De Niro's Game (26 page)

Young man, you come to this country, and you do nothing. I left Portugal
at your age. I took Linda after her father was killed by Salazar. I worked to raise my
niece and she is a good girl. You are not worthy of her hair! He waved his hands in the
air around his chest.

Yes, señor. Yes, I am. I am worthy.

No, you are a man in trouble.

Why do you say that, señor?

The police came yesterday to the hotel and searched your room.

Police?

Yes, two policemen.

Are you sure they were police, señor?

Go away now, stop following me, he said.

Did one of them have a bandage, señor?

Go away.

Did he have a bandage on his head? Please, señor, tell me.

Yes! Now go away.

Señor, thank you, and tell Linda that I will
always remember the way she flips the bedsheets, and her round, beautiful eyes. Tell her
that I will wear black that matches her long lashes.

Conyo
, he cursed me, with his fist in the air, and he walked on,
counting the cobblestones, mumbling to the walls, descending to the trains, and cursing,
echoing, spitting at the ground.

I CALLED RHEA
.

Do not call me any more, she said. Or maybe call when you are ready to
tell me something worthy. I am tired of your clinging and your secrets.

I have a meeting with Roland at his house before I get on that plane to
Canada, but I lost his address, I lied.

35 rue Fouchons, she said. She hung up immediately.

I took the train, and then walked to Roland's place. From across the
street I watched the entrance to his house. Soon, I saw the man I had beaten with the
pipe, driving his big car. I waited until he dropped Roland off and left, and then I
rushed to the door and entered the house behind Roland. I pulled out my gun and stuck it
near his liver.

Let's have some tea, I said.

Roland slowly turned, and when he saw me he smiled.

Ah,
te voilà.
We were looking for you last night. We
wondered if you would be leaving today.

I know. That is why I came.

Roland took off his gloves and his coat. No need for the gun. Come sit
down, he calmly said to me. He went into his living room and sat.

I took a chair in the corner and let my gun hang
loose in my hand.

You are a stupid idiot, he said to me. Listen, I will give you one more
chance, and it is your last chance, he said. Put that gun down.

I lifted it and pointed it at his face. I am the one who should be giving
chances here, I said.

Fine. He nodded.

The man with the bandage works for you, I said.

Moshe, you mean? Yes, he does.

Did you ask him to beat up Rhea? I said.

It is touching that you care. Sit down and do not be a stupid
romantic.

Why did you beat her? I asked.

Because she is mine. Rhea has always been mine, since she was fifteen. Do
you understand? Rhea's father worked for us. After his death, I took care of her.
The mother is a shopaholic, an empty society lady. Rhea was a neglected woman. Listen,
my little boy, you are stepping into dangerous zones. But the good news is that we need
something from you.

I have nothing to offer you, I said.

We need you to tell us what happened to George.

Why should you care about George?

George worked for us.

Us?

Yes, the Mossad. Us. We recruited him on his trip to Israel. George knows
all about his father. We suspected that Abou-Nahra was opening up to the Syrians. He
will probably get even closer to them — especially now, after the assassination of
Al-Rayess. Al-Rayess was our man in the region. We armed
his
militia, trained them, and gave them strategies. You see, George kept track of him, he
got close to him. And Abou-Nahra trusted him.

George was an agent?

Yes. A smart and a good one. So should you be, my boy, a smart and a good
one. You tell us where George is. We know that the last time he was seen, he had
volunteered to pick you up from your home. He wanted to ask you a few questions about
your involvement with the Al-Rayess assassination. We know. We have agents with those
Christians. All we have to do is ask. Talking to us is your only hope. You cannot go
anywhere without our consent. Do you understand?

How much does Rhea know about this?

Only a little, Roland said. Only that we want you to tell us more about
George.

What about the visa to Canada?

You would have been stopped at the airport in Paris, put in jail for fraud
. . . And we would have intervened, giving you the option of release and a good lawyer
if you told us what really happened to George. You would be in jail. What better place
to keep you locked up than in a legitimate jail? And if you did not speak, we would have
sent you a nice, big, loving guy to be your friend, if you know what I mean. You are
small in this game, very small, Roland said. I will give you a few minutes to think. You
lay the gun down on the coffee table if you want to talk. We can do something for you,
maybe; if you do not talk, you will not go anywhere, believe me.

