Chapters (83)
I had never felt the desire to kill anyone, be they a competitor or an adversary, a child molester or child killer, Pinochet or Kim Jong-il. Not that I set such a high value on life. The value of life remains a mystery to me. How can one define the value of something lost, if the person who has lost it doesn’t miss it? But of course I abhor violence. Bludgeoning or stabbing someone to death – hideous, and that someone sets off a bomb from afar that tears the victim apart is no less hideous. Perhaps it is even more hideous: an act of violence that divests itself of all the feelings and inhibitions that arise from closeness.
I have never dealt with murderers. My firm doesn’t take criminal defence cases. But I simply couldn’t imagine Irene as a murderer. She knew how to keep her cool; she knew how to get her way. I could think of nothing that would have driven her to murder. Even if her second husband had seen her as no more than a trophy, like her first, even if her next lover had also wanted to take advantage of her, if the manager whose advances she had rejected demoted her or her neighbour had harassed her in the hall – Irene would have known how to deal with all of it. If someone had tried to rob or attack her, it would have been self-defence, nothing she could have been reproached for or that she would have had to reproach herself for. So what was she talking about?
I was making the same mistake I had back then. At the time I had assumed I knew who she was, yet I knew nothing. Our intimacy had existed only in my imagination. Once again, I was imagining that I could feel and think my way into her head, that we were close. Why? Only because she had walked naked into my life? In a painting?
I stood up, folded the blanket, went up to the house on the hillside and into the kitchen. In the pantry cupboard I found spaghetti, tins of tomatoes and a glass of olives, and anchovies and capers in the spice rack. Cooking doesn’t come easy to me, but I wasn’t in a hurry. By the time I heard Irene get up and walk to the stairs, the table was set and the meal was ready. I helped her down the steps, led her to the table and served her food. She looked at me; I was proud and she saw my pride and smiled.
“You’re still here.”
“The boat came while we were out, left my luggage and went back. Now you’ll have to take me to Rock Harbour.”
“When?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Tomorrow?”
“Whenever you like.”