Revenge (13 page)

The tiger’s breath grew fitful. Its throat rattled; its fangs clattered together. The tongue looked rough and dry. I continued to rub its back; it was all I could do.

The old man held his cheek against the animal’s head. The tiger’s eyes opened and sought his face. When it was satisfied that he was still nearby, the eyes shut again in relief.

Their bodies had become one. Cheek and jaw, torso and neck, paw and leg, bow tie and stripes—everything melted together into a single being. The tiger let out a roar, and as the echo died away so did the beating under my hand. The clicking of fangs stopped, and a final breath seeped from its lungs. Silence descended on us.

The old man continued to hold the animal in his arms. I rose as quietly as I could and left the garden.

*   *   *

I put the key in the ignition and looked down for a moment at my palms. I wanted to remember what they had just done. Then I turned the key. On the way back, the tomatoes were nowhere to be seen.

TOMATOES AND THE FULL MOON

I checked in at the front desk and picked up my key, but when I opened the door, I found a strange woman and her dog in my room. The woman was sitting up very straight on the sofa, her hands resting on her knees.

“I beg your pardon,” I said and hastily checked the number on the door and my key again. There was no doubt about it: room 101. “I’m sorry, but I wonder if you haven’t made a mistake,” I said, as politely as I could.

The woman seemed completely unabashed and not even particularly surprised. She simply stroked the head of the dog—a black Labrador lying quietly at her feet.

“Where did you come from?” the woman said at last. Her voice was much like a young girl’s, so ill matched to her age and appearance that I found myself momentarily at a loss for words.

“I just checked into this room,” I managed at last.

“So did I.”

“Then the hotel must have made a mistake. We should probably call the front desk. Would you mind showing me your key?”

“Key?” she said, tilting her head and staring at me as though I had used some obscure medical term.

“Your key,” I repeated, beginning to get annoyed. I had not slept the night before due to a deadline, and I had been caught in traffic on my way to the hotel. I was exhausted and just wanted to take a shower and go to bed as soon as possible. “Yes, the key to this room,” I added.

“Oh, of course. I was just looking for it. I’m sure I left it over there, but I can’t seem to find it…” She pointed toward the dresser but made no move to get up. The dog yawned and wagged its tail.

The woman fell silent again and sat as still as a doll. In fact, everything about her was doll-like: her tiny figure, her porcelain skin, her bobbed hair. Her wrists and fingers and ankles were so delicate they seemed as though they would break if you touched them.

“How did you get in here?” I asked.

“From the patio,” she said, pointing in the direction of the French doors.

The sky was clear outside, the sun blinding. The lawn, damp from the sprinklers, glimmered in the light. Children could be heard shouting from the pool across the way; and beyond the pool, the glasslike sea was visible in the distance. A small bird perched for a moment on the back of a patio chair and then flew away.

“The door was open and it seemed like too much trouble to go around through the lobby—so much easier to come in this way, don’t you think?” She was smiling now.

“I suppose so,” I said. “But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. This is my room.” As I said this, I threw my bag on the bed for emphasis.

“Oh dear! I’m terribly sorry. I’ll be going right away.” She clasped a bundle wrapped in a silk scarf under her arm, took the dog’s leash in her hand, and stood up. Now that she was finally on her feet, she seemed even smaller. The dog shook itself and fell in at her side.

I held the door as they made their way outside and quickly vanished in the dazzling light. They left behind nothing but a few black hairs on the carpet next to the couch.

*   *   *

I rose early the next morning to drive to the tip of the cape and take pictures of the sunrise. Then I went to the fish market to gather material for my article. As I was entering the hotel parking lot, I spotted the woman again.

She was standing by the kitchen entrance, her bundle under her arm. In the other hand, she held a basket brimming with something red. The dog was still at her side.

I pulled into a space and stopped. After folding up my map and returning it to the glove compartment, I got out and made my way across the lot, pretending I hadn’t seen her. I didn’t really know the woman—barely enough to nod politely should I encounter her again. She was the one who had mixed up the rooms, so there was no need for me to go out of my way to be polite. Or so I told myself.

