Patricia Highsmith - The Tremor of Forgery (31 page)

‘
Howard, you must have opened your door, at least. You
must
’
ve looked out of a shutter. The yell woke you up. Anybody
’
s interested enough to wonder where a yell comes from at two in the morning. And the French people said they were sure the door that shut was yours
.’

His bungalow had been quite dose to theirs, Ingham realized. Their bungalow had been only twenty-five or thirty feet from his front door, albeit his front door had been on the other side of his bungalow from them. If the French had stayed awake a few minutes, they would have heard the hotel boys coming.

‘
It
’
s no wonder your girl is a
little
curious, once she knows these facts. Howard —
’
OWL seemed to be having difficulty, but Ingham let him struggle.
‘
She
’
s a nice girl, a wonderf
u
l girl. She
’
s somebody important. It
’
s your duty to be on the square with her
.’

Ingham had a sick feeling he hadn
’
t experienced since adolescence, when he had looked into some religious books at home, dusty old things that must have belonged to great-grandparents.
‘
Repent your sins
…
bare your soul to Christ …
’
The questions and answers had assumed that everyone had sins, apparently even from birth, but what were they? The worst Ingham had been able to think of was masturbation, but since at the same time he had been browsing in psychology books which said
it was normal and natural, what was there left? Ingham didn
’
t consider that what he had done that night had been a sin or a crime
—
if he had killed the Arab at all, which would always be not quite certain,
until
someone actually found the corpse.

Ingham said,
‘I’
ve told you what I know about that night. I don
’
t like it that Ina
’
s bothered by what you told her, Francis. Was it necessary? To spoil part of her pleasure in her vacation like this?
’

‘
Ah, but she knows what I mean,
’
OWL said quie
tl
y. He had not sat down.
‘
She
’
s a girl with some moral convictions, you know. Oh, I don
’
t like to use the word
“
religious
”
, but she has some ideas about God, honesty, conscience.
’

It was curious to think of OWL as a preacher in a pulpit now, barefoot, barelegged, John the Baptist, swinging a copper-coloured beer can.
‘
I know what you mean. Yes. Ina
’
s talked to me about going to church of late.
’
Ingham didn
’
t want to admit how little she had talked, and was annoyed that Ina
—
because OWL had no doubt encouraged her to speak on the subject
—
had probably told OWL much more than she had told him.
‘
She has quite a cross to bear, you might say, with her crippled brother. She
’
s very fond of him.
’

‘
She knows the value of a clear conscience.
’

So do
I
, Ingham wanted to say. He was both irritated and bored.

‘
You and Ina should marry,
’
OWL said.
‘
I
know she loves you. But you must make peace with yourself first, Howard. Then with Ina. You think you can sweep it under the carpet, put it out of your sight
—
because you
’
re in Tunisia, maybe. But you
’
re not like that, Howard.
’

Now OWL was just like any one of his tapes.
‘
Look here,
’
Ingham said, getting up.
‘
You seem to be accusing me of having hit that fellow that night. Maybe killed him. So why don
’
t you just say it?
’

OWL nodded, with his second variety of smile, gentle, thoughtful, alert.
‘
All right, I
’
ll say it. I think you hit him with something or threw something
—
could
’
ve been a chair, but it sounded metallic the French said, like a typewriter, for instance
—
and I think the man died or died later from it. I think you
’
re ashamed to admit it. But you know something?
’

Ingham let him pause dramatically, for as long as he wished.

^You
’
re not going to be happy
until
you make a clean breast of it. Ina
’
s not going to be happy either. No wonder she
’
s troubled! She may be a sophisticated New Yorker, like you, but there
’
s no escaping the laws of God, who rules our being. One doesn
’
t have to be a regular church-goer to know that!
’

Ingham was silent. He was a
little
doped by the words, perhaps.

