We went up to the house and Rose helped her sponge the kid, who was running 102 and looked sick. I smoked a cigar with Ansel and said maybe I should get a doctor. He said it was nothing, the spots and sores were coming and in a week it would be all over. In the kid's room I could hear Rose arguing with Mrs. Ansel, their voices growing louder. Ansel winked at me as Rose screamed—Mrs. Ansel didn't know or care what she was doing—and ran out of the bungalow. I left a few minutes later. I found Rose sitting on the steps of the hut, wet and muddy... and crying loudly. I took her inside and undressed her, toweled her down, and turned on the gas boiler for a hot bath. She took a big shot of whiskey and in the faint light from the gas range I started reading the night club ads from one of the old New York papers, innocently asking if she'd ever been in this and that club, what did it look like, how was the food and music, and all the rest of the jive. I read most of the ads and nothing happened. Then all of a sudden she became hysterical and savagely tore the paper to bits.
This was the right time to pull the string. I told her to relax and she told me where to go. I asked, “Honey, how about getting away from here? For a few weeks? Be a change.”
Running a hand over her wet face Rose mumbled, “What's the diff? Raining all over these goddam islands.”
“I don't mean island-jumping. I mean a real change. How about sailing north, putting in at cities like Jacksonville, Charleston, Atlantic City, or even New York?”
“Are you punchy? I can't show my face anywhere.”
“Listen, we'll only spend a few days in each town. Buy us some new domes, live in hotels, see all the shows and movies we...”
“You want to get me killed?” she asked coldly, forgetting the tears. “I told you...”
“Rose, honey, we haven't a thing to worry about, if what you told me is true.”
“If?” She screamed, picking up a kitchen knife and viciously sticking it into the table top.
That was okay, it was merely the first thing she could put her hands on. “Take it easy, Rose; if I didn't believe you I wouldn't suggest this. Island living is great, but it takes time to get used to the slow pace. It's fine for Ansel, he was born here. It works out for us— except for a few short days like now. If we could spend several weeks each year in a big city, get the... the desire for excitement out of our systems, we could live here the rest of our lives and do it well. But if we don't—we have nothing here if we blow our tops.”
“I can take this.”
“Can you? Look at yourself, hysterical, almost on the verge of flipping. And my nerves are ragged, too. For all we know it might rain for another week or more.” My voice was as smooth as a salesman's.
“Don't worry, I won't break. I was in a mood but that's over.”
“Maybe I need a change.”
“You just came back from Port-au-Prince. If you want to go for another trip, get the hell out—but alone.”
“Honey, in Port-au-Prince I walked the streets with crowds, I ate in a few restaurants, took in a movie. And all the time I felt more jittery than I do now. It doesn't mean a thing if you're not along. Don't you know that? Times Square would be a drag without you.”
For a long moment she stared at me, her face changing—losing its hardness, its tension. For a second I thought my plan was backfiring. I didn't care, it was worth something to see her smile again. Rose came over and sat on my lap, kissing me, whispering, “That's the sweetest thing a man ever told me, Mickey.”
I held her tightly and wondered what I was knocking myself out for. But under all my feelings this desire to find out if her story was true, to live big, began bubbling up again. “I've been thinking about what you told me the other day. About Josef and...”
“Must we talk about that?”
“Yeah. I've had a chance to give it some thought. Babes, I think you've been running from nothing, being chased by your own shadow. For example when...”
“Nothing? They were out to kill me!”
I kissed her cheek. “Rose, don't tighten up. I'm not out to hurt you, scare you. There's only you and me talking in this hut, so relax. Talk can't hurt us. Let me tell you what I've been thinking and then you show me where I'm wrong. Okay?”
Her fingers were back to feeling the muscles in my arms as she said, “I got you into all this, you have a right to ask questions.”
“Don't talk about 'rights.' This isn't a courtroom. I'm only thinking how we both can be happier—and I'm pretty happy as we are. Now let me go over what you told me. Remember, when all this happened you were upset and shocked, which was natural. Josef was your husband and...”
“I never loved him.”
“Honey, if we found out Ansel had just been murdered, wouldn't you be upset, in a whirl?”
“All right, say I was upset. What are you trying to prove?”
“Rose, Rose, stop acting like a cross-examiner. It's raining, we haven't anything else to do. I'm making words pass the time. Now, the first time you had any idea they were out to... to kill you, was when this Federal guy began fingering his gun while talking to you in the flat. That's an old cop's trick to put the fear of God into you. Once when I was a kid the police were trying to stop us from swimming bare-butt. Two cops came over to the dock to warn us. One cop kept hitting his blackjack against the palm of his hand as he talked. An act. They wouldn't have sapped a bunch of ten-year olds for swimming....”
“Mickey, what are you trying to tell me, that I'm nuts?”
“Of course not. Listen, when that cop played with his sap, believe me, every one of us was scared, really scared. You also said you were shadowed on the street, annoyed at the hotel. I certainly believe all that happened, but maybe it was more police tricks to keep you on edge. A guy hits you on the street, another cluck propositions you, and your shadows don't act like cops seeing a citizen annoyed. Remember, that could be part of their job; if they were tailing you they may have been under orders not to show themselves. I also imagine a gal with your looks has had street clowns leer and whistle at you plenty of times. You said two men who 'looked' like detectives tried to run you down. Could be, and it could have been a couple of drunks. Finally, you think you saw this Sauerkraut guy in Miami. Maybe you did and maybe he's one of the thousands of tourists that flock there. Or in that brief second you could have seen some other fellow with a deformed nose. Let's consider a few other angles: the police didn't want you, but the money. Now, they don't even know you have the dough. And suppose they do, the most they can ask is you return it. You took some money your dead husband left in a suitcase—is that a crime?”
“You risked your life in the hurricane to get the money. Remember what you said then?”
“Yeah. I'll say it now: it's always convenient to be loaded. All I'm saying is, you're in the clear—all the way down the line. Another thing, this was almost two years ago and if your overturned boat stunt worked, the police have you dead and forgotten by now.”