But I soon realized I couldn’t take my eyes off her, that I was in fact spying on her between the parked cars. Somehow she seemed out of place here, not like the usual guest at a resort hotel; something about her set my reporter’s instincts on edge. Or perhaps the sad look in the dog’s eyes simply made me want to find out if there was something I could do to help.

“No, please,” the woman was saying to the man at the door, who appeared to be a cook. “Take them.” She was trying to hand him the basket. “We grow them organically on our farm, but we have so many we don’t know what to do with them. We’d be delighted if you could use them.”

I realized at last that they were tomatoes. The cook raised his hands awkwardly and looked embarrassed, as though unsure whether to take them or not. The woman continued to hold the basket out to him. Finally, the cook accepted some tomatoes, though he seemed to take them just to be rid of her.

“Please, as many as you want. It’s nothing, really. Don’t think a thing of it.” She smiled with apparent satisfaction. Then, dog in tow, she turned and made her way through the cars in the parking lot and disappeared toward the sea—without ever so much as glancing at me.

*   *   *

The dining room was crowded, filled with children’s voices and clattering dishes. The hotel seemed to be booked solid with young families on vacation. The sea was visible through the spotless windows.

Chandeliers in the shape of seashells hung from the high ceiling. The blue of the tablecloths matched the color of the carpets, which were splotched here and there with sand brought in on the guests’ sandals.

I was shown to a small table hidden behind a pillar. I ordered coffee, two pieces of toast, an omelet, bacon, and a green salad. The toast was warm; and I had no complaints about the bacon or the coffee either. But the eggs were oddly runny. I had ordered a plain omelet, but for some reason the one that arrived was stuffed with diced tomatoes. The salad, too, was covered with tomatoes … no doubt the ones that the woman had forced on the cook.

Just as this thought was occurring to me, I heard a voice.

“Is this seat taken?” She had appeared out of nowhere, smiling broadly. Her bundle was clutched to her chest; the dog’s leash was wrapped around her wrist.

Startled, I choked on the egg and managed only to cough in reply. A moment later she was seated across from me, her bundle on her lap.

“You should drink some water,” she said, sliding a glass toward me. I did as she’d suggested. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she continued. The dog made itself comfortable under the table.

“Not at all,” I said, going back to my omelet.

“I’m afraid I upset you,” she said.

“It’s a common enough mistake.”

“It’s a comfort to hear you say so,” she said. After that, she was silent for a moment. I started on my salad, and she watched me eat.

As she fiddled with the sugar bowl, I noticed again that her fingers were unusually delicate. Her bony shoulders were visible under her blouse and her collarbones protruded above the neckline.

“Are you on vacation?” she said at last.

“No, I’m here for work.”

“Really? What sort of work?”

“I’m writing an article about this hotel for a woman’s magazine.”

“Oh, how lovely!”

I was getting sick of the mountain of tomatoes in my salad. She eventually finished with the sugar bowl and began folding and unfolding a paper napkin.

“They haven’t come to take your order,” I said.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, adding another crease to the napkin. Her eyes never left my face.

“I’ll call the waiter,” I said, starting to signal him over, but she rose out of her chair and touched my arm. Her fingers were icy.

“I said you needn’t bother. I’m not hungry.” She fell back in her chair and I went on eating my salad.

“Do you like the tomatoes?”

I nodded and she let out a little laugh.

“They’re my little
contribution
,” she said. The omelet lay half finished on my plate, surrounded by yolky tomatoes.

“I know,” I said, forcing down the rest of the egg. I wanted to escape as quickly as possible.

“I picked them up yesterday,” she said. “On a bridge.” My knife scraped disagreeably on the plate. I pretended not to hear. “A truck driver apparently fell asleep at the wheel and his truck turned over. You should have seen it: the bridge was covered with tomatoes. I couldn’t resist picking up a few. I’m afraid the driver died, though: the cab was crushed, and I suppose he must have been, too.”