‘
And one more thing
.’
said OWL, drifting towards the closed house door, drifting back.
“
The problem is yours. Within you. The police need never be involved. That
’
s what makes this case so different from most such
—
accidents. The problem is really yours
—
and Ina
’
s.
’

And
not
your
s,
Ingham thought. It
’
s quite true the problem is my own, if there—
’

‘
Oh, you admit —
’

‘
—
if there
were
any problem. So I wish, Francis, for my sake or for Ina
’
s sake, you wouldn
’
t keep on at me like this.
’
He spoke with careful mildness.
‘I’
d like to keep our friendship. I can
’
t keep it, if it goes on like this.
’

‘
Well!
’
OWL opened his hands innocently.
‘
I don
’
t know why you say that, if I
’
m trying to do what I can to make you a happier man
—
a happier man with the girl who loves you, matter of fact! Ha-ha!
’

Ingham suppressed his anger. Wasn
’
t it just as silly to get angry with his words now as to get angry with his tapes? Ingham warned himself not to take it all so personally. Yet here was OWL in person, and OWL
’
s words had been addressed to him, specifically.
‘
I don
’
t think I
’
d better talk about it any longer,
’
Ingham said, feeling that he was exerting more control than most people would have.

‘
Aha. Well. That
’
s up to you and your conscience
.’
Adams said, like the voice of wisdom.

It was the last straw for Ingham. The bland, stupid superiority of it was more than he could excuse. He thumped his glass down with the last inch of Coke still in it.
‘
Yes, I
’
ll be going, Francis. Thank you for the Coke.
’

And the way Adams let him out was also revolting. Holding the door, a slight bow, beaming on Ingham as if on a new convert-to-be whom he had just soused with propaganda, who would go home and let it sink in, and be a little more pregnable the next time. Ingham managed to turn around,
smile and wave at Adams in the doorway, before he went to his car.

Now Ingham wanted to talk to Jensen. But he thought it was silly to go running from one to the other. So at home, though he heard Jensen upstairs, Ingham kept to himself. He took off his trousers and flopped on his bed, and looked at the ceiling. Adams would never let up, he thought, but he wasn
’
t going to be for ever in Tunisia. He could leave tomorrow, matter of feet, with Ina, if he simply wished to. But alas, it would look like a
‘
retreat
’
, he supposed, and he didn
’
t want to give OWL even this minor satisfaction. Ingham wiped the sweat from his forehead. Just before the time to see Ina, he would take a bucket shower. He could walk to the beach a couple of hundred yards away, and take a swim, but he didn
’
t want to.

Ingham sat up with a thought. What had Ina asked Jensen this morning about Abdullah? She had seen Jensen just after her talk with OWL on the beach.

‘
Hey, Anders I
’
Ingham called

‘
Yup?
’

‘
Want to come down for a stone?
’

‘
Two minutes.
’
He sounded as if he were working.

Ingham got the drinks ready, and when he came back into his larger room, Jensen was standing by the table, looking rather happy.
‘
Had a good day?
’

‘P
retty good. I want to work tonight.
’

He handed Jensen his drink.
‘
I just had quite a session with OWL. I feel as if I
’
ve been in church.
’

‘
How so?
’

Ingham remembered he couldn
’
t tell Jensen about OWL
’
s weekly pro-God-and-America broadcasts. That was a pity, because it would have lent humour, and also force, to his story.
‘
He
’
s trying to exert moral pressure on me to admit I conked Abdullah on the head. That doesn
’
t bother me so much as the fact he
’
s filling Ina full of it. He
’
s saying it
’
s got to be me who did it, because it was on my terrace, and only
’
—
Ingham saw Jensen shaking his head with ennui
—
‘
could have done something, and he says
I’
d better admit it to Ina and make peace with myself
.’

‘
Oh, merde and crap
.’
Jensen said.
‘
Has he nothing better to do with his time? So he gave you a sermon.
’
Jensen leaned against the table, propped one bare foot on its toes, and laughed.

‘
He did, invoking God, making my peace with Him and all that.
—
What did Ina ask you this morning, by the way?
’

‘
Aha
.’
Jensen looked into space as if trying to remember.
‘
She had just been speaking with OWL, it seems
.’

‘
I know
.’