I stood up, pointed the gun in his face, and said, Put your hands on your
head.

He did.

I frisked him and grabbed his wallet and sunglasses.
There were a few hundred francs in the wallet. I took them.

On the floor, I ordered.

My men will be here in a minute, Roland said. I am giving you a last
chance.

Do not move or I will shoot you, I said.

You are a petty thief! You are
un idiot
, he shouted from the
carpet.

I stomped on the sunglasses and broke them. Then I rushed to the phone on
a nearby table and pulled the wire from the jack. I tied Roland's hands with the
wire, and took the house keys from his pocket. I walked toward the door and opened it
slowly. When I saw nothing, I closed the door behind me and locked it. I ran down the
stairs and into the streets, then through the back alleys toward Rhea's
apartment.

WHEN I REACHED
Rhea's place, I called her from a
phone booth across the street.

Didn't I tell you not to call me again? she said. And anyhow,
don't you have a plane to catch?

I want to tell you about George now, I said.

She was silent for a moment. Then she said, Tell me.

It is not good, I said. The news is not good. I am across the street. Open
your door to me.

When she agreed, I took the stairs up. I did not want to wait for the
metal elevator to lift my thumping heart.

Rhea opened the door in tears. She held on to me briefly, and then, as if
realizing that she was in the arms of the messenger of death, she pushed herself back
and held her hand over her mouth.

So you've known all long what happened to
George, she said.

The last time I saw George, it was just before I left, I told her.

She waved her hand to invite me into her home. When I entered, she turned
her back to me, sobbing. I laid my hand on her back, but she shook her head. I held her
shoulders and turned her gently toward me. She was still crying, and her tears spilled
down her face.

George was my brother, I said.

I took a deep breath, then spoke without stopping. Once, George and I took
our hunting guns and entered the high mountains, I began. We stood still like snakes,
holding erect barrels and venomous powder. We stood still and watched for branches
bowing under the weight of a feather, bowing to a mating call. And soon we wounded a
little bird. I held it in my hand.

Kill it if it is still alive, George told me. Kill it!

But I couldn't bring myself to kill that little bird. Its beak
opened and closed in silence, as if it was asking me for water. Its eyes began to close
above my palm.

Kill it! Why are you looking at that wounded bird? Kill it and release it
from its suffering. Finish it off. Your brother sounded irritated.

But I waited for the bird to fly again.

George snatched the wounded creature from my open palm. He laid it on a
rock, and with the butt of his rifle he hit it on the head, more than once, and then he
walked away, looking for more.

Why are you telling me this story? Rhea asked.

George and I killed more than birds, I told her.

People?

Yes, I said, and I told her about killing Khalil, and about our money
scams, and our silent quarrels, and about George joining the militia. I told her all
about Monsieur Laurent, and Nicole, and my torture.

Rhea listened, leaning her body against the sink, at times looking me
straight in the eye, and at other times looking at the floor or the ceiling. Then she
said, So, you are telling me all this, but where is George now?

I did not answer her directly. Instead, I continued talking about the
massacre at the camp. I described to her what George had told me about the lights, the
dog, the birds, the cadavers that piled up and rotted, the axes, the rivers of
blood.

I talked and Rhea shook her head. Finally, she interrupted me, shouting,
Okay, that is enough now. I don't know . . . I don't know why you have to
come here now and tell me all this. She shook her head again. And you waited all this
time to talk to me. Do you think it is a game? You waited, and where is my brother now?
You tell me all these things, things that I do not know are even true. We don't
know you. I don't know who you are. And yet you come and tell me all these evil
things.

I ignored her shouting. I ignored her small eyes, and her twitching
cheeks, her brown dress. I ignored her protest, and when she tried to leave the room, I
held her back, cornered her against the kitchen sink. I told her about the night her
brother took me under the bridge.

