The Night, The Day (19 page)

chapter 35

M
artin Rosen noticed that Jacques
Benoît appeared more pensive than usual.

“I have something to show you,” Benoît said.

Martin lifted his eyebrows.

“It’s really not that exciting, just something I’ve held onto for several years.”

Keen as he was to Benoît’s knack for understatement, Martin knew that if the billionaire was bothering to show him something, it would prove to be important. He watched as Benoît reached into his pocket and took out a jeweler’s envelope.

Benoît handed the envelope to Martin. “Go ahead, take a look.”

Martin opened the envelope and slid the brooch out into his palm. He examined it for a minute, then looked at Benoît. “It’s very pretty. What is it?”

“A piece I saved from the war. I’ve kept it in my bank vault since.”

Martin hesitated, wondering what was going on. “Why are you showing it to
me
?”

“Because I would like for you to have it.”

“Jacques, you know I can’t really…”

“If you’ll just hear me out,” Benoît interrupted, “you might look upon this gesture a little differently.”

Martin nodded.

“You see,” Benoît continued, “this piece once belonged to a Jewish woman whom I had met briefly. My unit was hiding her and her two children from the Vichy police in the hills of Lyon. I believe the husband was a banker and had hidden assets, if memory serves me. Anyway, the Vichy thought he would be a big prize for the Nazis. He managed to get his wife and children out of the city but was captured before he could join them.

“My men and I kept his family for two days before our scouts informed us that the Vichy were closing in. I ordered two men to escort the family to another safe location, while the rest of us stayed to fight. The woman, to thank me, gave me this piece before they fled. I refused it at first, but she insisted. It was the only thing of value she had, and she wanted me to have it rather than to have it fall into the hands of the Nazis. I didn’t quite understand it myself, but I suppose people in desperation do desperate things. In any event, I never saw her, her children, nor my two comrades again.”

Martin looked at the brooch more closely and saw the insignia on the back.

“Do you understand French?” Benoît asked.

“No.”

“It says, ‘To Leila, all my love, Philip.’”

“Her name was Leila?”

“Yes. I imagine Philip was her husband.”

Martin scrutinized the brooch again. “That is a very powerful story,” he said. “Still, why would you want to give this away? Clearly it was given to
you
as a sign of your righteousness in helping those people.”

“Righteousness is a funny word, doctor. I prefer to think of my acts in terms of humanness.”

Martin nodded. It was a point well taken.

“And as for my giving it to you,” Benoît continued, “I think that this is the proper thing to do.”

Martin’s eyes asked
why
.

“I assume you’ve heard about the recent Senate committee hearings on how the Swiss government hid enormous sums of money over the past fifty years that had belonged to Jewish families during the Holocaust,” Benoît said.

Martin nodded.

“Well,
I
, for one, find that whole business reprehensible. It will most certainly be recorded as a very dark episode of history, much like the Holocaust itself.”

The direction this was taking was becoming clear to Martin. How to handle it, however, was presently beyond his grasp. He remained wordless.

“I want to give this to you simply because you are a Jew. I know that may seem bizarre, but it is the only way I can do my part in righting a despicable wrong. Believe me, if I could ever find that woman, I would return it to her. Under the circumstances,
you
are the only candidate I have.”

“Surely you know other Jewish people,” Martin said.

“Of course. But in our brief time together, I have grown quite fond of you. I hope I am permitted to say that, and even if not, it is still the truth. You have impressed me as a person of integrity. Your refusal to avail yourself of that stock tip, for example, was most unusual.” Benoît stopped himself, seeming to consider what to say next.

Martin waited.

“Maybe I cannot articulate exactly what is in my heart,” Benoît said, “but as far as I am concerned, you are the person to whom I should give this.”

“I appreciate your feelings on this, Jacques, but I honestly don’t…”

“Feel comfortable with this?” Benoît interjected.

“I don’t really know how I feel,” Martin responded, betraying a rare moment of confusion in front of a patient.

“Then why not hold onto it for a while, then decide if you want to keep it. Perhaps you know a survivor, or a lady friend to whom you might want to give it?”

