Blind Date (23 page)

Levanter checked with the Arab diplomat, who confirmed a few days later that, according to his sources, there were sufficient indications that the senior clerk was one of the minor East European operatives active in North America.

Levanter telephoned the man at the hotel one morning and, in a rehearsed stutter intended to make his speech unforgettable, introduced himself as a well-to-do retired businessman from out of town. Levanter explained that he had obtained the clerk's name from a travel agency whose clientele included many East Europeans. He was concerned about the fate of certain men and women from behind the Iron Curtain, he said, some of whom might wish to defect to the United States. He pointed out that these visitors were often advanced in age and not fluent in English, and that they might therefore hesitate to take such a decisive step without aid and encouragement. Levanter explained that several freedom-minded American businessmen — he mentioned half a dozen names the
clerk would be sure to recognize — had just established a special tax-deductible fund for long-range assistance to potential defectors.

He and his associates needed someone trustworthy and knowledgeable to cooperate with them; for obvious reasons it couldn't be anyone too visible who might put such a clandestine human-rights project in jeopardy. Would the clerk be interested in helping them? Or did he know of anyone who might? There would be substantial remuneration for any professional risk incurred, and financial arrangements could certainly be worked out to their mutual satisfaction. The clerk expressed interest and was willing to meet with Levanter to discuss the matter further.

Levanter apologized for not having a private club in New York where he could take his guest, but said he had thought of a convenient spot where they could meet privately. Besides, he said, he had a bad lower back and needed a sauna. Could they, therefore, meet at the Cavalier Baths, in midtown, where they could enjoy a measure of seclusion and anonymity? As he had to fly home the next morning, Levanter said, he hoped the clerk could meet him that day, perhaps after lunch, when the baths would not be crowded.

The clerk eagerly agreed, and Levanter, who remembered the layout of the baths from his previous meeting there, outlined a plan. To save them both time and insure that they did not miss each other, he suggested, the clerk should rent a room at the baths, prepare himself for a sauna, and then come to the room Levanter had reserved, number 101. Then they could proceed together to the sauna and converse discreetly there.

Levanter had just two hours to prepare himself for the meeting. He put on a pair of chamois gloves and picked up a saber he had bought some weeks earlier and a heavy household hammer with a thick leather protective cap over the iron head. Wrapping each in a woolen scarf, he put them into a strong shopping bag, added a coil of rope, took off the gloves, and threw them into the bag.

In the strong light of his bathroom, he carefully fitted a gray theatrical wig over his hair and glued on false eyebrows, a mustache, and a short beard. In minutes, he had become unrecognizable.

He left his building through the service entrance, hailed a taxi, and arrived at the baths, his raincoat draped casually over the shopping bag.

He approached the cashier, a sleepy old man with a sallow complexion and puffy cheeks, and, in a low voice, said he had reserved room IOI. Scarcely raising his eyes from his newspaper, the cashier handed Levanter a bracelet with the room key and two towels, murmuring that the price of the room covered twelve hours of rental time.

Room 101 was located upstairs, at the farthest end of the corridor, next to the central air-conditioning unit, which was so noisy that Levanter was sure that anyone cruising the corridor would turn back before reaching the end.

Levanter put on his gloves before opening the door and then locking it behind him. Lit only by one dim bulb, which barely dispelled the darkness, the room contained a wooden bunk with a mattress, a sheet and two pillows, a chair, a locker, and one small bed table. Levanter slipped the saber under the bunk and put the hammer on the table. He undressed, hanging his clothes in the metal locker next to the bunk, taking off the gloves only after unlocking the door. Then, wrapped in a towel, he went downstairs, leaving the door slightly ajar. He sat in the area where customers came to cool off after the sauna. From here he could watch the main entrance.

The hotel clerk arrived alone a little ahead of time and rented a room. Levanter went upstairs after him and returned to IOI. He hid his room key in his raincoat pocket and put on the gloves, then lay on the bunk, listening to the music from the corridor. In a few minutes there was a gentle knock at the door. Levanter rose, picked up the hammer with his right hand, and, holding it behind his back, opened the door with his left hand.

