The Kills: Sutler, the Massive, the Kill, and the Hit (119 page)

Sunlight rebounding off the traffic scores across the lobby in sharp bands. He decides to walk to Laura’s hotel although he does not know Naples.

The door to Tomas’s apartment stands open in anticipation. Rike has had to hurry, and she makes it to the top of the stairs a little breathless. Tomas sits ready, his notebook open on his lap and a dictionary at his feet. He leans over the notebook and reads with a singular focus. Rike pauses at the door before knocking. It was wrong, she concedes, to call him
unhandsome
, or to say that he is
not handsome
. His face is masculine, angular, his mouth, full and slightly pronounced (in profile), has the same effect on her as his hands – a slight out-of-kilter difference in scale, so small in this instance it could easily be imagined.

She knows nothing about him, and realizes that Tomas has offered her no real information. In fact he’s shown little interest in speaking with her about his life, in sharing details, or in impressing her. His one interest is in learning English, a language he already commands.

Rike knocks on the door, steps in, says hello. She takes the seat offered. Once again they chat in German before the session starts.

‘You should have stayed yesterday. Downstairs, in the basement. You should have come. It was very strange.’ The landlord, the janitor, a supervisor, perhaps even someone who has rented the basement, uses the space to store Christmas decorations.

Rike smiles and allows the conversation to settle her.

‘There were reindeer and . . .’ Tomas clicks his fingers because he can’t remember, then does a dance, something like a dance, he turns about, waddles with his arms at his side. ‘Penguins?’ He pulls a face. ‘Do they have an ass?’

Rike isn’t sure what he’s asking. ‘An
S
? Penguins. Plural? I think so. Yes.’

It’s endearing to see his enthusiasm. The first real evidence of warmth. Again Tomas offers Rike a drink. He has sparkling water this time, cold, if she would like. He brings the bottle and two glasses to the room.

‘There are figures which move – you can see they have moving parts. You should take a look before you go today. I don’t think anyone would mind.’ Tomas smooths his hand over the notebook, flattening it. He gives an exaggerated frown. ‘Did you see the police?’

‘See?’

‘The police?’

‘No. I just arrived.’

‘They were here just a little before you. The Kozmatikos boy is missing again. The mother is very upset. She was shouting. You didn’t hear her? It was very bad.’

‘She must be worried. How long has he been missing?’

‘Since this morning.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘Why he runs away? I think it’s something boys do at a certain age.’

Rike smiles and shucks off her shoulder-bag and pointing at the bottle says that she would like a glass of water, please.

‘The news today from Syria is very bad. The government have destroyed two villages in the mountains above Damascus. Two journalists were wounded. They were housing the rebels so they just—’ He makes a magician-like gesture that might mean something exploding or something disappearing.

Today she does not need to steer, and Tomas begins to speak in English without being asked.

‘First, this morning, I took a walk. There are businesses on the side of the building. A café. The supervisor lives in an apartment opposite the speech therapist and the doctor. This morning she was arguing with the people outside as they were unloading a van. She is a midget.’

‘He,’ Rike makes the corrections, ‘is a
dwarf
,’ although this sounds wrong. The supervisor was short, she saw him herself. Calling him a dwarf is a little harsh. She reminds Tomas that today she would like him to speak in the simple past tense. She encourages him to stop reading from his notes. ‘Try without them.’ She gestures toward the book. ‘Your notes are holding you back.’

Tomas disagrees. ‘She? The supervisor is a woman.’

‘But yesterday, we met the supervisor?’

‘That was the agent.’ Tomas continues. ‘Christos is a nice man. But he is also a difficult man. This morning there is an argument between Christos and the judge’s driver. The man in the street who waits – with his car. The judge’s driver.’ Tomas pauses to make sure that Rike has understood him.

‘The argument was very quick, and very aggressive. Christos comes, came, as usual to the café. He was there five minutes and the driver arrives. He’s never spoken to his man before and the driver speaks to him, he says, “Good morning,” and asks for a coffee, and sits at the same table. Christos has no idea what to say. He sees the man every day but has no idea what to say to him. When the coffee arrives, the driver drinks his quickly, then he says to Christos, “
It always tastes better away from home.
”’

Rike asks Tomas to repeat the sentence to make sure she understands him.

