Irving Wallace - The Prize

‘Whatever you’re having.’

‘That’s Swedish roulette,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’m having. They brought the middagen menu-that’s what it said-and I pointed to Kalvschnitzel med spaghetti .’

‘That sank the Titanic. Okay by me. And any kind of Danish beer.’

She put through Craig’s order and sat several feet from him on the sofa.

‘I want to thank you again for last night, Andrew. It was lovely.’

‘For me, too.’

‘I can always tell when it’s good. I went to bed early, because I wanted to think about it and nothing else, and before I knew it, I was asleep. What did you do after?’

How could he tell her of his similar good intention, and how quickly it had paved the road to hell? How could he tell her of finding Leah naked in his bed-so fantastic now, in the daylight-and of their bitter quarrel? Even to hint at it would frighten Emily.

‘I read a Gideon Bible,’ he said.

‘Did you really?’

‘I wanted to see what those boys had. It needs a polish job. They’re on to a good idea, but the characters aren’t believable, and the sex is too explicit and there’s no book that can’t be helped with a little cutting. I think one rewrite would do it.’

‘Silly.’

‘I had a good night’s sleep, too, Emily, until the Uppsala boys’ chorus woke me at some ungodly hour.’

‘They serenaded you? I heard they did that.’

‘Warn your uncle. Tell him to wear earplugs every night. No, I’m kidding. It was very nice. It turned out I was supposed to lecture them this morning on Hemingway and the Icelandic sagas.’

‘Did you?’

‘I lectured, all right. I just came from there. They got an Icelandic saga, I’ll say-Miller’s Dam, Wisconsin, on a winter morning. The snow sometimes piles up five or six feet.’

‘Did you discuss writing?’

‘I said authors want to write, have to write, and all the rest don’t want to write, they only want to be authors. I said that was the essential difference, the one that separates the men from the boys. They got the message. Most of them will wind up manufacturing matches, but they were a nice bunch. I have to do a repeat performance for a group from two other universities at three-thirty.’ He paused. ‘What have you been up to this morning?’

‘Uncle Max wanted to rest. He has an old friend coming in from Berlin, and he has to see him for lunch. He’s dressing right now. We just stayed in and lazed. It’s too cold out, anyway. I studied all morning-’

She picked up a book, one she had purchased the day before at Fritze’s, from the coffee table.

‘-Swedish into English, English into Swedish. I’m determined.’

‘Anything I should know?’

‘Indispensable,’ said Emily. She opened the language book and leafed through it. ‘Here is the Swedish phrase, and here it is in English. “Who will pull me across the lake?” Now, how could you get along without that? Here is another. “Please get me a clean knife.” That one haunts me, like the ending of Dickens’s The Mystery of Edwin Drood . And here we have “The wine is too warm, fetch some ice.” And the pessimism. Here is a little exchange one is expected to learn in Swedish. Question: “ Hur går affårerna? How is business?” Answer: “ Stilla. Dull.” Question: “ Hur mår Eder man? How is your husband?” Answer: “ Han är mycket sjuk . He is very ill.” Cheerful, isn’t it?’

Craig laughed, and took the book from her. ‘Have you learned anything yet?’

‘Several words.’

‘Let’s find out.’ He read aloud. ‘ Spottning förbjuden. ’

‘Heaven help me. What does that mean?’

‘No spitting… what every young lady should know… Glögg . What’s glögg ?’

‘I know that! Brandy-burnt brandy.’

‘Very good, Miss Emily.’ Craig consulted the book again. ‘ Helgeflundra. ’

‘Halibut,’ said Emily promptly.

‘My God, you’re right. And mässling? ’

‘ Mässling-mässling -sounds like something you chew or an Oriental form of wrestling.’

‘You are quarantined. It means measles. Here is one you can’t do without- ormskinn .’

‘I surrender.’

‘Snakeskin. Had enough?’

‘Well, one more.’

‘All right,’ said Craig. ‘What does renstek do to you?’

‘It gives me indigestion.’

‘Right. It’s reindeer steak. Oh, wait, just one more. What if a stranger said to you- avkläda? ’

‘I’d say you’re welcome.’

‘It means undress.’

‘Mr. Craig!’ But she smiled when she said that, and Craig knew everything was fine between them.

He threw the book down. ‘My only advice to you, young lady, is don’t go out with a Swede.’

‘If I do, I’ll stick to “Please get me a clean knife.” ’

‘I see you don’t need me.’

‘But I do,’ said Emily.

There was a knock on the hall door, and Emily called out, ‘It’s open!’

The waiter, in a white jacket, towel over one arm, came in pulling a portable table filled with covered plates, the coffeepot, and a bottle of beer.

As the waiter reached the sitting-room, Professor Max Stratman, wearing a hat and short overcoat, emerged from his bedroom.

He did not seem surprised to see Craig. ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Craig. Are you going to keep Emily company?’

‘Until three, I hope.’

‘Very good.’ Stratman kissed Emily’s cheek. ‘Do not let him charge any more to our bill. Let him spend his prize, and we will spend ours.’

‘I’ll watch him, Uncle Max. Where will you be? Downstairs?’

‘No. We are having lunch at an elegant restaurant around the corner. At least, that was the way Eckart put it. He was always the one for fancy places. I remember during the war. He was the only one of us who could talk his way into Horcher’s.’ And then to Craig, ‘That was where Gäring ate, so it was good. Take care of my girl.’

He went slowly, thoughtfully, out the door.

The waiter had almost finished arranging the luncheon, when Emily suddenly rose. ‘Excuse me a second.’ She hurried into her uncle’s room.

Craig had signed the bill, and the waiter had left, before she returned. She was reading a telegram, and her face was troubled.

‘What’s the matter, Emily?’

She looked up absently. ‘What? Oh, I always check his room after he goes. He’s so forgetful. Sometimes he leaves his pipe lighted on the table, and the hot ashes fall out. We had two small fires last year.’ She sat down next to Craig. ‘The pipe was all right-but I found this wire.’

‘Anything wrong with it?’

‘Not exactly, but-’ She folded the telegram. ‘It’s from this friend he used to work with in Berlin, the one he’s lunching with now. This man, Hans Eckart, says he has read my uncle is in Stockholm for the Nobel Prize and congratulates him. He says he, too, will be in Stockholm, and would like to have lunch with him today and will phone him. He says they have much to talk about, and he brings news of Walther.’

‘Walther?’

‘My father. Strange, after all these years.’

‘Not so strange,’ said Craig. ‘This man stayed on in Berlin, and may have heard more of what happened to your father, and it’s a natural thing to pass it on to his old friend.’

‘Yes, I suppose,’ said Emily slowly.

Craig studied her face. ‘You’re still not convinced. What’s bothering you?’

‘The origin of the telegram,’ she said. ‘It was sent yesterday from East Berlin. I tell myself-what good can come from East Berlin?’

Riche’s restaurant, located at Birger Jarlsgatan 4, several long blocks behind the Grand Hotel, was one of Stockholm ’s most expensive and superior restaurants. Every international capital has its elegant dining-place where the élite -the wealthy, the titled, the powerful businessmen, the renowned artists-are recognized at once, and, as the ruling class of celebrity, they are seated promptly and kept apart from the ordinary customers. Riche was was one of these.