Martin was suddenly suspicious. Could Benoit possibly know about Cheryl and his parents? Was it far-fetched to think that this man was investigating him?

Martin decided not to raise the issue. There were three minutes remaining in the session – not nearly enough time to get into it – and he thought it best to wait and see if Benoît dropped any more hints about his personal life in the future before acting on what might be nothing more than his own paranoia.

Martin examined the brooch, observing its elegance, feeling eerie just to have it in his hand. But mostly, he was struck by the irony that
he,
of all people, would be chosen by anyone as the keeper of such a thing. He looked up at Benoît, still not sure of what to do.

Benoît handed him a check as payment for the session. “Can I take your silence as agreement?” he asked.

“I need to think more about it.”

“I hope you will hold onto it while you think. You may even become used to the idea of having it.”

“I’ll agree to do that, only so long as you know that I may decide to return it.”

“That would be fine,” Benoît replied.

“Good then, I’ll see you next time.”

Benoît held his hand out for Martin to shake. “Have a good week, doctor,” he said.

Martin felt strange taking Benoît’s hand. They had shaken at their first meeting, but not since. Doing so now felt as if he were acquiescing in some deal when, in reality, he had committed to nothing. Then again, there was reality, and there was Jacques Benoît’s mind. And Martin couldn’t help but wonder which was truly more compelling.

A few hours later, during a break, Martin picked up the phone and called Cheryl at her office. He was expecting her voice mail, yet he still felt uneasy when he got it.
Why isn’t she ever in her office?

“Hi Cheryl, it’s Marty. I was thinking about our conversation last night. I’m still not completely comfortable with introducing you to Elizabeth, but I do have another thought. I won’t be in the office this afternoon, but you can reach me on my cell phone. The number is 363-3640. Call me as soon as you can. Bye.”

chapter 36

A
shok Reddy looked aghast. It
was the third time in a row Martin had topped the ball, and they were only getting started. Sure, every golfer had a bad day now and then, but this was ridiculous.

The ball dribbled about ten yards, Reddy and Martin both watching in dismay. Martin didn’t bang his clubhead into the ground, nor did he yell any profanities – as many golfers would have. All he did was softly say, “Ouch.”

“Something’s still on your mind,” Reddy said as Martin approached the cart.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Translation:
Put a lid on it, Ashok.

Reddy took the hint, stepped on the accelerator and drove the cart to Martin’s ball. At this rate, it would be a while before they reached Reddy’s 230-yard drive.

Martin stepped off the cart, grabbed a club from his bag and walked to his ball. He was an awfully long way from the green to be hitting his fourth shot, but the hole was par five. With any luck, he could get on the green with two more shots, one putt, and end up with a bogey. It would be close to miraculous, considering his performance thus far, but as they say in the PGA:
Anything
can happen.

He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of everything but the task at hand. That is the liberating force of golf; it reduces all of life’s concerns to one thing: hitting a little white ball. And to do it properly, nothing else could matter. Whether Martin was able to attain such liberation at this point would soon become apparent.

He swept the club back, turning his shoulders counterclockwise, then reversed the motion, bringing the clubhead through the ball. It might have turned out perfectly, had the stress he’d been under not found itself in his wrists, causing him to unintentionally open the face of the club. He watched as the ball took off to the right, and kissed that bogey goodbye.

Martin sat down next to Reddy, feeling forlorn.

“Maybe this is just not a good day to play,” Reddy said.

“No, I need to play.”

Reddy hit the gas. “Is it the girl?”

“And a few other things.”

“You want to talk about any of them?”

Martin considered the offer. His apprehensions about Cheryl felt less pressing than the matters of Benoît’s brooch and Gifford’s sudden termination of treatment, both of which he was eager to explore with Reddy. Only, there was the small dilemma of patient confidentiality. With Gifford it was easier, because Reddy didn’t know Gifford and would have no way of guessing his identity. With Benoît, however, Reddy had been the referring doctor. Even if he disguised the details, Reddy might still figure it out. But Benoît was Martin’s most recent conundrum, and the issue he felt most compelled to air. He decided to take a stab at presenting the problem as generically as possible.

