Later, in the early afternoon, Katy heard a rustle near the door. She saw an envelope had been slid halfway under the door. Curious, she walked to it and picked it up. Her name was on the back in a perfect copperplate. Ms. Opiela. She ripped the top off and pulled the small note out. Unfolding and flattening its neat creases, it read:
Ms. Opiela,
I shall be absent for a small amount of time, as I will be going to the market. I trust you know your way to the bathroom, as it is across the hall from your own room. If you are hungry, there is lunch on the dining room table. If you wish to change your clothes, you may inspect the closet in your bedroom. But you do not have to if you do not like. I have placed a toothbrush and a towel in the bathroom for your convenience. Have a pleasant afternoon!
Dr. Hannibal Lecter
Was he taunting her with the bathroom comment? This Dr. Lecter was a curious character. But he certainly had manners. Like her father, she thought.
She did not recall much of her father, but she did have shards of memory. She remembered her father dancing with her in the living room as her mother played the piano.
He picked her up effortlessly and spun her in a circle. She held her arms out, feeling like a bird.
He sang her a song, one of the things she clearly remembered.
Ein Mannlein steht im Walde ganz still und stumm,
Es hat von lauter Purpur ein Mantlein um,
Sagt, wer mag das Mannlein sein
Das da steht im Walde allein
Mit dem purporroten Mantelein
She remembered her mother telling her the song was from Germany, a place which was not safe at the moment. She did not understand why, but she did not care either. Not much matters much to a four-year-old girl. She remembered her father teaching her to read, and the first thing she spelled was "papa". She almost felt the scratchy, whiskery kisses he used to plant on her cheek and forehead.
"Papa," she murmured out loud. She opened her eyes and found her arms out to her sides like when she was a child. She withdrew them and stood from the bed to brush her teeth.
Hannibal stands waiting outside the guest bedroom door. He sees the envelope withdraw under the door, yet he does not move. Only when he hears the satisfying rip of paper does he quietly remove himself from the upper floor and cross the living room. On his way he pauses to ponder the charcoal drawing of Mischa that he had seen the girl looking at. He has no pictures of Mischa, they had all been burned by the Nazis. He had drawn this from memory alone. Ohh, Anniba!
As he drove along, he could still smell faintly the lingering scent of the girl. He pictured her face in his mind, and wondered, for his own amusement, whether the length of her nose matched accordingly to the width of her lips. He decided that it was not perfect, maybe a quarter centimeter off. At last, he arrived at his destination, a block or two entirely occupied by shops. He parked perfectly, the tires of his old Chevrolet truck two inches each away from the curb, and set the parking meter. He felt the gust of cold and fastened his coat more securely around his neck, and he was off, walking at a light pace on the beaten down snowy sidewalks.
He turned into a food
market he favored, namely for their access to black truffles. He
decided he would make a larger, more extravagant dinner that evening,
to mark the first conscious night at his home by Katy Opiela. He
first walked to the meats section, wondering what his first course
would be. He decided on Duck à l'Orange. Choosing a nice big
duck, freshly plucked, he moved next to the fruits and vegetables. A
fair amount of oranges, a couple of lemons, some black truffles.
Along the way he picked out some fragrant spices, some caper berries.
Weaving lightly through passersby on the sidewalk with brown grocery
bags in hand, a liquor store. Approaching now the cashier.
"Excuse
me, do you carry Château d'Yquem wine?
The knobs
squeaked slightly as hot water gushed out of the tap.
Katy,
wrapped in a towel, settled herself for a bath. Seeing as she was
alone, she decided that a bath would do her sore body good. She
gingerly removed the pink medical gauze around her ankle and for the
first time in a long time, she raised her face to the mirror.
How
old she looked.
Her face, so tired and lacking blood, her hair,
lanky and dry from being frozen. She looked away from herself.
Remembering the once lively glow of her skin, the brightness of her
eyes. Now, now…she looked used.
Scanning instead the
counter below the mirror, registering the scented bath products. She
picked up a jar filled with dissolving crystals scented with
lavender. The rest of the counter filled with creams, crystals,
lotions. Even a container with fresh oranges and lemons.
Katy had
always loved the scent of lavender, since she was a little girl. She
remembered walking down to the river with her father to watch him
fish, through the field filled with lavender. She would pick bouquets
of it, and her father would put them in her hair. She loved to watch
her father fish. Once, he had let her try, and she had caught one,
albeit a small one. She had named it "Finny" and had begged her
father to let her keep it. He explained to her gently how the fish
had its own family to go home to. Eventually she released it into the
river with a hearty throw and a light feeling in her heart. After
that she preferred to watch.
She was brought back from her
memories by the splashing of water on water. What was it about this
house, that kept her remembering? She hurried to turn off the tap,
the tub a little more than three quarters full. She sprinkled some
crystals into the water, and immediately the fragrance enveloped the
room. She let her towel drop and lowered herself slowly into the tub,
feeling her pores opening, leaning back against one side and closed
her eyes, inhaled deeply and simulated in her mind running through
the purple flowers beside the river.