Stuttering, he greeted the clerk and invited him in. The clerk seemed uncertain, self-conscious, and timid in his towel, and said he would rather wait in one of the lounges downstairs. Levanter explained that he had just come up; there were too many unsavory types downstairs, he said, old men openly trading pep pills and
snorting coke. He himself, he added, did not like to be exposed to such goings-on, but if the clerk was interested, he was certainly free to go. That remark did the trick. The clerk denied any such desire and, as the voice of Judy Garland floated in from the corridor speaker, he fumbled in the semidarkness to the chair beside the bunk. Levanter pushed the door closed with his left hand while with his right he hit the man's head with the leather-covered hammer. Stunned, the man slumped, his towel fell off, and he collapsed onto the edge of the bunk. Levanter grabbed him by the legs and lifted his entire length onto the mattress. He pried the man's mouth open and gagged him with a towel, then removed his room-key bracelet and put it on his own wrist. He turned the body face-down and, twisting the rope around the man's neck, waist, knees, and ankles, he tied it securely around the length of the bunk.

Levanter dressed carefully, making sure that he forgot nothing. He put on his raincoat, wrapped the hammer in the scarf, and placed it in the shopping bag. He bent over the clerk and pinched him: a shudder ran through the man's trunk; he strained, but he was too tightly gagged to utter a sound. Levanter reminded himself that what he was about to carry out was impersonal revenge, as simple as the verdict of a military tribunal.

He slid the saber from beneath the bed. Weapon in hand, its polished blade glistening in the blue light, Levanter stood at the foot of the bunk. He reached over the naked man and brought the tip of the saber to the narrow passage that, like a shadow, divided the man's rump. He inched the end of the sword down the passage, until its tip touched the larger opening in the flesh.

Levanter leaned over; supporting himself with one hand, he thrust forward and, as if sheathing the weapon, plunged the blade deep into the opening. An intense spasm convulsed the body, followed by a shudder. When the entire blade had penetrated, the corpse lay motionless. Levanter covered it with the sheet.

He turned off the light and pulled the door tightly shut as he left the room. He put the gloves in the bag and, without hurrying, walked through the corridor. A few men stood embracing in doorways or inside dim rooms, their doors left open.

On the way out, he dropped the bracelet from his wrist onto the counter. The cashier, still absorbed in the afternoon tabloid, did not even raise his head as he mumbled a perfunctory response to Levanter's quiet good-by.

Walking home through the park, Levanter slowly peeled off the wig, then the eyebrows, mustache, and beard, and threw them, one by one, into the bushes.

He thought about the public consequences of his personal deed. Both the authorities and the media would demand a direct connection between the crime committed and the reason for it. They would keep looking for a plot, and to look for a plot in this killing would be as useless as grooming a bronze horse; no one would be able to untangle the web of circumstances and motives that had led to the clerk's death.

Back in his apartment, Levanter felt safe and secure. Scarcely an hour had passed since the clerk had entered Levanter's room at the baths. But what had taken place there had already receded into a remote corner of his memory. It was nothing but an old Polaroid snapshot; no negative, photographer unknown, camera thrown away.

Knowing Jacques Monod did not have much time left, Levanter decided to go to Cannes to be with him. When he arrived in town, Levanter discovered that the annual Cannes Film Festival was taking place at the resort. Although Monod had been born and raised in Cannes and in later years spent most of his vacations there, he told Levanter he had never been to the Festival. As Levanter spent part of every day with Monod, he persuaded him to attend a few film events; and he introduced his ailing friend to some filmmakers, hoping they would provide amusing distraction.

After a film screening one afternoon, Levanter noticed a starlet staring at Monod. She approached them and asked guardedly whether Monod was one of the famous stars, like Charles Boyer, who were said to have come to Cannes for the release of
Hollywood, Hollywood!,
a selection of fragments from their old films. Monod was about to introduce himself when Levanter cut in and said that Monod was indeed a famous star, but from another galaxy.

“Another galaxy?” asked the wide-eyed young woman. Levanter nodded. She apologized for not having seen
Another Galaxy
yet, but assured him that she would as soon as it was released.

