Phantom Nights (38 page)

"What sort of injury?"

"Messed up his eyes pretty bad. I understand they can fix that at Hicks and Baggett before his funeral. You don't bury anyone with their eyes open anyhow."

"Of course not. What else will be in your report?"

"That's about all. I happened to be driving Ramses to visit a cousin of his, and we came across the Pontiac sitting empty on the road near the Southern's main line. I'm paid to be curious about such things, so that's how we found him."

Rhoda appeared with their Brownie camera just as Brendan took four full steps across the porch and fell laughing into his mother's arms.

"Did you get that, Rhoda?" Bobby said.

"Yes, sir! I got the pictures."

"Wish we had a movie camera," Cecily said.

"Someday." Bobby blinked and ducked his head. Tears.

"What about Alex though? Where did you find Alex last night? Bobby, he wasn't with Leland Howard, was he? I mean—it wasn't one of those things going on?"

"Hell, no."

"But there was
something
going on with Alex. Bobby, I had a call from Dunkel's late yesterday afternoon. Our charge account is over the limit because Alex has been going there and buying a lot of things. Including a red dress that cost ninety-eight dollars!"

"A red dress. What do you know?"

"Well, did he tell you anything about—"

"It was a gift for Mally Shaw," Bobby said, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his head, looking at the ceiling of the porch.

"Mally Shaw!"

"You don't like ghost stories, do you, Cecily?"

"No. They scare me to—" She looked sharply at him. Bobby was smiling. "Is this something that's not going into your report?"

"We'll just pay the charge at Dunkel's," Bobby said. "It was worth every penny."

A
lex Gambier was out of danger and awake when Ramses paid his last visit of the day, shortly after four p.m. that Friday afternoon.

"I'm driving back to Nashville with Dr. Wallace this evening. I'll be in touch with the floor nurses here until you're discharged." Ramses sat on the edge of the bed. "Now, I'm not saying good-bye, you understand. But if it should happen that we don't see each other again . . ."

Alex frowned.

Ramses fished some coins from a pocket of his jacket and put them into Alex's hand, lying open at his side.

"
Quatre francs
," he said. "Enough to buy two glasses of Bordeaux at a
boîte
that has long been a favorite of mine. On Rue de Bièvre near Place Maubert. A small street, an alley anywhere else. Some of the more interesting streets of Paris are those you have to make an effort to find. Couderc's isn't far from where you'll be living while in Paris. I'll write it down, but all of the Left Bank will be familiar to you in no time. As will the language. You'll learn it quickly because you want to write fiction, and every writer of fiction should know intimately the great French novelists."

Alex looked at the coins in his hand. He passed his other hand across his throat, a question.

"I have every confidence," Ramses said. "The wine, you see, will be in the nature of a celebration. A glass for each of us. Please remember me to Madame Couderc when you stop by. Tell her how sorry I am not to be there on this splendid occasion."

The muscles in Alex's throat tensed. He turned his face aside on the pillow. He closed his eyes, and after a little time passed he felt Ramses get up slowly from the bed. When he opened his eyes again, tears fell. He could barely make out Ramses in the doorway. Looking back. He seemed to be smiling.

A lifted hand, farewell; he was gone.

TUESDAY DEC 2 1952

Miss Francie Swift

RR #4

EVENING SHADE TENNESSEE

Hi Francie

The good news today is Dr Martorell says the vocal cord grafts he did are both "near 100 percent." The bad news (maybe) is I found out that the "donor" was a 23 year old Algerian woman (Yvie says she was murdered by a jelous lover but that is the kind of story shes always coming up with). So wonder what I will sound like if I ever do get to say anything. Haha.

For now I am not allowed to make a sound and theyre worried I could catch a cold (everybody in Paris has a cold this time of the year) and screwup the works. But in a week Im supposed to begin "exercises" with a vocal coach who works with famous stars of the Paris Opera. Maybe before I leave here I will be singing the tenor part from "Manon." (Haha again)

The last couple of letters I wanted to tell you something really strange that happened but every time I try it turns into a ghost story.
Another
ghost story. But you liked the first one and so Im counting on you not to blab this one either which would make me look like an idiot.

Schools over for the day (I actually understood most of a lecture I heard this morning) the wether's drery and Im sitting here in my usual haunt (there I go again) by the window of the cafe on Quai Montebello I already told you all about (easy to locate on the map I sent—across the Seine from Notre Dame cathedrel and on the Ile St Louis I can see the building where Im staying with the Martorells and Yvie-the-Brat—I dont understand how twins can be so different because Max is a great guy and I dont beleve Yvie has a crush on me which is your thery. As you can see Im trying to improve my speling haha. I spell better when I type believe it or not. Anyway the twins will be here in a few minutes. Max has foils after classes on Tues. and I could care less what Yvies up to. Meanwhile let me try again.

Remember I told you Dr Valjean died the first week in Oct.? Before then he wrote me suggesting some places I ought to visit that were old favorites of his such as "Shakespeare and Company" a bookstore a few streets from here where all the famous writers like Hemingway used to go (hope you have read
A Farewell to Arms
by now). And the last thing Ramses put in his letter was "Dont forget to stop in at Coudercs."

Well I guess I forgot all right. In fact I didnt know what he was talking about. What was "Coudercs?" I wrote it down for Max who wasnt sure either but thought it might be a bistro he had gone past a couple of times. He said it might be in that maze of narrow streets between the quais and Saint-Germain.

