The Infant of Prague

The scars were healed. One was across her cheek, below her left eye. The second one was a jagged line from her temple to the edge of her mouth. The surgeon had been skilled; the scars were traces. “They will fade further,” he said. And there was the chance of more cosmetic surgery in time. It was a matter of time.

He came before Christmas. The city was bright with the holiday. The great tree was lit in the square between city hall and the courts building. On Michigan Avenue, thousands of little Italian lights winked on the bare trees.

Kay had been home to Iowa and everyone there was very kind. They were also kind at her old television station. No one offered her a job.

A woman from People magazine had written a story about her that was touching. They ran her photograph. A millionaire insurance executive offered her money for more cosmetic surgery.

She thought she would kill herself before Christmas. She thought she would sit in her bath and cut her wrists and let her blood mingle with the warm water until she was dead.

But he came to see her six days before Christmas and she let him into her apartment on Chestnut Street and she told him everything that had happened. It wasn’t very much really but she told him everything and told it to him over and over.

Devereaux listened to her and sat with her for a long time. Afternoon became evening. She made him a drink and then another one. They sat together on the couch and looked out the window wall at the city. He had given her the number, to call him if she needed any help, if she got into any trouble. The premonition had filled him from the moment he met her. He was full of premonitions this winter. He thought of Ready every morning when he awoke. He would open his eyes and he would see Ready in his mind. Stowe and Eurodesk said Ready had disappeared off the face of the earth. Rita Macklin said, “Perhaps he has gone back to hell.”

Devereaux held Kay Davis’ hand and when she cried — she cried several times — he held her and let her cry against him.

Devereaux had given the tape to Hanley and filled out a complete report and Hanley had said that it wasn’t enough.

“These are big guys,” Hanley had said. “It just isn’t enough to get them on anything.”

“So nothing happens,” Devereaux had said.

Hanley had shrugged. “It happens,” he said.

Win some, lose some.

He felt her tears against him. They sat in silence when she stopped crying.

“Why did it happen to me?” Kay Davis said. “I wasn’t important to them, was I?”

You were someone’s afterthought, Devereaux said in his mind. You were a butterfly and someone tore your wings off. You might have been ignored.

“If I hadn’t gone to the church that morning…” she said. “I think about killing myself.”

“Are you going to kill yourself?” he said.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t kill yourself,” Devereaux said.

“I can’t tell you what it’s like. The worst part is the kindness. Everyone is so goddamn kind to me.”

“Like me.”

“I called you,” she said.

He was holding her. It was an act of comfort. “You called me and I was late. I’m always late now. There’s nothing anyone can do.” He knew he was feeling sorry for himself and he despised himself. He wanted sympathy from her and that was despicable. He suddenly got up and went to the window wall and looked down at the city. Ready, he thought. He’s already won. He freezes all my thoughts, my life. I can’t even act to save myself, he thought.

He felt Ready all around him, grinning in the darkness, watching him, mocking him.

Rita had set up a place in Georgetown off DuPont Circle and Philippe was coming to Washington at the end of the holidays. He watched Rita as though he was no longer part of her because she could not share the part of him that saw Ready all around, in everything, in every room, at every moment.

“I’m glad you listened to me,” she said.

He turned and saw her on the couch in the darkness. He smiled. “Do you believe in weeping statues?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I saw it.”

“The same as Anna.”

“I’m glad you got Anna back. I’m glad someone turned out all right in this.”

“What do you need, Kay?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you need money? Would money help?”

She smiled. “Money always helps.”

“And revenge,” he said.

She stared at him. She understood.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was changed; the self-pity was gone.

“All right,” he said. “I don’t know about the money. But I can get the other thing.”

“Will you tell me?”

“You’ll know,” he said.