This is all confusing, Rhea said. Your stories are not making sense. I do
not know these people you are talking about.
You come here like
this, and expect me to listen to it all. I need to leave, she said. Please let me
go.

But I was merciless.

We sat in the car, under the bridge, I said to her. George and I
quarrelled. He had come to take me to the militia headquarters just before I was leaving
Lebanon. He picked me up in his car. I didn't want to go with him, but he kissed
me, he called me his brother. He made me hop in his car, and we drove below the Nabaa
Bridge. You brother was sent to take me back to my torturer, and then they would have
killed me. But he said that he would give me a chance. He played with his gun. He filled
it with three bullets and spun it. He smiled, and then he said to me, I am giving you a
chance.

I took the gun from his hand, and without blinking, without giving myself
the time to think about the sea, the ship, the new place that I wanted so much to go to,
I held the gun against my head and pulled the trigger. It clicked, and it did not go
off.

I laid the gun next to me on the car seat. You brother smiled. He picked
up the gun slowly. He was not scared; no, he was composed, and as fearless as ever. He
held the gun in his hand. Then he turned his face toward me, gave me a smile, and a shot
went off.

Rhea held her hand to her mouth and struggled to leave my embrace. You
knew all this, she said. You knew. And you . . .

I pushed her back, and said, I buried him there. I buried him under the
bridge. The gun dropped on my feet, and George collapsed on me. There was an open wound.
I could see the other side of his face, open, a piece of his brain hanging. The
windshield turned red. And the red liquid moved
down the glass and
rushed toward the dashboard like rain. I sat and I watched the houses, the passing cars,
submerging slowly in red rain. De Niro's hair spilled on my lap. I caressed it. I
caressed it.

Without thinking, I touched Rhea's hair. She froze, scared. I held
her firmly by the shoulders and continued: I buried him under the bridge. I dragged him
above the sewage, toward a pile of stone. I laid him next to it. I picked up the first
large rock I saw, and put it against his head. Then I laid another rock on the other
side. I surrounded him with stones, and then I went back to the car, took his gun and
his rifle, and laid them at his side. I covered him with rocks and stones. And then I
grabbed the sand, scooping it with my palms, to fill the space between the stones. He is
there. Your brother is there, under that bridge.

You want to know his whereabouts? Listen, I said to Rhea. Listen. I went
back to the car. I sat in the driver's seat. The windshield was drenched with
blood. I tried to wipe it with my hand, but it just made it more opaque, somehow
thicker, with large, wide lines. The blood was drying fast, and turning darker. Blood
sticks. So I went back to that pile of sand, scooped up some more, and tried to rub it
against the glass. Now everything turned to red mud, like that mythical river in our
land. I just wanted to see the road, you see. I just wanted to see something else
besides that doomed city. I just wanted to leave.

Rhea looked me in the eye then, and slightly twisted her shoulder, but I
dropped my hands onto hers and said quietly, Please let me finish.

She barely nodded, and I could feel her body sagging with weakness, her
knees bending and almost touching mine.

I broke that car's glass, I said. I went back
and chose the largest rock I could carry. I laid it on the car's hood. I went back
inside the car, pulled a jacket from my bag, and put it on the driver's seat. I
climbed out of the car and up onto the hood. And I lifted the rock, and smashed it
against the wind-shield. The glass broke in a million little pieces.

I lifted my jacket from the driver's seat and flung it against the
sky, and got rid of all the little stones. I was surrounded by ten thousand glowing
red-and-green diamonds. I laughed. After that, I drove away fast, and the wind was in my
eyes. I drove, and the wind rushed through my shirt, and tears fell from my eyes, but I
was not crying. The wind hit my face, and it felt as if my head was pushed under water
again. I gasped for little breaths, exhaling the smell of blood. And then the blood got
thicker on my hands. I couldn't hide it; it was in front of my eyes. And it took
over the wheels and the car, and it started to move through the lanes, fast, passing
cars and diesel trucks. The blood on my hands was swinging the car out of control. So I
had to get rid of the blood.