But we were tearing each other apart in the constant clawing for advantage. I have memories of her, naked by firelight, pacing back and forth, shaking her fist, yelling at me. Nobody sulked. Nobody walked away. We fought every fight right down to the bitter finish, and they all ended in a draw. We learned each other well enough to learn all the tender places, to be able to draw blood at each encounter.
The symbol of the end of it was the sizeable wooden packing case I brought back from the town, along with a dime store stencil kit and excelsior. I got a big enough case so the size to weight ratio would not be unusual. I packed the thirty-four gold images, fastened the top on with wood screws, labeled it as marine engine parts and addressed it to myself in Lauderdale. I had about a hundred and seventy-five pounds of gold and twenty pounds of crate, and I took a childish pride in making the effort look easy when I swung it into the back of the jeep.
I took it down alone and shipped it out and got back in the first cool of dusk. It was a quiet and thoughtful evening. We finished the wine. In the night I missed her. I got up and put something on and went looking for her. I found her beyond the road, throwing the gifts and games and toys one by one down into the rocky gully, hurling them with great force, crying as she did so. It was foolish and petulant and very touching.
I held her and, in the wrack of sobs, she kept saying, “Why? Why?”
She was asking, I suppose, why she had to be the person she was, and why I had to be the person I was, and why it was impossible for us to find any way to be at peace with each other. She knew it was time to end it, and she wanted to end it, but resented the necessity of ending it. I led her back in and made love to her for the last time. I guess it should have been symbolic, or a special closeness or sweetness. But we had already lost each other. Our identities had been packed in separate crates, with the lids securely fastened. So it was merely competent and familiar, while our minds wandered. It had all been reduced down to an amiable service.
She was bright and cheerful in the morning. We tidied the place, buried the perishables and left the rest, stacked wood high and scrubbed the board floor. On the way down in the grey car, we did not look back. At Los Angeles International I found a flight that would leave for Miami in ninety minutes. I checked my luggage aboard and then walked her back out to her car. There was no point in her hanging around, and she showed no desire to do so.
After she got behind the wheel, I leaned in and kissed that indomitable mouth.
“Come around for the next incarnation,” she said. “I’ll be a better one next time.”
“I’d planned on being a porpoise.”
“I’ll settle for that. Look for me.”
“How will I know you?”
“I’ll keep the yellow cat eyes, darling. But I’ll throw the devils out. I will be the sweet, humble, adoring girl porpoise.”
“I’ll be the show-off. Big leaps. A great fishcatcher.”
She blinked rapidly and said, “Until then, darling. Take care.”
And she started up so fast she gave me a good rap on the elbow with the edge of the window frame.
There was no reason why I should not use the same name and the same hotel in New York. I came up with the golden goodies packed into two sturdy suitcases. I put them into a coin locker in the East Side Terminal. By three o’clock on that hot and sticky afternoon, I was settled into the Wharton as Sam Taggart. I used a pay phone to call Borlika Galleries. They said they expected Mrs. Anton Borlika back in about twenty minutes.
I had difficulty visualizing her until I heard that flat Boston accent, then I saw all of her, the Irish shine of the black hair, the whiteness and plumpness and softness of all the rest of her.
“It’s Sam Taggart, Betty,” I said.
There was a long silence.
“I never expected to hear from you again.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“Let’s say because you left so abruptly.”
“It couldn’t be helped.”
“It’s been months. What did you expect me to think?”
“Do you need those pictures back?”
“The negatives were on file. Keep them as souvenirs. What do you want?”
“I thought we had a deal lined up.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Maybe they’re more valuable now, Betty.”
After a silence she said, “Maybe there’s more risk.”
“How?”
“You bastard, I’m not that stupid. You took the pictures. You lined up the outlet first, and then you went after the merchandise. And it took you this long to get it. How do I know the whole thing won’t backfire?”
“Betty I had them all along. I was just busy on other things.”
“I can imagine.”
“But I did manage to pick up a few more.”
“Of the same sort of thing?”
“To the layman’s eye, yes. Six more. Thirty-four total. So it will come to more money. And I’m ready to deal. I told you I’d be in touch. There’s only one small change. I’ve lined up another outlet, just in case. But because we had an agreement, it’s only fair to give you the chance first. If you’re nervous, all you have to do is say no.”
It was one of those big pale banks on Fifth, in the lower forties, one of those which manage to elevate money to the status of religious symbolism. I arrived by cab at eleven, and toted my bloody spoils inside.
She got up from a chair in the lounge area and came over to me. She looked thinner than I remembered. There were smudges under her eyes. She wore a hot-weather suit, severely tailored and slightly wrinkled.
“Back this way please,” she said.
We went through a gate and down a broad corridor. An armed guard stood outside a paneled door. When he saw her coming, he turned and unlocked the door, swung it open, tipped his cap and bowed us in. It was a twelve by twelve room without windows. When the door closed she smiled in an uncertain way and said, “Hello, Sam.”
“How are you, Betty?”
“All right, I guess. I feel a little strange about… the last time I saw you. It wasn’t… standard practice for me.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m engaged to be married.”
“Best wishes.”
“I’m going to marry the old man.”
“Best wishes.”
“He’s really very fond of me, Sam. And he is a very kind man.”
“I hope you will be very happy.”
She stared at me for a long moment and then said, “Well, shall we get at it?”
There was a long steel table in the room with a linoleum top. There were four chairs around the table. There was a blue canvas flight bag in one of the chairs. I put a suitcase on the table, opened it and began taking out the pieces. She hefted and inspected each one and set it aside. She did not make a sound. Her lips were compressed, her nostrils dilated, her blue eyes narrow. Finally all thirty-four were on the table. A little army of ancient spooks.
“Which six were not in the Menterez collection?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where did you get the extra ones?”
“From a cave at the bottom of the sea.”
“Damn you, I can’t take the chance of…”
“You will have to take a chance on my word that nobody misses them, nobody wants them back.”
She said she would take the whole works for her original offer. I immediately started packing them away again. She asked what I wanted. I said two hundred. She laughed at me. She made a phone call. She offered one fifty. I came down a little. After two long hours of dispute, we settled at a hundred and sixty-two five. She had a hundred and forty in the canvas bag, fifties and hundreds, bank wrapped. She went out into the bank and drew another twenty-two five, while I packed the heavy little figures of ancient evil back into the suitcases.
There was room for the extra money in the canvas bag, after I had completed my count. She put her hand out and when I took it she laughed aloud, that exultant little chortle of someone who is happy with the deal just made.