Маргарет Миллар - The Listening Walls

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “Again. Every time I take a breath around this place someone comes creeping in to change the towels or turn down the beds. I feel as if I’m being spied on.”

“They just try to give us good service,” her companion said.

“Good service? The towels all stink.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“You smoke too much. Your sense of smell isn’t as sharp as mine. They stink.”

“I don’t think you should talk like this in front of the girl.”

“You can tell from her face she doesn’t understand a word I’m saying.”

“But the travel agency said everyone on the hotel staff spoke English.”

“All right, why don’t you try her out?”

“I will,” Amy said. “What’s your name, girl? Do you speak English? Tell us your name.”

Consuela stood, mute as a stone, her right hand clutching the little gold cross she wore around her neck, her eyes fixed on the hammered silver box lying on the coffee table. It has all happened before, she thought, and it will all happen again. It is not that the American lady died and has come back from her grave. It is that we are all dead, all three of us, dead and in hell. This is what hell is, everything goes on repeating and repeating, forever and ever, and nobody can change it. The whole thing has happened before, and it will happen again. Pretty soon they will start to quarrel about the silver box, they will struggle over it. And I will stand here and watch her die, and listen to her last scream...

“No! No! Please! No!” She fell forward on her knees, pressing the little gold cross against her dry lips, mumbling in Spanish the words of her childhood: “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”

She went on praying, only partly aware of other people rushing into the room, of men’s voices shouting at her, asking her questions, calling her names.

“Liar.”

“You must tell us the truth.”

“What happened to Mrs. Wyatt?”

“You killed her yourself, didn’t you?”

“You came into this room and found Mrs. Kellogg unconscious, and Mrs. Wyatt too drunk to defend herself. And you saw your big chance.”

“You must tell us the truth.”

She began again, for the fifth time, “Hail Mary, full of Grace. Blessed art thou amongst women...” But the words were automatic and had no connection with her thoughts: I am in hell. This is another corner of it, when you tell the truth and no one believes you because you have lied in the past. So you must lie to be believed.

“Consuela, do you hear me? You must give us the truth.”

She raised her head. She looked stunned, as if someone had struck a blow in a vital place, but her voice was quite clear. “I hear you.”

“What happened when you came into this room?”

“She was standing on the balcony with the silver box in her hands. She leaned over the railing and disappeared. I heard her scream.”

“And Mrs. Kellogg had nothing to do with it?”

“Nothing.” She kissed the little cross. “Nothing.”

“Amy, dear.” It was almost midnight. The others had gone, and Rupert was alone with his wife. “You mustn’t cry any more. It’s all over. Tomorrow we’ll go home, we’ll both try to forget this past month.”

She stirred in his arms like a fretful child kept up long past her bedtime. “I can never forget.”

“Not entirely, perhaps. But it will become dimmer for you, more bearable.”

“You’re very kind to me.”

“Nonsense.”

“I wish I could repay you.”

“You already have,” he said gently. “By remembering the truth. By getting back your confidence and your belief in yourself.”

“Your confidence in me was never shaken?”

“Never.”

“That’s because you love me.”

“Partly. It’s also because I know you, I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Do you?” She stirred again and sighed. “You’ve been through so much for my sake, haven’t you, Rupert?”

“Oh, not so much.”

“What if I’m not worth it?”

“There you go again. Stop talking like that. It hurts me.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Rupert.” She lay against her husband’s heart, listening to its familiar beat, and to the noises of the alien city. A lot of people have been through a great deal for my sake, especially Rupert. I’ve got to cooperate...

They were at the airport when the plane landed, Gill looking flushed and a little sheepish, and Helene wearing a big, cheerful smile as real as the plastic carnation she had pinned to her lapel.

“Darlings!” Helene shrieked, and put her arms around them both. “How wonderful to see you! Did you have a nice flight? You’re both looking simply tremendous. I’ve got a million questions to ask, but I promise to be good and not ask a one until we get in the car. Gill, dear, why don’t you go and claim their luggage?”

“I’ll go with you, Gilly,” Amy said. “We have so much to talk about.”

“Yes. Yes, we have.” Gill took her arm and began guiding her through the crowd toward the baggage department. “You’re looking well.”

“Oh, I feel fine.”

“I guess I have a lot of apologies to make to Rupert.”

“That won’t be necessary. He understands. He’s a very understanding man. In some ways.”

Gill glanced down at her, a little puzzled by her tone. “In some ways?”

“Well, I mean, he doesn’t understand everything. The way you do.”

“But I don’t. I’ve never claimed...”

“I mean, about me. He doesn’t understand about me, the way you do. You see, he loves me, it’s given him a blind spot. With you it’s different. I’ve never been able to keep anything from you. Somehow or other, you’ve always found out.”

“Not always.”

“Rupert’s a marvelous man, Gilly. When I think of all he’s been through for my sake, all he’s suffered...” She hesitated, her hand on his arm, as light as a bird. “You mustn’t ever tell him, Gilly. It would make him feel so bad.”

He felt the bird on his arm growing, becoming heavier. “I don’t know what you mean, Amy.”

“It will be one of our secrets, the biggest one. You must never tell anyone else at all, especially Rupert.”

“Tell him what?”

“That I killed Wilma.”