Dating richmond vaOh, the poor creature, Ing?lfur says. Don’t you worry, Edda’s no match for us. There is a Chanel style of elegance, there was a 1925 or 1946 elegance, but there is no national fashion. Fashion has a meaning in time, but none in space. Just as there are Mexican or Greek dishes, but no authentic cuisine in these countries, there is a regional type of clothing (the Scottish plaid, the Spanish bolero), but nothing else. Fashion came from Paris, because for centuries everybody used to meet there. We both finished our sweet drinks and she refilled our glasses. “Okay,” I said. “Sorry. I left my number on the kitchen counter. If you want to come see Theon’s body the night before, you just call. I got that cell phone on me all the time now.” As they walked along a flat stretch of the hard-packed wagon road Analie called a cheerful greeting to a tired-looking native woman carrying a basket to men plowing a field, but she only raised a hand in warning and hurried away. In the early afternoon they reached two men laying a snake rail fence along the road.“I’m looking for the Ross farm on Pine Creek,” Duncan called out. He longed to put the unfriendly valley behind him but he had made a promise to Sarah. His confusion was like a physical pain. He stared at the foreboding words, which kindled anew his grief for the young couple in the churchyard. I pulled to the curb on Motor and took in deep breaths. Suicide was semitransparent there next to me. Theon and Venus were memories threatening to become real in the backseat. My fingers were numb, my wrists were burning, and I felt like I did just before stupid Myron Palmer made me come. [A sheaf of documents is passed to the witness.] “I’ve wasted time on this.” I give in to Mom’s nagging, and she applies lipstick like a happy institutionalized woman, and I remark that she should have discovered this color earlier because it suits her very nicely. XV. THE LAST TIME I SAW MR. REUTER CHAPTER EIGHT “Listen,” he said, slowly searching for the right words, “you have to answer what I ask you!” Marie in the meantime had clambered up the iron steps and tumbled over the railing into the trailer. There was no one there, for the crew were all in the front car. For a few seconds she lay panting on the floor, then she stood up and looked over the top of the railing. Maybe she can’t walk. Uff, this piffle about life after death is just wishful thinking, she said obdurately, a week before she died. People just can’t accept the idea of disappearing once and for all because they’re so terribly fond of themselves. That’s all there is to it. Of course, were he to flee, there was the danger that they might catch him before he was across the border. He had mentioned his name to the two of them; true, they might not have registered it or might well have forgotten it, but they knew that he was a taxi driver. It would therefore be the easiest thing in the world to track him down. And that very moment his eyes lit on Mortimer’s passport that was lying on the table, and the idea occurred to him that it would possibly be easier to make his getaway using that rather than his own. At the border it would probably be the name of the suspect rather than that of the victim that was on the wanted list. He’d be safe only on Mortimer’s passport, at least until such time as the dead man’s name was reported everywhere in the papers. Trade! That’s a good one. Where I am in life is stuck. I’ve painted myself into a corner.. |