Tomas speaks in German. ‘
It always tastes better away from home
. This is what he said. Unusual, no? A little strange. Christos thinks the man is somehow mocking him. He is telling him, he thinks, that he is with his wife.’ And again in German, ‘Christos believes the driver is having an affair with his wife.’

‘Why would anyone think this?’ Rike can’t follow the logic. ‘And after?’

‘And after, Christos returns home and accuses his wife of having an affair. Which she denies, and naturally he doesn’t believe her.’ Tomas settles back. ‘I can tell you the driver isn’t having an affair because I’ve seen him with a young woman who comes to his car. Sometimes they drive away together. I think Christos has the wrong idea. He sees only what he wants to see.’

Rike moves the session along with a simple instruction. ‘Today, like yesterday, we will ask and answer questions. I want lots of questions.’

Tomas nods and says that he will start. ‘Have you heard from your brother-in-law?’

‘He calls every morning.’

‘From Syria?’

‘Yes, from Syria.’

‘And he is safe?’

‘He is staying at a hotel. I think the hotel is very safe.’

‘And the man he is looking after?’

‘I think he is safe also. Now.’

‘Is he very ill?’

‘Yes, he is seriously ill.’

‘And they don’t know who he is?’

‘They have an idea, which makes his recovery important.’

‘Who do they think he is?’

‘They think he is a contractor from Iraq. A man called Stephen Sutler.’

Tomas admits he’s heard the name. He looks puzzled. ‘There was news recently, I think?’

Rike nods and admits it’s confusing. ‘There are Sutlers everywhere. Henning doesn’t see how it’s possible.’ She explains to Tomas how the man is supposed to have walked across the desert, from Iraq to Syria, and how he’s responsible for millions in lost money, for absconding with reconstruction funds. The internet sings with ideas. There are fan sites, and sites which condemn him. Others see him as part of a global anti-capitalist struggle. While everyone argues over his identity, none, yet, know that he will shortly be brought to Cyprus.

Rike stops herself. ‘I didn’t say that. I’m not supposed to know.’

Tomas says it doesn’t matter. He won’t mention it to anyone. There isn’t anyone he could tell. ‘So I think the information is technically still a secret.’

Rike has embarrassed herself.

Tomas assures her. ‘I didn’t hear a thing.’ Information like this will pass around quickly. Too many people are involved. She shouldn’t worry.

‘Henning is sceptical. One man can’t be responsible for such a thing.’ Once you know the name, she says, you’ll find it everywhere. Henning met the man who was killed by a train in Rome. He met him in Istanbul. So Henning is involved in all of this, tangentially of course.

Tomas isn’t to say a word. He must promise. Not one word.

Once the lesson is complete Rike again has the feeling that Tomas would like her to leave as quickly as possible.

His vocabulary, she says, is exemplary. Today he has managed to switch between tenses and had no difficulty expressing complex and conditional ideas. In three sessions he has become infinitely more confident. In fact – if she’s honest – she’s not entirely sure why he needs these lessons.

Tomas smiles at the question and says that he’s mostly interested in conversation.

Rike, uncertain that he has completely understood her, states carefully, ‘It would help if you could tell me what you want from these sessions. Rosaria said that you asked for me directly?’

Tomas shakes his head. ‘No. I asked for a new teacher. I think she misunderstood me.’ He opens his hands, a little apologetic. ‘My problem isn’t vocabulary, but practice. Conversation.’

And there it is, a simple misunderstanding. The answer is disappointing. Rike sits a little forward and asks if she can look at his notebook. She senses Tomas’s reluctance, but he hands over the small notebook. She finds the pages he was referring to, the notes on his neighbours are almost word for word what he has told her. The discussion is anticipated, studied, rehearsed. Aware that she is being watched she tries not to react and becomes unconfident about her expression. Her face is a little flushed. ‘See. What you are doing is good, but I’m not sure what you want from me exactly?’

‘I want you to correct what I’m saying.’

Rike holds the pages open.

