stevenson to her car, and offered to take Rickie. Luisa asked if she might come, but modestly said she could walk, if she made a crowd. Smiling, Jessica told her the car was quite large enough.

  Philip was to stay with Teddie.

  16

  They got into a comfortable dark red BMW belonging to Jessica, and rolled toward Jakob’s. Rickie hesitated, then said, “This corner place—Jakob’s—is our local Biergarten and restaurant, where Teddie was last night.”

  “I see,” said Frau Stevenson noncommittally, glancing.

  “Now make a left, please,” said Rickie, “and it’s three streets farther.”

  And after another left, they saw the Audi. They found a parking place half a street away, and walked back. Now Luisa showed a curiosity that made her the lead figure in the walk back to the Stevenson car.

  All of them were looking, in the gutter, at the ground round the big trees.

  “Must’ve been here,” Rickie said, pointing at the base of a tree trunk near the car door. “Teddie said his face hit a tree trunk.” Rickie looked also for drops of blood, but saw none. The weapon is the most important, he told himself.

  Luisa was a little distance away, looking into the gutter as she walked. Rickie did the same on the other side of the car, walking in the direction of Willi’s home. Nothing, merely a few leaves and pebbles. When he looked back, Luisa was walking toward him with her eyes on the low garden walls, the front paths. She picked up a loose brick from a wall top, and put it down again.

  Now Luisa was past the car, beside which the two women were standing, talking. Suddenly, in a front path she saw a metal piece not a meter long, yellow, and somewhat rusted. At one end of it was a broken fixture, dangling. Luisa picked it up, instantly thought of fingerprints, and it was too late.

  “Rickie?” Luisa held the thing in her hands. It weighed at least a kilo.

  Frau Stevenson was watching also. “Where’d you find that?”

  “Just—a couple of meters back. On a front path.”

  Rickie recognized a piece of tripod. It could certainly be used as a ramming object. He took it from Luisa. A handy weight. “It’s a possibility—isn’t it?”

  All agreed. Yes.

  Luisa went on looking at front paths, behind pavement walls, oblivious of a woman at a lower window who watched her, curious.

  Frau Stevenson looked at the tripod piece with a slight frown. “I can keep it safely, you can be sure.”

  Rickie put it into her extended hands. Still she was able to hold it in one hand and unlock the car, declining Rickie’s assistance. Luisa said she lived near by, and would walk home.

  “And where’s the house where you broke the door in?”

  “That way,” said Rickie, pointing in the direction her car was facing. “You can’t see it from here.” He recalled Frau Stevenson taking Teddie’s wallet from his inside jacket pocket this morning, pulling notes halfway out, pushing them back. Willi wouldn’t have bothered trying to rob, Rickie thought, he’d have been more concerned to quit the scene at once.

  “I’m glad to have met you, Luisa,” Frau Stevenson said.

  Polite good-byes, then Rickie walked with Luisa toward her house.

  “Was Willi Biber in Jakob’s this morning?”

  “No,” Luisa said. “At least I didn’t see him.”

  “And Renate—how’s she acting?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As if it’s all news to her?”

  Luisa understood. It was a horrible thought, but Luisa had thought it this morning—before she had heard about Willi’s door—that Renate could have persuaded Willi to hit Teddie. “Well, yes.”

  They were approaching the front path of the house where Renate and Luisa lived. They both glanced up at the same time.

  Rickie knew the girl had to go back, climb the stairs to Renate’s establishment. He felt angered, felt like cursing. “I would bet you that if Renate didn’t get Willi to do this—she’ll convince him he did it.” Rickie had lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Keep in touch with me. You understand?”

  Luisa knew. Rickie wanted to know how Renate behaved, and what she was saying. “I know. At the moment, she’s just saying what a tough crowd you associate with. Of course she’s saying you were drunk last night. Got to leave, Rickie. Can I phone you later? Maybe I can even come by.”

  “But of course.”

  They parted. Rickie walked on to Jakob’s.

  Almost one o’clock now. The lunch crowd would be in full swing. Ursie’s cook Hugo made a fine goulash on Sundays. Rickie entered by the main door.

  Ursie was behind the bar, looking a little tired around the eyes. “Hello, Rickie! And how is your friend?”

  Rickie edged closer to the bar, set both shirtsleeved elbows on it, briefly, as if to claim territory. “Improving,” he replied. “Can I have a nice beer, Ursie please, with a head on it? Now—how
is the goulash today?”

  “Oh, excellent, but not so much of it because it is hot today. We have cold lobster salad—”

  “Can you give me three portions of goulash to take out?” Rickie felt ravenous. “And with the little noodles, I hope?”

  Rickie was thinking that he ought to telephone Freddie Schimmelmann, who might be of help, though Aussersihl was not Freddie’s territory. What would they soak him for shitty Willi’s door plus the “misdemeanor” itself? Screw them! Rickie didn’t care what it cost. And the idea of comparing a damaged door to what had happened to Teddie! A kidney blow could have put the boy in hospital. By the time he had finished the beer, a big opaque plastic sack had arrived: lunch. Rickie left thirty francs in notes on the wooden bar.

  “Thank you, Ursie dear! Greetings to Andreas!”

  “His day off!” Ursie grinned. “’Bye, Rickie!”

  Rickie exited by the back terrace, which was quicker to his house, and acknowledged a couple of greetings, friendly as ever.

  At his house, Rickie used the front door key, and enjoyed knocking at his apartment door, knowing people were there.

  “Stuff!” Rickie said, handing Philip the plastic sack. “Good goulash. Can you heat it up, Philip, while I take a fast shower? And how is the patient?”

  Philip’s face brightened. He wore the same shirt and trousers, but looked as if he’d just showered and washed his hair. “Got his underpants on. And I gave him a wet towel to swab down with—you’ll see.”

  Teddie was up on one elbow in bed, looking happier, and said he’d made it to the bathroom and back.

  “Good.” Philip had laid one of his cotton dressing gowns on the bed, Rickie saw. “Hope you’re hungry, because I have brought lunch.”

  Under the shower, Rickie let cool water run on his head, then washed his hair and himself in warmer, then cool water again. He chose different trousers and a shirt from a cupboard in the hall.

  “Philip—you are a gem! Marry me,” said Rickie, gazing at the table Philip had set with glasses and yellow napkins in the dining area. A mouthwatering smell of goulash came faintly from the kitchen. “Three places?”