‘
Oh, she asked me
—
yes
—
if I thought you hit the old bastard with something
.’
Jensen looked suddenly sleepy.
‘
I ought to take a nap before I work. This stone will help
.’

Ingham wanted to ask Jensen another question, but was ashamed to. He felt he was becoming as small-minded as OWL.
‘
By the way, OWL and Ina both suggested I might have thrown my typewriter at Abdullah
.’

Jensen smiled.
‘
Really? Where did you see OWL today?
’

‘
I went to his bungalow. After I
’
d taken Ina to the Reine. I wanted to ask him to stop bothering Ina with all this
.’

‘
You know what you should do, my friend, take her away. I personally would tell Mr Adams to stuff himself, but I think you are too polite
.’

‘
I did tell him to knock it off. What he
’
s really doing is turning her against me. I don
’
t say he means to, but- OWL keeps telling me my conscience bothers me. It doesn
’
t
.’

Jensen looked unperturbed.
‘
Go with Ina somewhere for a week or so. That
’
s easy.
—I
got a package from home today. Let me show you
.’
He went up the stairs.

In a moment he was back with a carton.
‘
Lots of cookies. And this
.’
He removed the tinfoil from a foot-long gingerbread man, decorated with hat, jacket and buttons of yellow icing.

Ingham stared at it, fascinated. It was different from American gingerbread men. This one made him think of icy Scandinavian Christmases, the smell of fir trees, and of flaxen-haired children singing.
‘
That
’
s a work of art What
’
s the occasion?
’

‘
I had a birthday last week.
’

‘
Why didn
’
t you tell me?
’
Ingham accepted one of the decorated cookies. Jensen said his mother or sister had made them.

‘
And these,
’
Jensen said, fishing at one side of the box. He pulled out a pair of sealskin slippers, the grey fur outside ornamented with blue and red embroidery.
‘
Not very appropriate for Tunisia, are they?
’

Ingham suddenly had such a desire to see Jensen
’
s part of the world, he could not speak for a moment. He held the slippers in his hand and smelled them
—
a fresh animal smell, of new leather, and the faintest smell of spice from the cookies they had been packed with.

The evening at La Goulette was neither a great success nor a failure. Ingham had told Ina that he had been to see OWL, because he wanted to tell her before OWL did, but even so
—
OWL was so quick these days
—
he was not sure Ina did not already know. She did not

‘
I suppose you asked him
—
not to talk to me any more about
the
night of Abdullah,
’
she said.

‘
Well
—
yes, I did. OWL knows as
little
about it as anybody else. Well, not
anybody.
The hotel boys know most
’

“
You
’
ve talked with them?
’

“
I thought I told you I tried to find out something from Mokta. He says he doesn
’
t know anything
—
about the yell and so forth.
’
It occurred to Ingham that Jensen, speaking his passable Arabic, might learn something from Mokta or the others. The something Ingham was interested in was whether there had been a corpse.

Ina was silent
.

‘
Would you like to go somewhere
—
like Djerba? I mean, stay at a hotel there? Both of us?
’

‘
But you say you
’
re working —
’

“
That can wait. You have just a few days here
.’
That brought up the question of whether he would leave with her, Ingham supposed. Nothing was in its right order any more. He had meant to ask her to marry him, to have that settled by now. That would have made their going on to Paris together, when she left, rather a matter of course. Should he talk to her tonight about getting married? Or was she taking that for granted? Ingham glanced around him: they were at an outdoor table of the restaurant where he had eaten the disastrous
poisson-comp
le
t.
Waiters with heavy trays yelled at pedlars and begging children to get out of their way. The light was so dim, they had hardly been able to see the menu.

Ingham did not mention marriage that evening. But he did go back with her to her hotel. They had a nightcap in her room, and they spent a couple of hours together. It was almost as wonderful as the first time after she had arrived. Ingham felt a little more serious. Was that good? And he felt a
little
sad and depressed when he left.

He kissed her as she lay in bed.
‘
Tomorrow at nine-thirty
.’
he said.
‘
We
’
ll take a drive somewhere.
’