‘You’re managing this by yourself. Is there something specific you want me to help with?’

‘I need to practise speaking.’

She closes the book and hands it back. Still unclear. ‘But you speak very well. Very little of what you say needs to be corrected. What you need is practice with a variety of people so you can gain confidence, pick up small details, colloquialisms.’ Rike points to the balcony. ‘Everything you’re asking for you’d get from an advanced class, from being around native speakers. I’m very happy with the sessions,’ she says, ‘I only want to be sure that you are as well.’

Tomas shakes his head and becomes silent.

Rike apologizes, she can’t read his response, not sure what the issue is she picks up her bag and says that she should go, and maybe he should think about what he wants.

Tomas walks with her to the door. ‘Unless I have something specific to do, something I can’t avoid, I don’t go out,’ he says.

His expression, flat, matter of fact, surprises her, and she realizes that this is the crux of the matter.

‘You don’t go out?’

‘Unless there is something specific I have to do.’

Can’t
or
don’t
– there are different intentions behind these words. She wants to know how he manages the café, how he speaks with Christos?

‘I don’t like to go out.’ Tomas closes his eyes for a moment.

Rike suddenly understands that what she had taken for a holiday isn’t a holiday at all, but some kind of recuperation. Now embarrassed, she bows her head and apologizes. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t need to explain anything.’

Tomas opens his hands. The gesture is genuine, intimate. ‘I have to decide the kind of work I want to do. I have to decide if I should continue or if I should change. And if I decide to change then I need to think about what that change might be.’ Tomas folds his arms, his face up and expression open. ‘I know that what I’m doing right now doesn’t work. But I don’t know anything else.’ The man straightens up. ‘Most of what I do, I do because I have to. Not because I choose to. And if you do that for long enough then you get to an age where you think there isn’t anything else you can do. I have to give this a lot of thought. I’m thinking seriously that this is the right time to make a change.’

‘How can you decide if you can’t go out?’

‘It isn’t that I can’t go out. I choose not to. I need a reason. Something to do.’

‘If I set you an assignment, to go to a museum for example?’

‘Then I would go.’ If this is what she wants, Tomas agrees, he’ll do this. ‘I had another story for you today. I meant to tell you about what happened here. They had something happen here a couple of years ago. An incident which involves the basement.’

They agree to take this up later. Rike wants to go, and is happy to leave now the subject has changed. This is an easier place to stop.

4.2

Rike walks back to the apartment with two things on her mind: cats and Tomas Berens. Cats because she has to walk along the small street beside the hotel development, and Tomas because she wants to challenge him, or help him, but has no idea for the moment how she might achieve this. The sun is pleasantly warm. She walks through the narrow street, a little ashamed of her clumsiness during the session. Tomas, in his way, has let her know that he is managing some kind of problem – who knows what – and she’s trying hard not to think of him as someone damaged or vulnerable.

Rike checks the road to make sure there are no dead cats, and finds, happily, no cat, but a new bag of cat food. Again, the bag is slit open. She picks it up, thinking this is another plan to lure cats out into the open, and comes into the apartment through the back entrance, and notices a smell, which could, just might be, jasmine.

Isa stands at the kitchen counter. Legs braced slightly apart. In front of her a spread of oranges. Rike’s job is to keep her busy until Henning returns.
And for god’s sake keep her away from the television. Don’t let her watch the news.

‘The fruit. It’s exceptional here.’ Isa rolls an orange across the counter to Rike. ‘Seriously, you should try one. I’ve already had three. They go right through me.’ She quickly shifts topic. ‘You noticed how no one speaks about the other Sutler? Number two? The middle man?’

Rike says she hasn’t thought about it much. ‘When is he back?’

Out of habit Isa looks at the clock although this question involves days not hours. ‘Henning? The day after tomorrow. He thinks. Once everything is ready.’

‘So he isn’t here? The man from the hospital?’

‘Mr Crispy?’ Isa shrugs. ‘Not yet. Henning said that he was stable, and everything’s ready. As long as he can survive the flight, they can bring him over.’ Isa brushes back her hair, a thought catching as something remembered. ‘You know not to say anything.’