“Tell me this, without getting into specific details: What do you think about gifts from patients?”

“Receiving them or accepting them?” Reddy asked.

“Good distinction. Let’s start with the former.”

They pulled up alongside Reddy’s ball. Reddy gently slapped Martin’s knee and said, “To be continued.”

He returned two minutes later, after hitting another good shot.

“You’re going to clean me out today,” Martin said.

“Consider it a consulting fee.”

Martin smiled for the first time all day.

“Anyway, back to your question,” Reddy said. “First, you and I do different things. I write prescriptions, you listen to heartaches. The relationship I have with a patient is different from the one you have.”

Martin nodded.

“So, when I receive a gift from a patient, I usually take it at face value, as a sign of appreciation for whatever help I have provided. I don’t interpret it any further. I’m not saying that there may not be some additional underlying meaning, only that I do not concern myself with such things.”

“And you don’t think you should?”

“Perhaps I should, perhaps I shouldn’t. You must
always
analyze why a patient is giving you a gift. And that includes not only the patient’s intentions but also the specific nature of the gift.”

Martin already knew all this, but discussing it with Reddy still seemed helpful.

“And there’s also context,” Reddy said. “At holidays, a lot of patients give gifts, as well as when they terminate treatment. In these instances, there is less to interpret than if a patient gives me something out of the blue.”

They came upon Martin’s ball, which was in the wrong fairway, about thirty yards from another green. “Not a bad shot,” Reddy said, “if you were playing the fifth hole.”

“Who says I’m not?” Martin said, grabbing his eight iron to get his ball back into play on the first hole.

Reddy looked at the row of trees separating Martin’s ball from the first fairway. “Those trees look pretty high. You might want to take a more lofted club than that.”

“The green’s far away. I have to go for the distance.” He swung his club smoothly and connected for the first time.

Reddy clapped as the ball flew over the trees toward the first green. “You may be on.”

“May even be close enough for a double bogey.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“A positive outlook is a healthy thing.”

Reddy smiled and Martin climbed back on the cart.

“It seems you are feeling a bit better,” Reddy said. “Have we come close to solving your problem?”

“No, not really,” Martin said. “But I do have more perspective.”

“In what way?”

“Well, now I understand what bothers me about this particular patient. It’s not the gift, per se, but the fact that I don’t feel I really understand him. If I understood him and his motivations, my decision would be easy.”

“It’s a him?”

“That’s all you’re getting.”

Reddy chuckled at the rebuke. “A gift from a male patient you don’t understand,” Reddy reflected. “Sounds intriguing.”

“It is.”

“Speaking of intrigue, what is happening with the woman?”

“I’m glad you brought that up.”

“You’ve decided to let me hypnotize you?”

“Not quite. But I have decided to give you and Savitri a crack at her.”

“You mean we are going to meet her.”

“I’m waiting for a call as we speak to see if she’s available tonight.”

“That isn’t a lot of notice.”

“We could do it another time,” Martin said nonchalantly, fully knowing that his friend wouldn’t want to wait.

“No, no, no! Give me your phone. I will call Savitri and clear it.”

Martin smiled and handed Reddy his phone. “How come you never bring your own phone?”

“Because you always have yours.” He patted Martin on the shoulder and dialed his home. “Hello, Savitri, I am on the golf course, so I have to keep it short.” Pause. “Uh huh… uh huh… I am calling to find out if we have any plans this evening, because Marty has offered to introduce us to his significant other.” Another pause. “It isn’t definite. He has to see if she is available…”

Reddy gave Martin a thumb’s up.

“Good, good,” he said to Savitri. “I will call you as soon as I know.”

He hung up, turned to Martin and said, “She is intrigued, as am I.”

Amused by his friend’s eagerness, Martin chuckled.

Martin’s cell rang about twenty minutes later. He had lost the first hole, pushed the second, and was now working toward a win on the third. “Hello,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice down because Reddy was about to putt.

