The Frequent Flyer
Frank Thomas
Smith
Last paragraph of
Chapter 8:
Even before the
food arrived, Freddy Hussein�s chauffer came rushing in and said something to
him on Arabic. �Oh, dear, isn�t this awful,� Hussein said, standing up. �A
crisis has arisen and I must go immediately. Most unfortunate, my deepest
apologies, Mr. Jacks. Frau Marie, could you be so kind as to entertain my
guest?� He scurried out. Jacks finished off his second glass of wine and said,
in German, �Okay, so what the hell is going on, Annaliese?�
Chapter
9
She said, in
English, smiling: �Do you mind if I sit with you a while, Mr. Jacks? It gives me
an excuse to rest before the lunch crowd arrives.�
Jacks blinked. Games. �Sure, be my guest, Frau Marie.� The waiter
appeared at his side and refilled the wine glasses. They raised their glasses,
staring into each other�s eyes, German style.
�Argentine wine is really very good, the reds at least. It�s a pity they
aren�t better known outside the country.�
�Organization,� Jacks said. �You may have noticed that this country isn�t
very well organized��
She smiled and was about to agree, but Jacks said, ��not like
Germany.�
�Yes, that�s true. Germany is a bit too organized for my
taste.�
�Is that why you�re here?�
�Partly, yes.�
�What�s the other part?�
�My husband inherited a piece of land here and we came to see about it
and, well, we fell in love with the country.�
�Convenient.�
Her eyes frowned warning, but just for a moment, until she smiled again
and said, �Yes, fate can sometimes be convenient.�
�But not always.�
She laughed falsely, as though he had told the funniest joke of the day.
�Do you like philosophy, Mr. Jacks?�
�Not any more. I used to be an idealist, now I�m a na�ve realist � they
don�t care for philosophy. How about you?�
�Oh, it�s all too deep for me. I prefer novels.�
�Good, so do I.�
Two middle aged, straight-backed men entered and bowed towards them.
�Guten Tag,� Frau Marie called to them and waved. Gradually the
restaurant was filling up. Jacks was served his gr�ne Sosse and another glass of
wine.
�Actually, the Germans were very big in philosophy,� Jacks said, �until
Marx at least.�
She said nothing, not liking this direction.
�Marx just about finished off German philosophy, except possibly for
Rudolf Steiner, ever hear of him?�
She thought a moment, then: �Yes, my father mentioned him
occasionally.�
�Oh? Is your father an anthroposophist?�
�My father died years ago,� she said. �I don�t know if he was an
anthroposophist. I don�t think so.�
�There�s a Rudolf Steiner Schule right here in Florida. Did you know
that?�
�Yes,� � she hesitated a moment � �my daughter goes
there.�
�I see,� Jacks said calmly enough. �I see.�
�Do you have any children, Mr. Jacks?�
�No.�
�How do you know
about the school then?�
�A friend�s kid goes there.�
�Oh? What�s his name? Maybe I know your friend.�
�I don�t think so.�
�You�re not
married then?�
�No. Please don�t let me keep you from your duties, Frau Marie,� with
ironic emphasis on her current name.
�Yes, I really must go now. We have excellent Schwarzwaldtorte for
dessert.�
�Home made?�
�Yes�but not by me.�
�In that case I�ll pass. Could you just send the bill,
please?�
�Mr. Hussein has taken care of it.� She stood up. �We could advise you
when we have specials, Mr. Jacks, and German delicacies - made by me, if you�ll
give me your phone number.�
Jacks looked up at her and couldn�t help thinking of Ingrid Bergman. He
hesitated, stood to be polite, then reached into his wallet and handed her a
business card. No home number, yet. He approached her and held out his hand.
�I�ll be leaving then.�
�You haven�t finished your lunch.�
�Potatoes are filling.� He was holding her hand. �Should I kiss it?� he
asked.
�That would be out of character, wouldn�t it?�
�Good bye, then.� He turned and walked out before the old waiter could
hobble to the door to open it for him. Outside in the heat he felt like
fainting, but he walked like a man in hurry down the street intending to go
home, shower and think. Hussein�s chauffer was calling him from behind though.
He stopped. �Mr. Hussein told me to wait for you, Se�or.�
�Give him my thanks, but I prefer to walk awhile.�
�I can wait.�
�No. Adios.�
He walked past the street his house was on, circled around the block,
making sure he wasn�t being followed, turned back and went home. Once inside, he
walked through the living room, ignoring the blinking answering machine,
shedding a piece of clothing in each room until he was in the garden in the
rear. He gazed into the water in the pool � clear, limpid, uncomplicated, just
how he wished his mind could be. As he was about to dive in a breeze arose
rippling the water and brushing aside the clarity. He dove naked into the irony.
It refreshed him, but didn�t clear his confusion. He called his office and told
his secretary that he wasn�t feeling well and wouldn�t be there that afternoon,
she should let him no if anything urgent happened.
�Sorry, Marvin. Do you need anything?�
�No, Gabriela, I�ll be all right in the morning.� Gabriela would have
loved to take a taxi to Florida and tend to her boss at home. Some other time,
Jacks thought. Then he went to bed and, to his great surprise, slept like a
log.
At around four the phone rang. �Marvin, a woman called for you and when I
told her you weren�t in she asked where she could contact you, that it was
urgent,� Gabriela said. �She was really insistent, as though it was a matter of
life and death � so finally I said I�d ask you if I could give her your number.
Was that all right? She�s going to call back soon.�
�What�s her name?� Jacks said after his daytime memory returned and wiped
out an exciting dream forever.
�Mar�a Alem�n is what she said.�
�Did she have an accent?�
�A little bit, I think.�
�Give her my number when she calls,� Jacks said. �Thanks,
Gabriela.�
�Okay. You all right, Marvin?�
�Yes, fine.� He hung up.
It wasn�t until five-thirty that Gabriela called again. �She didn�t call
back, Marvin. I have to go now.�
�Okay, Gabriela.� He sighed mentally. �See you tomorrow morning. Any
other calls?�
�Nothing that can�t wait.�
Continued in the
next issue of SCR
