LEONARD MICHAELS
319
other luxurious expense but he wanted - angrily - to pamper himself, or,
as Inger would say, to be "self-indulgent."
As the train pulled out of the station, Beard slid the compartment
door shut and settled beside the window with a collection of colorful, ex–
pensive magazine that he'd bought in the station. The magazines were
full of advertisements for expensive things. Almost every page flared with
brilliant color and they crackled sensuously. They smelled good, too. He
stared at pictures of nearly naked models, and tried to feel desire. Exactly
for what he couldn't say.
It
wasn't their bodies. Maybe it was for the fu–
ture, more experience, more life. Then he reached into his jacket pocket
to get his cigarettes and the earrings, intending to look at them again and
resume his engagement with deep thought. He felt his cigarettes, but the
earrings weren't in his pocket. Nor were they in any other pocket.
Beard knew instantly that he needn't bother to search his pockets,
which he did repeatedly, because he remembered putting the earrings on
the nighttable and he had no memory of picking them up. Because he
hadn't picked them up. He knew. He knew.
As the train left the city and gained speed, he quit searching his pock–
ets. Oh God, why had he bought the earrings? How could he have been
so stupid?
In
an instant of emotional lunacy, he'd slapped his credit card
down in the jewelry store and undone himself The earrings were a curse,
in some way even responsible for Inger's disappearance. He had to get
hold of himself, think realistically, practically. He had to figure out what
to do about retrieving them.
It
was urgent to communicate with the hotel. Perhaps he could send
a telegram from the train, or from the next station. He would find a con–
ductor. But really, as he thought further about it, he decided it wasn't
urgent to communicate with the hotel.
It
was a good hotel. This was
Germany, not America. Nobody would steal his earrings. They would
soon follow him to his destination, another good hotel. They weren't
gone forever. He had nothing to worry about. This effort to reassure
himself brought him almost to tears. He wanted desperately to retrieve
the earrings. He stood up and went to the door. About to slide it open
and look for a conductor, he heard a knock. He slid the door open with a
delirious expectation. The conductor would be there, grinning, the ear–
rings held forth in his open hand. Beard stared into the face of Inger.
She said, ''I'm so sorry. I must have the wrong ..." and then she let
go of her suitcase, and said, "Gott behiite!" The suitcase hit the floor with
a thud and bumped the side of her leg.
Beard said, "Inger," and he didn't think so much as feel, with an odd
little sense of gratification, that she wasn't very pretty. There was a time–
less, silent moment in which they stared at each other and his feelings