Later a distinguished French movie director saw Monod on the hotel terrace and recognized him instantly. He greeted him respectfully
and introduced himself. “We don't see many Nobel Prize winners here!” he exclaimed solemnly. Then he introduced Monod to his companion, a statuesque brunette. “This is Doctor Jacques Monod,” he said, “the author of a book that influenced me tremendously.”

The woman smiled coyly but said nothing.

“You know
Chance and Necessity,
that book you saw on my night table?” said the director in a tone of reprimand.

The woman extended her hand. “But of course! I'm delighted to know you, Doctor,” she said, placing the other hand on her hip and leaning slightly toward him. “Are you in Cannes because of the film based on your book?” she asked, obviously pleased with herself for thinking of the question.

Monod, visibly amused, was prepared to answer. But the director, rolling his eyes in frustration, grabbed the woman by the arm and yanked her away.

At a gala after one of the films, two starlets asked Levanter who his handsome friend was. Levanter asked them to guess.

“He's handsome enough to be a movie star,” said one, glancing at Monod coquettishly.

“Couldn't be,” the other argued. “He's too distinguished-looking.”

“The head of a film studio?” the first guessed.

“Too self-assured,” commented the second. “Studio heads only try to look self-assured. He really is.”

“A director?”

“Too natural and too well dressed.” She looked at Monod intently. “He might be a scientist,” she said after a pause.

“Why would you think that?” asked Levanter.

“He looks at you with such analytical eyes,” she murmured.

They talked and joked in the afternoon sun on the verandah of Monod's family home. Levanter picked up his camera to photograph Monod. Only from behind the viewfinder did he dare to focus on the barely perceptible evidence of Monod's illness. There was no startling change, yet certain physical clues, uncharacteristic
tiredness, suggested that the disease had made further inroads on his health.

Later in the day, Monod escorted Levanter to his car. “Until tomorrow then?” said Levanter from behind the wheel. Monod stood beside him but did not answer. Levanter raised his eyes. The two men looked at each other. Levanter knew it was for the last time.

“Farewell, my dear boy,” said Monod, finally breaking the silence.

Levanter could not speak. Mute, dispirited, he started the engine. Without pausing to look back, Jacques Monod walked away. As he started to climb the steps to the house, the last rays of the setting sun wrapped him in their glow.

The dark-haired woman stepped off the boardwalk and strode through the sand to the last empty lounger, just next to where Levanter sat. She untied her robe and slipped it off as she lay down. Like most women on the hotel's private beach, she was going to sunbathe naked. Her body was evenly tanned; her skin was smooth, unbroken by fat or wrinkles. She raised her head toward the sun.

Levanter looked at her face. A slight thickening at the top of her nose made her face familiar.

He moved his lounger closer and leaned toward her.

“Forgive me, Signorina,” he said, overlaying his French with an exaggerated Italian intonation to mask his own accent.

She turned her head in his direction. He could see that she was annoyed. “Yes?” She opened one eye.

“I can't help admiring your face. Your nose fascinates me particularly,” he said.

She sighed. As she opened the other eye, he noticed that her irises were as dark as they had seemed in the black-and-white
snapshots he had seen years ago. He knew who she was.

“Here I lie naked, Signore,” she said, “yet all that fascinates you is my nose? I should be offended.” She closed her eyes once again.

“There is drama behind that irregularity at the bridge,” Levanter went on. “Perhaps your nose was injured in a lovers' quarrel?”

She didn't respond.

“When I look at you lying near me,” continued Levanter, “I can almost see this handsome, strong man — your boyfriend, perhaps — as he enrages you. I see you fighting him, scratching his face. He slaps you hard. You fall, bleed. Then the hospital. They fix the bone — but leave a small bump. Charming, really charming.”

He waited for her to react. Still, she did not.

“I see this man who broke your nose wanting to leave you. And you don't want him to go, even though he hurt you. You cry. You make love. You fight again. He gets letters, many letters, urging him to leave. Then he leaves.” Levanter paused. “I see him among tall buildings and villas and beautiful people — then I don't see him anymore. He vanishes. Maybe he is dead? Now I see you alone.”