"Papa, we're going to
get a big one today, aren't we?" This was the question she
asked at the beginning of every fishing trip.
"The biggest in
the entire river!" was always his response. She trotted after him
in the fields, clumsily carrying one of his fishing rods and a bag of
leftover bread from dinner. Her job was to roll the balls of bread
for bait. She was proud of every single ball that caught a fish.
Now
she was at the river. "Papa, Papa! I have one! What do I do?"
"You
can do it. Slowly turn the handle. Slowly. Tug on the rod. You almost
have it," he encouraged, as the line stretched taut. Eventually the
small fish came flailing out of the water, a mess of grass, dirt and
glittery scales in the sunlight. Despite the mud, she lovingly hugged
the fish in both her arms, straining to keep its thrashing wet tail
away from her face. "Papa, I did it!"
"Wonderful, Katy! I'm
so proud of you." He ruffled her hair and pulled her and the fish
into a hug. Later, a picture was taken with Katy and the fish, before
she released it. She did not know where it was now, probably lost in
the war, along with all her other family photos. And family.
She
opened her eyes. Reminded of terrible dreams. She could not help it,
a small tear escaped her right eye as she pictured her mother's
kindly, loving face and her father's whiskery kisses.
Mit
dem purporroten Mantelein.
She wiped it away quickly with her
wet hand, in turn making her right cheek shine with scented
bathwater.
To busy her mind, she took a loofa from beside the tub and pumped soap into it, lathering up her skin with rich white suds. The curtain of softness draped her like an evening coat. She worked from her legs to her chest, then submerged her body again to wash away the soap. Her limbs came out shining with water and she felt the satisfying squeaky traction of her finger against her skin as she ran it along. Next, she washed her hair with the available shampoo and conditioner. After she rinsed in the bathwater, she sat still for a while. Sat still to see how long it would take for the bathwater to become completely still. It was about ten minutes before the water became a glassy sheet with the occasional cluster of soap suds floating along.
The slightest stir of
water, but a stir nonetheless. Created from the thud of a closing
door.
Dr. Lecter was back.
She removed herself from the tub,
arranged a towel for herself to step on as she climbed out. She
reached down to remove the plug and wished the gurgle of the drain
was not so loud. Surely he could hear it from downstairs. He would
not scold her for taking a bath, she knew, but she still felt a
little uncomfortable about taking a bath in another's home. She
grabbed a bottle of body lotion, and immediately felt the cool,
pleasant rush of a mint scent as she spread it across her chest,
arms, legs, face. Her golden brown hair, she twisted up into a towel.
With the floor towel, not wanting to make a mess in the pristine
bathroom, instead she used it to wrap around her body.
Looking into the mirror
again, she was pleased to see that the steam from the bath had given
her cheeks back their original peachy glow.
One hand on the knot
in her towel on her chest, the other on the doorknob, she poked her
head out into the hall. No sign of anyone. She quietly tiptoed across
to "her" bedroom.
Back at the Chesapeake house.
Setting
the groceries on the counter, no sign of Katy. Taking out the wine,
the truffles. He wonders what she had done during his absence. He
holds the bottle up to the bright kitchen lights. Slight sediment.
Setting it back down gently. Perhaps she was sleeping? Removing now
the oranges, the duck. All of his supplies.
Checking the time.
5:13. Plenty of time to prepare dinner. He decides it is also time to
give Katy her shot.
He makes a brief stop in his room to retrieve
the needle, flicks the tip once or twice, knock knock on Katy's
door.
The door opening now, and Katy in his sight, wearing a
towel. Ah, a bath, he thought. Beads of water still stood on
her chest, quivering as she breathed. His nostrils flared slightly as
he took in the pleasant scents of lavender and mint that came with
her. He couldn't help noticing the brilliant shade of blue that
were her irises.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Opiela. I hope I am not
intruding?"
"No, of course not, Dr. Lecter."
He held up
the needle. "Kindly hold out your forearm. I trust you had a
pleasant afternoon?"
His touch on her arm sent another shiver
down her back. This time, Dr. Lecter looked her full on in the eyes
as he gently inserted the tip of the needle into a vein in the soft
skin of her forearm. She took a small, sharp intake of breath, but
the reason was not the pain of the needle. She hoped he did not
notice.
"Yes, thank you." Dr. Lecter saw in his peripheral
vision a bead of water merge with another and, with their combined
weight, roll off into the depths of her cleavage. He returned his
full attention to her blue eyes as he removed the needle and pressed
a cotton swab to the small bead of blood blooming from the hole.
"Dr. Lecter?"
"Yes?"
"Where am I?"
"I'm
afraid I cannot disclose that information at this point, Ms. Opiela.
Perhaps in due course. But I will inform you that you may stay as
long as you like."
"Thank you. I understand."
Dr. Lecter
began to make his way to the door.
"Dr. Lecter?" He turned
his sleek head toward her.
"Do you…dream?"
A beat.
Flash of dirty teeth and birdskin.
"No."
"Thank
you."
With an inclination of
his head, he opened the door behind him. "In due course, Ms.
Opiela."
Then he was gone.