It was Cheryl.

He walked off the green in order to talk in privacy.

“You’ve got me burning with curiosity,” Cheryl said.

“It’s nothing, really. Just that my friend Ashok and his wife demand to meet my mystery woman, and I was wondering if you were up to it tonight.”

“These were friends of yours and Katherine’s, I take it?”

He had considered she might be anxious about that. “Yes.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then, “I suppose I should be flattered?”

“I was hoping you’d see it that way.”

“This is quite different than meeting a 4-year-old.”

“I know. But we have to start somewhere.”

“Okay.”

He wasn’t completely sure he’d heard her. “Okay?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at your place at 7.”

“Where are we going?”

“Their place. I hope you like Indian food.”

“I hate Indian food.”

“Ha. So do I. I’ll see you at 7.”

Martin hung up the phone, placed it in the cup holder on the golf cart and walked back onto the green with his putter.

“So?” Reddy asked.

“It’s on. Just tell Savitri to go easy on the spices.”

“Don’t worry, we have plenty of bathrooms.” Reddy laughed.

Martin squatted down behind his ball to get a read of the terrain of the green. “Looks to me like it breaks left,” he said, realizing that he should hit the ball toward the right of the hole.

“If you wanted to know, you should have watched my putt,” Reddy said.

Martin stood square to his ball, about ten feet from the hole. It was a difficult putt, but he had to make it to win. More than that, he was dying to give Reddy some just deserts. He pulled his club back a few inches and gently eased it forward, hoping to strike the ball with just the right speed and accuracy. His eyes followed as the ball rolled toward the right side of the hole, then turned slightly on its approach. The line appeared perfect, but it looked as if the ball was going to stop dead at the lip of the hole. Which was what it did, before it fell in and created what was, for Martin, the sweetest of sounds.

Galit Stein sat in a daze as she hung up the phone.

“What is it?” Arik demanded.

She didn’t answer.

“We are wasting our time with this psychologist,” Arik said. “In fact, I think we are wasting our time with this whole operation. In the end, we will have nothing!”

Kovi looked at her for an answer.

“He wants me to have dinner with his closest friends.”

“You mean the psychiatrist and his wife?” Kovi asked.

Galit nodded.

“So what?” Arik snapped. “He wants you to have dinner. What the hell does that mean? He is in love with you. You are in love with him. Everybody is in love and Benoît goes free. Great plan.”

“What is it that you want?” Galit asked.

“I want something on Benoît,” Arik answered. “If we can get something from the shrink, let’s do it. If not, then let’s look elsewhere. But what I do not want is to sit and wait while you figure out your life.”

“Is this what it all comes down to, that we care nothing for each other? All we care about is getting Benoît?”

“That’s a lot of shit,” Arik said. “We have always given our all for each other. We have risked our lives for each other. How can you say that?”

She knew he was right. Until the past few weeks, no one in her life had been closer to her. “I’m sorry, that was out of line,” she said.

“It’s all right,” Kovi jumped in. “We will figure it out.”

Arik appeared unconvinced.

“No,” she said, “it’s not all right. Arik is correct, I have lost control and perspective, and I think it may be too late.”

“Too late?” Kovi asked.

“For me,” she said in a resolved tone.

The three of them looked at one another.

“Don’t worry,” she said unconvincingly, “Schwartz will dig something up. Anyway, we are technically here only to observe.”

Arik cast her a look of disbelief.

“You really think so?” Kovi asked.

She didn’t respond.

“Look,” Arik said, “maybe you should just push a little harder with the shrink.”

“He knows nothing. Benoît has him duped,” she said.

“How can you be sure?” Kovi asked.

“Do you think if he knew he was treating a Nazi butcher he would be playing golf and planning dinner parties? Trust me, the only person he is suspicious of is
me
.”

“Then you have to tell him the truth,” Arik said. “Tell him about yourself and all about Benoît. Maybe he will turn the cards on Benoît and help us get something.”

“I don’t think it would work.”

“Is that the reason,” Arik said, “or is it your fear of losing him once he learns you have been lying?”