I think it must have been a week later that I had a dream about Coudercs. I saw the place as if I was actually standing outside about thirty years ago. Thats what the clothes everybody had on looked like, around World War One. All the men were real "dandies." And Ramses Valjean was with them. Wearing a high collar and a derby. I saw the name above the door, Coudercs, and also the address.

Dr Martorell did his first surgery a few days after I had the dream so I couldn't go outside for a week after that. Which I hated because I love to walk in Paris. Then we had some beautiful days at the end of October and it was okay for me to go back to school.

Usually I walk home after classes with Max and a couple of his friends who are a little on the snobby side like they put down anything if it isn't French but you just have to ignore that here. Although the afternoon Im telling you about I was by myself so I thought I would see if Coudercs bistro was where it had been in my dream.

It was. And just the same, the sign over the door with a lantern on each side, half shutters in the window, two small metal tables and wire-back chairs and a polished brass horse hitch on the
banquette
. That's sidewalk in French.

The door stood open, but they werent doing any business in the midle of the afternoon.

I didnt think about going in. I had my school books with me (but Ive grown another inch and Yvie says I look like I could be studying at the Sorbonne instead of the
Ecole St. Peres
. The crucial fact was, I didnt have any money. Even though I was thinking I could really go for a glass of
vin rouge
.

While I was thinking that my hand was going through my coat pockets as if it didnt get the message how broke I was. And I found some coins in a torn place of the lining. Four francs to be exact!

So I went as far as the thresh hold and looked inside. Empty, like I said. Six tables and one booth in a back corner where there was a small brick hearth. Neat and clean and a fire was going. Bottles gleamed on the backbar. But not a soul.

I was about to leave when I saw an old woman coming down some stairs behind the bar. There was a partition or it might have been a folding screen so I didnt actually see the stairs, just her from the shoulders up, her hair pure white and done up in what French women call a
chignon
. She was looking at me in the doorway as if—I don't know. From the expresion on her face she had been expecting to see me with four francs in my hand. She was at least eighty. Not a tooth showing in her smile. But smiling big all the same. And she motioned for me to come in.

It was chilly in the bistro, a morning kind of chill before the fire gets going. Not a gloomy place even though it was on a side street where they didnt see much of the sun except for an hour or two each day. But the best seats in the bistro were those in the carved wood booth, the sides curving up and over to make a little roof. Next to the fireplace. That had been Ramses favorite spot, I knew that before she gestured for me to sit down there.

I put my four francs on the table and looked at her. Because I cant talk usually when I go into a place I point to something behind the counter or on the menu or, like here where they know me they just bring coffee without asking.

I knew she must be the Madame Couderc that Ramses told me about when I was in the hospital in Evening Shade and really groggy the last time I saw him.

She nodded when she looked at the coins but left them on the table. Then she shuffled behind the bar and took her time looking for a bottle she might have put away years ago but couldnt remember where. Muttering to herself like real old people do. Then she found the bottle and brought it with a corkscrew and
two
glasses back to the booth.

Like she knew she was supposed to, that I was expecting him. But she probably couldnt have known that Ramses died.

Her hands were knarled up, in bad shape and a little shaky besides when she showed me the label on the bottle. I took it from her like it was a treasure and she nodded then looked at where Ramses was going to sit she thought and I nodded too and then I opened the bottle. It was a Bordeaux but I dont know much yet about vintages. Special I suppose.

She stood there watching while I poured a glass and tasted it the way you are supposed to. Then she looked again at the other glass and kept nodding and smiling so I poured that glass half full too.

And thats it. Nothing else happened while I was there. I sipped my wine and had another glass besides and the wine I poured for Ramses just sat there on the table, was still there with firelight shining through it when I left. By then Madame Couderc was on a high stool behind the bar with a feather duster in her lap and nodding like she was half asleep. She didnt look up or say "
Au revoir
come again."

And now I bet your nodding half asleep and saying to yourself Geezo Pete, Alex, that was no ghost story. But wait.

At dinner that night when it was my turn to "join the conversation" I wrote in my book that I had been in Coudercs that afternoon. Alida (Dr Martorell's wile who has lived on or near
Rive Gauche
most of her life) said oh have they reopened? "Where?" I didnt remember the street name I only knew that I had been curious to find the little bistro and my feet had taken me there. (I didnt write anything about my dream). But I wrote that I had had a glass of wine from a bottle I was sure Madame Couderc had been saving for Ramses return to Paris.

Alida just looked out the dining room windows at the back side of Notre Dame and said no Alex, Mssr. Couderc was killed in the war and Madame passed away was it four years ago? There is a curio shop where Coudercs used to be. You must be thinking of another bistro. There are so many within a short distance of Place Maubert.

What could I do, Francie? I just shrugged because by then Yvie was giving it to me and I was embarassed. But I knew I couldn't be wrong.

That was about five weeks ago. Every chance I get since then I go down to Boul' Saint Germain and work my way north towards the river through that maze of narrow streets. Carrying a map with me. Marking off each adress on every street. There are bistros, all right. Plenty. But the Bistro Couderc's not one of them. It
was
there on that afternoon in October but its gone now. Vanished along with the white haired old woman and the glass of Bordeaux I left on the table in the booth for Ramses.

Did that wake you up? Do you feel a little shuder down your backbone?

I still do.

Either Im a total nutcase, or else—

Theres something about me that
they
like. You know what I mean, Francie.

Mally told me once on the depot platform that I had an "afinity" for the Crossing. Or something like that.

Whatever it is, its better than being crazy, dont you think?

Your friend forever (I hope)