“Lost your chance. For the rest of your life...” he is threatening her. Tears. “Had enough of your emotionalism,” he pursues. In transport of tears, hear German words like cracks of a whip. Not sure if he’s pulled off the sheet. Is he beating her? Is she giggling, dancing? Cynical, a nihilist. Writhing with uncontrollable laughter.
“Sophie, don’t leave me like this. Sophie!” he sobs.
Some way to comfort him? Can’t speak. Water rising warm around chin, back of my neck. Oh, Ezra I shall never be able to explain to you. Proof or no proof I’m afraid I’m really dead. Stopped breathing. Just like the night we got engaged. No, you wouldn’t remember; we’re so different.
Blaze. Cynical. Nihilist. Bitch, you call me. It’s true; I can’t help it—and now all this has become irrelevant.
*
Happy here swimming around in my underwater cove. A mermaid just what I wanted to be. Wishes fulfilled of the dead. Now, to find a merman.
Visitors coming? See foot kick in black shoe. Ezra? Would be greatly surprised. To the ends of the earth but not to the bottom of the sea. Has his limits. Black tie flapping. Wonder who. Anyway, don’t have to worry about dressing. Just wrap fishtail around rock and sit pretty. It’s Nicholas, kicking and waving his arms.
“Here, hold on to this rock so you won’t be washed away.” Sits legs crossed wedged in the tub, hair brushed upward by current, a weird sight—try not to giggle. Starts intoning in Greek. It’s too much.
“I did not know the dead laughed,” he observes bitterly. Not impressed by my hilarity; got special permit to descend; complains about the unseemliness of my death. “...I find your name under Accidents de Route. Why didn’t you drown yourself at least? Wasn’t your life wretched enough? In the fifteen years of your senseless marriage to Ezra couldn’t you find an opportune moment—?”
“There wasn’t enough water under the Pont de Sèvres.”
“Other people seem to manage.”
“You don’t understand anything about a woman’s life.”
“Will you never accept that you’re a fiction!”
“Is that all you came to tell me?”
“You look ridiculous with that fishtail. I expected you to come to my concert. I wrote you I was playing in Warsaw.” He looks at his watch. “It starts in two minutes. That’s all right. Let them wait.” He laughs fiendishly. “Hitler always let the crowd wait at least forty minutes. Produces the proper state of hysteria. By the way, Ezra asked me to give this to you in Paris.” Hands me bunch of letters. Nothing from Ivan.
“You look so disappointed,” he laughs, “do you expect some important mail?”
Lost each other in the water. Just as well.
*
How funny; I heard Aunt Olga’s voice. Just like on long-distance phone from Pittsburgh to New York.
“Sophie, listen to me carefully—you understand if I talk to you in Hungarian? Never forget that you’re a lady and you’ll be treated like a lady. I’ll tell you something else: You’re not an angel, no woman is. I’ve never done anything my husband or my children have had to be ashamed of. I’ll be sixty next year and I can’t swear to you that tomorrow a man can’t turn my head. I don’t say it can’t happen to me because I don’t know. And don’t you ever say it couldn’t have happened to you. As for your mother—forget about her. You two have nothing in common. That was a nice wedding you had and I’m glad to see you got married. The one thing I want you to remember, listen to me and you won’t regret it: You can have all the fun you want with your husband once you’re in bed, but never undress in his presence. I don’t care if you’re married ten years and have six children, you don’t let him see you in a slip; you always come to bed in a nightgown—and naturally you lock the bathroom door when you brush your teeth. You follow my advice and you won’t regret it—and of course none of this nonsense of your taking a shower while he shaves—I’m telling you, I’ve been married almost forty years now and I don’t lie to you that I’m a virtuous woman...And never forget that if you ever need me, if ever you’re in trouble, you call me wherever you are—reverse the charges if you haven’t got cash. All you have to do is call and say ‘Aunt Olga, I need you’ and I come with the next bus. And promise me you’ll always keep your nails clean...”
Yes, I know, I believe you Aunt Olga. I know you’d come and I know you’re right. It’s because I didn’t lock the bathroom that everything went wrong. I know you love me and you’re so right about everything. A nail file won’t save me now. Let’s see what’s in the mail. A German stamp. Wonder who? Heinrich Dieter Uhl: “...looked you up in Paris and was sorry to learn...If this reaches you...” He should have carried me away from Ezra ten years ago! Bank wants my Social Security number; fifth request...If I’d be interested in doing a book on contemporary religious sects in America...More rubbish...Renata sends photograph of the children. Dressed like for the synagogue. Boys in white shirt and tie; hair slicked back. Toby in expensively dreary wool dress; the bored expression on their faces. Makes me sick. Must find some way to see them. I suppose I should sit on a rock and sing.
• •
The telephone again.
“Ivan—How are you? Yes I’m quite awake...At three you say? Yes, I’m in.”
Drop in. Just like that! Ringing me up after months of silence as if nothing’s happened. It’s unnerving. What does he really want? We’ve had our funeral.
Two minutes left to prepare. Decide how to look, what to feel, what to say.
He appears three on the dot. Punctual as always. Very grave in his
