Arrangements
Today, shortly after they met at The Neptune Restaurant, Mr. Gartner invited Vreni Steiner to his flat. She managed not to show surprise on her wrinkled face. She was looking forward to his usual treat-- coffee, tea, wine, the occasional meal and one of his stories about life in Africa or South America. She had learned quite a lot about him in their frequent conversations. He had been married three times and was a civil engineer who had been posted to West and Central Africa in his early forties. He had loved the spontaneity, earthiness and unpredictability of the African continent. His Swiss wife, unable to cope with African life, had abandoned him. Then he had married an unlettered African woman, who later died. As they headed towards the restaurant’s door, Vreni slipped a few packets of sugar, some coffee creams and two newspapers from a side table into her big, green bag.
Her hair flamed red in the cold sunlight. Her yellow, orange and green dress defied the black winter wear dictated by fashion gurus. Mr. Gartner, a pale, bent man with receding white hair, pulled back in a ponytail, led the way, supported by a cane.
* * *
Huge abstract paintings rested against the windows of his apartment and blocked the sunlight from entering the living room. Canvases covered every wall like jungle plants taking root and spreading. They hinted at places he had been to and people he had met. Vreni felt the walls closing in on her. She scratched her arm nervously.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” asked Mr. Gartner.
“I’d love one.” She began to examine the paintings in the dim room and remained unimpressed.
Mr. Gartner brought a bottle over and they sat down at a round, unpolished table near the front door. “Cheers,” he said, handing her a glass.
“Look at this painting,” he said proudly. His eyes lit up as he explained his work. His thick, fat fingers clasped hers.
Vreni smiled. The plump hands felt warm. A painting of a woman drew her attention. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Esmeralda, my wife. Painted it long ago.”
“It isn’t abstract like the others. She’s beautiful, a reminder of the good, old days, I bet. Where did you meet?” Mr. Gartner slowly released Vreni’s hand.
“In Chile, in a club. Later we became tango partners.”
“Romantic!”
“Those dancing legs are out to pasture now,” he laughed. I used to be the European tango champion.
“Really! It sounds like it was a happy time.”
“Very happy.”
* * *
He had started the second bottle of wine and had been talking for a while when the doorbell rang. Mr. Gartner limped to the door. His swollen fingers struggled with the keys before he found the right one to open it. A stocky Hispanic woman in her mid-fifties pushed her way in. Her youthful beauty still shone through her smooth, stoical face. Grey strands streaked the black hair that flowed down her slumping shoulders.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said, ignoring Vreni. “Are you coming down?”
Annoyance skirted Mr. Gartner’s face. “Frau Steiner, this is my wife Esmeralda,” he said.
Esmeralda walked towards the table where Vreni sat. Vreni rose and reached out to Esmeralda across the wine bottles and they shook hands stiffly.
“Is there enough supper for my guest?” Mr. Gartner slurred.
Esmeralda’s large eyes darkened, her face tightened. “It’ll do,” she said after a pause. She eased out of the door and closed it loudly.
“Hungry?” Mr. Gartner asked.
“Starving,” Vreni answered.
“Then let’s go,” Mr. Gartner said.
Vreni grabbed her purse and coat, followed Mr. Gartner to the elevator where he pressed the button to the second floor.
White walls and beige furniture greeted them. Beige curtains draped large, high windows. Vreni felt a heaviness lifting. Esmeralda seemed younger, more relaxed in her domain.
“Lovely flat,” Vreni said. A smile increased the furrows on her face.
“Thank you.” Esmeralda ushered them to a long wooden table, covered with a white linen cloth.
“Thanks for having me at such short notice,” Vreni said.
“I’m accustomed to the strays,” Esmeralda answered.
“She doesn’t have much to do,” said Mr. Gartner.
“But this place is spotless,” Vreni said.
“What does he care?” Esmeralda glared at her husband, then went into the kitchen and returned with a pot of tripe soup that she dished out.
“You forgot to bring the wine,” Mr. Gartner said to his wife.
“ I’ve only two hands,” Esmeralda fired back as left for the kitchen again. She returned with a small platter of empanadas and a bowl of salad.
“The wine?” Mr. Gartner demanded.
“Get it yourself. Haven’t you had enough?”
Mr. Gartner rose. “Where do you keep the damned wine?”
“You finished the last bottle yesterday, remember!”
He grimaced, raised a clenched fist but just as swiftly put it down again.
“I’m going to my place to get wine,” he said, and left. They could hear the elevator slowly grinding upwards.
Dinner was a tasty delight but Vreni ate her empanadas quietly, surprised at Mr. Gartner and thinking about what she could say.
Vreni felt Esmeralda looking at her from the other side of the table. She felt like prey about to be pounced on. Esmeralda wasn’t silent for long.
“What are you to my husband?” she asked.
“Just drinking buddies,” Vreni said.
Esmeralda rolled her eyes. “Drinking buddies?”
“Well, we drink at The Neptune across the street. It’s better to have someone to drink with.”
“You are lonely?”
“I am a widow. I get lonely.”
“Are interested in him?”
“God, no! I don’t want to be someone’s caretaker. Got two dead husbands. I’m looking for a younger man now. But I only have a modest pension, you see, so I’m not a good catch.”
Esmeralda smiled. “You don’t look bad for your age,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“My husband has terrible mood swings. Alcohol makes them worse. You see my arm.” Esmeralda rolled up a sleeve to expose a bruised arm.
“Is that why you have your own place?” Vreni asked.
“Painting is his life now. I cannot live upstairs among piles of canvasses and darkness. They sap my spirit.
“I felt a little claustrophobic at first. But his stories are so fascinating. I soon forget my surroundings. Has he told you about the time he was accused by his houseboy of plotting against the Chadian government? He said he spent weeks in a filthy prison there.”
“Thank God, I don’t have to listen to those stories anymore. I had to leave to save my sanity.”
“He thinks you have abandoned him. That’s why he’s angry.”
“These days he’s angry about everything. I never know when he will turn on me,” Esmeralda said.
“Do you feel safe here? You’re just three floors away.”
“I lock my door at night.”
“Do you miss home?”
“Every day.” Sadness veiled Esmeralda’s face.
“I can understand it,” Vreni said.
“You can have him when I return to Chile.” A smile flickered at the corner of her lips.
“Ha, Ha. No. I don’t want him. But he is interesting to listen to over a glass of wine.”
“You seem to make him happy. You are new ears for old stories,” said Esmeralda.
“Think he’s coming back?” Vreni asked.
“Not if he found a bottle up there. Maybe he’s gone out to buy wine. He has forgotten us.”
“Well then. I should leave, Esmeralda. It was really nice to meet you.”
“And your name? I have forgotten.”
“Steiner. Vreni Steiner.”
“Will you see him again?”
“Oh yes. We have our own arrangement. Twice a week, three-thirty sharp.”
Pity cloaked Esmeralda’s face. “Dear lord, let her take the old bastard,” she prayed as she closed the door after Vreni.
(c) Althea Romeo-Mark, 2009
Have you made any arrangements recently? Why? How did it/they turn out?
New anthology available at Amazon and Kindle now.
No comments:
Post a Comment