Arnon Grunberg | Silent
21. May 2012 09:17
We went out to dinner one last time with Mrs Lopez and Emile. Elvira was with us. We had to convince her it was better if she went along. Her mother had on her five-inch heels again.
Emile was wearing a white suit. He was edgier than ever. He had the little gold box clenched in his hand. 'They didn't find a thing,’ he whispered in the taxi, 'but they can't guarantee anything either.' A few minutes later he whispered: 'I could drop dead any moment.'
Elvira and Broccoli took a separate cab. He'd told Emile and Mrs Lopez that his father thought his hospitality was tantamount to opening a camp site.
Mr. Berk had started coming by every day to check up. He pretended he was there to pick up the mail, but we knew old Eckstein had sent him to see if the camp site was still there. His stepping on the beds each time couldn't have been an accident either. After a lot of encouragement, Mrs Lopez and Emile had announced they'd be leaving for Rome and would fly back to Buenos Aires from there.
'I just hope I make it to Rome,' Emile had said a few times already. But to tell you the truth, he'd never looked better. He just seemed to get fatter all the time. According to Broccoli, in the middle of the night Emile would often say: 'I could sure stand a drumstick.' Then Broccoli would have to go to the all-night deli on the Beethovenstraat to buy him grilled drumsticks. The people at the deli knew Broccoli by now. They'd hand him the drumsticks before he could even say a word. Emile devoured at least four drumsticks a night.
'You're a fantastic driver,' I heard Mrs Lopez telling the taxi driver.
'She flirts with everyone,' Emile whispered. 'I'm sure you've noticed that already. But it is innocent flirting. Completely innocent.' Then he shook me by the shoulder and said: 'You're a good boy.'
Broccoli had made reservations at a restaurant on 't Spui. As soon as we walked in, Mrs Lopez threw her arms around the neck of the first waiter she saw. Two other waiters had to escort her to the table. Once she was seated, she started blowing kisses at everyone. Not only at the two waiters who'd brought her to the table, but to almost the whole staff.
'We'll come back,' Mrs Lopez said. 'We'll come and visit you again sometime.'
'Is that a threat?' Broccoli mumbled.
Elvira was toying with her rice. She had her boa constrictor on.
'Where did you get that horrible thing?' her mother asked. She didn't wait for an answer. She never waited for an answer. She just went on talking at Broccoli. 'I'm having an exhibition in Buenos Aires in November. Did I tell you I paint? Flying females and trees. I'll send you a painting. You've been so wonderful to us all these weeks.'
'That's awfully nice of you,' Broccoli said.
It seemed like Elvira wasn't following half the conversation. Every once in a while she'd look at me. Then she smiled. I didn't smile back, because Mrs Lopez was keeping an eye on everyone.
After dinner, Emile said: 'It was lovely, but there were no drumsticks.' He had dark bags under his eyes.
When they brought the coffee, he pulled a packet of sweeteners out of his pocket and dropped two tablets into his cup. '1 like sweet things,' he whispered. And a little later: 'I can feel it in my arm again.' He laid his left arm on the table, like it was a huge sausage. I was sitting next to him, but I didn't ask what it was he felt in his arm.
'I hope you come back to Buenos Aires soon, Elvira,' her mother said.
'I feel it in my arm again,' Emile yelped.
Mrs Lopez slammed her hand down on the table and shouted: 'Spare us the pain in your arms, please, for one evening. The doctors have looked at you and there's nothing wrong.' She took a big slug of coffee, then said: 'Your husband's waiting for you, Elvira. We all are.'
Elvira didn't say a word. No one said a word, except for Emile, who whispered in my ear: 'I can't take it any more.' I didn't know whether he was talking about the pain in his arm or about Mrs Lopez.
'You can't just leave someone who loves you," Mrs Lopez said, 'especially not your husband.'
Elvira smiled. Maybe she felt like saying that you can leave anyone, whether they're your husband or not, whether they love you or not.
'It's better this way,' Elvira said finally.
'This is him,' her mother said, pointing to a photograph she'd pulled out of her bag. We had to look at the photo of Elvira's husband again. It must have been the rugby player, or maybe he was a bouncer.
'When Elvira turned eighteen I gave her a waterbed,' Mrs Lopez said. She was beaming. Broccoli took her hand, the way I'd seen him take Mrs Meerschwam's hand before.
'I had arthritis by the time I was four, but do you think my parents bought me a waterbed? Wooden planks and an old mattress, that's what I slept on for fifteen years.'
We got up from the table. Broccoli and I had to help Mrs Lopez walk. Somehow she still succeeded in stumbling up against a waiter. When we said goodbye, Emile shook me till my teeth rattled. 'You're a good boy,' he said again.
Mrs Lopez was crying. The taxi was waiting at the kerb. She cried the way some women do when they have an orgasm. With huge gasps and heart-rending sobs.
'At least tell him yourself,' she said. 'He suffers so much. He loves you.'
When Mrs Lopez wasn't looking, Emile slipped Elvira some money. He gave me two ten-guilder notes as well. 'Put it away quick,' he said. I’ll never make it back to Holland, and young people can always do with a little something extra.'
They climbed in the taxi; Mrs Lopez in front, Broccoli and Emile in the back. Mrs Lopez rolled down the window. 'Come back,' she yelled, 'please come back.' The only thing was, you couldn't tell who she was talking to. As they were pulling away, we heard her shout: 'Oh my God, I've got an appointment at the hairdresser's tomorrow.'
Emile stuck his arm out the window to shake hands with Elvira and me, but he was too late. The taxi shot off. Elvira and I just stood there in front of the restaurant. We remained standing there for quite some time.