Rike, uncertain that he has completely understood her, states carefully, ‘It would help if you could tell me what you want from these sessions. Rosaria said that you asked for me directly?’
Tomas shakes his head. ‘No. I asked for a new teacher. I think she misunderstood me.’ He opens his hands, a little apologetic. ‘My problem isn’t vocabulary, but practice. Conversation.’
And there it is, a simple misunderstanding. The answer is disappointing. Rike sits a little forward and asks if she can look at his notebook. She senses Tomas’s reluctance, but he hands over the small notebook. She finds the pages he was referring to, the notes on his neighbours are almost word for word what he has told her. The discussion is anticipated, studied, rehearsed. Aware that she is being watched she tries not to react and becomes unconfident about her expression. Her face is a little flushed. ‘See. What you are doing is good, but I’m not sure what you want from me exactly?’
‘I want you to correct what I’m saying.’
Rike holds the pages open.
‘You’re managing this by yourself. Is there something specific you want me to help with?’
‘I need to practise speaking.’
She closes the book and hands it back. Still unclear. ‘But you speak very well. Very little of what you say needs to be corrected. What you need is practice with a variety of people so you can gain confidence, pick up small details, colloquialisms.’ Rike points to the balcony. ‘Everything you’re asking for you’d get from an advanced class, from being around native speakers. I’m very happy with the sessions,’ she says, ‘I only want to be sure that you are as well.’
Tomas shakes his head and becomes silent.
Rike apologizes, she can’t read his response, not sure what the issue is she picks up her bag and says that she should go, and maybe he should think about what he wants.
Tomas walks with her to the door. ‘Unless I have something specific to do, something I can’t avoid, I don’t go out,’ he says.
His expression, flat, matter of fact, surprises her, and she realizes that this is the crux of the matter.
‘You don’t go out?’
‘Unless there is something specific I have to do.’
Can’t or don’t — there are different intentions behind these words. She wants to know how he manages the café, how he speaks with Christos?
‘I don’t like to go out.’ Tomas closes his eyes for a moment.
Rike suddenly understands that what she had taken for a holiday isn’t a holiday at all, but some kind of recuperation. Now embarrassed, she bows her head and apologizes. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t need to explain anything.’
Tomas opens his hands. The gesture is genuine, intimate. ‘I have to decide the kind of work I want to do. I have to decide if I should continue or if I should change. And if I decide to change then I need to think about what that change might be.’ Tomas folds his arms, his face up and expression open. ‘I know that what I’m doing right now doesn’t work. But I don’t know anything else.’ The man straightens up. ‘Most of what I do, I do because I have to. Not because I choose to. And if you do that for long enough then you get to an age where you think there isn’t anything else you can do. I have to give this a lot of thought. I’m thinking seriously that this is the right time to make a change.’
‘How can you decide if you can’t go out?’
‘It isn’t that I can’t go out. I choose not to. I need a reason. Something to do.’
‘If I set you an assignment, to go to a museum for example?’
‘Then I would go.’ If this is what she wants, Tomas agrees, he’ll do this. ‘I had another story for you today. I meant to tell you about what happened here. They had something happen here a couple of years ago. An incident which involves the basement.’
They agree to take this up later. Rike wants to go, and is happy to leave now the subject has changed. This is an easier place to stop.
4.2
Rike walks back to the apartment with two things on her mind: cats and Tomas Berens. Cats because she has to walk along the small street beside the hotel development, and Tomas because she wants to challenge him, or help him, but has no idea for the moment how she might achieve this. The sun is pleasantly warm. She walks through the narrow street, a little ashamed of her clumsiness during the session. Tomas, in his way, has let her know that he is managing some kind of problem — who knows what — and she’s trying hard not to think of him as someone damaged or vulnerable.
Rike checks the road to make sure there are no dead cats, and finds, happily, no cat, but a new bag of cat food. Again, the bag is slit open. She picks it up, thinking this is another plan to lure cats out into the open, and comes into the apartment through the back entrance, and notices a smell, which could, just might be, jasmine.
Isa stands at the kitchen counter. Legs braced slightly apart. In front of her a spread of oranges. Rike’s job is to keep her busy until Henning returns. And for god’s sake keep her away from the television. Don’t let her watch the news.
‘The fruit. It’s exceptional here.’ Isa rolls an orange across the counter to Rike. ‘Seriously, you should try one. I’ve already had three. They go right through me.’ She quickly shifts topic. ‘You noticed how no one speaks about the other Sutler? Number two? The middle man?’
Rike says she hasn’t thought about it much. ‘When is he back?’
Out of habit Isa looks at the clock although this question involves days not hours. ‘Henning? The day after tomorrow. He thinks. Once everything is ready.’
‘So he isn’t here? The man from the hospital?’
‘Mr Crispy?’ Isa shrugs. ‘Not yet. Henning said that he was stable, and everything’s ready. As long as he can survive the flight, they can bring him over.’ Isa brushes back her hair, a thought catching as something remembered. ‘You know not to say anything.’
‘Who would I speak to?’ Rike shakes her head as she peels the orange.
Isa describes how the man is kept cool, how he has to be spritzed with water and kept in a sterile environment. Seriously disgusting. Chunks of him are flaking off. ‘Mr Hamburger.’ She takes an orange segment even before it is fully peeled, then reaches behind her for a stool, for somewhere to sit. ‘No one’s managed to speak with him yet. No lips — I’m joking. I don’t know that. But the hospital have kept him sedated and he does need to have all of these operations now. They keep him in a tent in a room, no one sees him but doctors and nurses. She tuts playfully. ‘Henning is hopeful that no one knows about Cyprus. Once he’s here the situation will be contained.’ Isa deepens her voice at the last phrase. ‘Absurd. Anyway. That’s what he said. Something like that? Sometimes I can’t believe people actually talk like this. Can you imagine a room full of these people? How pompous they are. It isn’t the real world. They have no knowledge of it. No understanding. They still believe in spies and Russia. Everything is back like it was in the seventies. Iron curtain. Walls. Poison pellets, suits and guns. The good old days.’
‘And Henning.’
‘He’s loving it.’ Isa bites through half a segment, catches the juice before it runs to her chin. ‘He’s in his element. Don’t they taste amazing?’ They look to each other in agreement. ‘You know what they’ve called this whole operation?’
Rike shakes her head.
‘Guess.’
Rike takes the last piece. Her sister’s eyes follow her hand to her mouth.
‘Go on. Guess.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But guess. You’ll never guess.’
Again, Rike shakes her head.
‘Operation Lazarus. Lazarus. Honestly. Lazarus. Someone gets paid to come up with these ideas.’