Via Dolorosa(44)

And that is hiding, he admitted to himself. That is the coward’s way out.

And what are you? intoned some obscure but vaguely familiar head-voice. What are you, Lieutenant? Do you think you are the bravest man in the world? Did you so easily forget what happened over in Iraq? Did you forget about all the dead? Or are you already living inside your own head, already living there right now, hidden like a goddamn coward, altering reality to whichever way best suits your desires? I’m glad you think it is so easy, Lieutenant. But you cannot do that with Emma and you cannot do that with yourself, either.

It was Myles Granger’s voice, he realized.

No, he thought. Stop it.

But there was no stopping his mind—no stopping his thoughts…

He thought about the war and he thought about Myles Granger—dead Myles Granger—and thought that if he could just erase it all, he would be about the happiest man alive.

“Go to sleep,” he heard himself say to Emma. But she had already fallen asleep some time ago, leaving him awake and alone.





—Chapter XII—





With newfound drive, he worked for a long while on the hotel mural the following morning. He’d gotten up early, even before Emma, and upon vacating his room noticed Isabella had left his nylon supplies case just outside his hotel room door. There was a note attached to it, too, but it was written in Spanish and he couldn’t understand any of it. Stuffing the note in his pocket, he carried the supplies downstairs to the lobby and made exquisite love to the mural for the remainder of the morning.

Before meeting Emma for lunch, in a somewhat good mood, he went to the restaurant bar for a beer.

“Do I look different today?” he asked Roger.

“Do you?”

“I think I might feel differently today.”

“A good different or a bad different?”

“I’m hoping a good different. But whatever it is, I’ll take it for now. It just feels so good to get away from myself for a while. Know what I’m talking about?”

“Sure,” Roger said with little emotion.

Conspiratorially, partially grinning, Nick leaned over the bar. “Is something wrong, Roger?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“I feel fine, sir.”

“Then what’s with this ‘sir’ business?”

“Please,” said Roger, nearly bowing away, “I’m busy this afternoon. I don’t mean to be rude…”

“Of course not.”

“Have a good lunch today, sir.” Then quickly: “Nick.”

“All right, Roger. Thanks.”

What the hell? Nick thought.

For lunch, he met Emma outside by the pools. A waiter came only twice—once to take their order and once more to distribute the plates about the table—and they were mostly left to each other’s company.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” Emma said. “What do you think it will be like when the bugs come?”

“The cicadas?”

“Yes, cicadas.” Glancing upward, she said, “I picture swarms of them covering the sky, blotting out the sun, and dropping by the thousands into the sea.”

“Sounds like the Apocalypse.”

“That’s how I am picturing it, yes,” she said.

“I don’t think it will be nearly like that.”

“Don’t you?”

“You’re thinking of locusts, I believe.”

“Oh?”

“And even with locusts, I don’t think it is all truly that bad. Not like, say, how it is in the Bible. And even if it is that bad with locusts, I don’t think that happens in this country. Not like that, anyway.”

“And locusts are different than cicadas?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think they’re very different.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m sort of glad to see them come because I’m interested to see them. But then I’m sort of scared, too, because I think I might be a little afraid of them.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he told her.

They enjoyed a nice lunch of beef carpaccio with arugula and mancheco cheese, two light garden salads with peeled shrimp adorned with a sprinkled sneeze of sunflower seeds, and sipped mimosas from slender flutes. A pot of demitasse had been brought over as well which, between the two of them, was emptied prematurely.

Over on the other side of the pools, something caught Nick’s eye. He looked and saw a young female child in a blue-and-white checkered sundress giggling with her hands up to her face. She appeared to be looking at someone hidden behind the corner of the hotel and out of Nick’s line of sight. The girl dropped her hands and began speaking with whoever stood just beyond. She was too far away for Nick to hear any of her words such as he had heard just the vague titter of her giggling only moments before.

“Are you all right?” Emma said.

Looking at her, he said, “Sure. Why?”

“You seem distracted.” She turned briefly in the direction of the little girl but found no interest there.

“I’m fine,” he said, picking up his coffee mug and staring at the empty bottom for lack of any other gesture.