I set my knife and fork on the plate, wiped my mouth, and then balled up my napkin and dropped it on the table. But before I could move, she rose from her chair.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” she said, and glided away through the crowded dining room.

*   *   *

For the rest of the morning, I was shown around the hotel by an assistant manager and allowed to take pictures of the three grades of rooms they had available: standard, deluxe, and suite. Bathrooms, decks, closets, amenities, slippers, minifridges. I took pictures of everything, from every angle I could think of, while the manager babbled on about the beauty and comfort and luxury of the hotel.

Then in the afternoon I went to check out the beach. A sky-blue sign in the shape of a dolphin stood at the entrance to what was named, appropriately enough, Dolphin Beach. Lines of umbrellas, snack stands, and public showers, and the cape running out beyond to the east side of the bay. Tour boats were tied up at a dock.

“What time does the dolphin-watching boat leave?” I asked a young woman who was selling shaved ice topped with syrup.

“Excuse me?” she said. Her tone suggested my question was unexpected or unwelcome or both.

“Dolphin-watching boats?” I repeated, a little louder this time. “It’s right here in the brochure.”

“They’re dead,” she said as she drizzled bright yellow liquid over a cup of ice. “All three of them.”

I sighed and shouldered the heavy pack I used to carry my camera equipment. The “D” and the “i” in the name of the boat were illegible; the chain to the dock was covered with dried seaweed.

*   *   *

After a couple of drinks at the bar, I took a walk behind the hotel. A full moon had turned the sea to liquid gold. The tennis courts and the archery range were deserted. A curtain was drawn at the reception window and the lights had been turned off. A dirty wristband was left lying on the ground. I cut across a putting green and climbed a hill planted with grapevines, my way lit by the moon. There was no breeze, but the midday heat was beginning to die down.

At the top of the hill, there was a small bench, a broken spyglass, and a greenhouse. I sat down on the bench. The sea was calm, and no one was down on the sand or in the water.

Then I heard footsteps on the grass, followed by a rustling sound and the soft clink of a chain. I knew who it was without turning around.

“Good evening,” she said.

“Good evening,” I answered. Though there was almost no room on the bench, she sat down next to me. Her tiny body somehow fit right next to mine. As always, the dog was at her feet, the bundle on her lap.

“Has your work been going well?” she asked.

“Well enough,” I said.

“What sorts of things do you write about?” she said, cocking her head and turning to look at me. She was wearing a plain skirt and blouse with no jewelry—except for the dog’s leash, which was wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. Her cheeks were pale and translucent, and there were fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She clutched the bundle in her carefully manicured hands.

“‘The moment you enter, you feel you’ve stepped into paradise. Each Mediterranean-themed room has an ocean view. The staff is warm and the service impeccable. The beach is just seconds away, and the gentle surf is perfect for the kids. As an added attraction, you can go swimming with the dolphins just offshore…’ Something like that,” I said. “It’s pretty much the same for all these places—and I suppose I won’t mention that the dolphins are dead.”

I tapped my toe on the ground. The Labrador sneezed. His black coat melted into the darkness.

“Yes, I heard about that,” she said. “It’s an epidemic—a parasite attacked their lungs.” The moonlight shone on her face as she looked out at the sea. The pounding of the waves could be heard even at this distance.

“Why did you come up here?” I said, but as soon as the question was out of my mouth, I realized how rude it must have sounded.

“Am I disturbing you?” she asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You look just like a man who once saved my life,” she said, tucking her hair back to reveal pale ears. “It happened nearly thirty years ago. I was lost in a snowstorm. It had come down very heavily. Then the wind died and the world was very still. Much like tonight.” She looked up at the night, as though waiting for snow to fall out of it, but only the moon and stars were in the sky.

“If I had been alone, I think I would have died quite peacefully, without much of a struggle—or many regrets. But I wasn’t alone then. I had a child with me, a dear boy of ten. So I couldn’t die; I had to escape somehow.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” I said.

“Do you have children?” she asked.

“I do. My son is ten as well.”