5

"Joseph?"

"Karen!"

"Hello, love. Is it okay to talk?"

"Sure, just let me sit down."

Karen. Karen was on the other end of the line, and Karen was the heaven that made everything right again.

"Okay, so tell me what's up? Tell me everything. I tried to call you."

"Hey, Joseph, are you okay? You sound as if you just got your teeth pulled."

"It's the connection. How are you?"

"I'm . . . I'm okay."

"What does that mean, okay? Now you sound as if all your teeth were pulled."

She laughed; I wanted the sound to go on forever.

"No, Joseph, I'm really fine. What's goin' on there? What's happenin' with that Miss India and you?"

"Nothing. I mean, nothing's going on. She's all right."

"And you?"

Oh, did I want to tell her. Oh, did I want her there with me. Oh, did I want this all to be over.

"Karen, I love you. I don't love India, I love you. I want to come back. I want you."

"Uh huh."

I closed my eyes and knew something awful was about to come. "What's with Miles, Karen?"

"You want the truth?"

"Yes." My heart raced to match the beat of the heart of a man about to be hanged.

"I've been stayin' with him. He's asked me to marry him."

"Oh, God."

"I know."

"And?" Don't say yes. God in heaven, don't say you said yes.

"And I told him I wanted to talk to you."

"He knows about me?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to marry him?"

"The truth?"

"Yes, goddamn it, tell me the truth!"

Her voice went cold, and I hated myself for snapping at her. "Sometimes I think I do, Joseph. Sometimes I do. What about you?"

Shifting in my seat, I banged my calf on the leg of the chair and nearly fainted from the pain. It clouded my mind badly, and I groped for something clear and right to say to stop the best thing in my life from going down the drain.

"Karen, can you wait before you tell him anything? Can you wait a little while longer?"

A silence followed that lasted a hundred years.

"I don't know, Joseph."

"Do you love me, Karen?"

"Yes, Joseph, but I might love Miles more. I swear to God, I'm not trying to be coy, either. I don't know."

I sat in my room and smoked. The radio was on, and I smiled bitterly when India's song from our night in the mountains, "Sundays in the Sky," came on. How long ago had that been? How long ago had I held Karen in my arms and sworn to myself I wouldn't go back to Vienna? Ever. Everything was in New York. Everything. But how close was I to losing it now?

As had happened several times, the face of a white boxer raced across my mind, followed by the sound of India screaming. I knew somewhere inside I should have felt proud for having saved her that night, but the experience only made things seem more futile. How do you defeat the dead? Do you tell them to fight fair, no tricks or crossed fingers behind their back? What good was it to put up your two dukes, only to discover your opponent had a hundred, and another hundred, waiting when the first ones tired. I asked myself if I hated India, and knew I didn't. I didn't even hate Paul. It was impossible to hate the insane – like being angry at an inanimate object after you've banged your elbow on it.

I heard the refrigerator click on in the kitchen. A horn beeped in the street. Some children in the building screeched and laughed and banged a door. I knew it was time to talk to India. I would stay and help her all I could, but in return she would have to know that, if Paul's siege ended, I would not stay with her any longer than I had to. It would hurt and confuse her, I knew, but my ultimate allegiance was to Karen, and I could not ask her in all good faith to wait for me so long as I was being dishonest with India. Before we hung up that night, Karen asked if I was staying in Vienna because I was India's friend or because I was her lover. When I said "friend," I knew it was time to start acting truthfully, all the way around.

I asked India to meet me at the Landtmann. She wore a moss-green loden coat that came down to her ankles and black wool gloves that suited her perfectly. What an attractive woman. What a hell of a mess.

"You're sure you don't mind being here, India?"

"No, Joe. They have the best cake in town, next to Aida, and I owe you at least two disgusting pieces after the other night.

"Remember the first night we met? How we sat out here and I complained about how hot it was?"

We stood with our backs to the door of the cafй. The trees were bare; it was hard to imagine them in full bloom. How could nature shed its skin so completely and then recreate it so exactly only a few months later?

"What are you thinking about, Joey?"

"The trees in winter."

"Very poetic. I was thinking about the first night. You know what? I thought you were kind of nerdy."

"Thanks."

"A good-looking nerd, but a nerd."

"Why in particular, or just generally?"

"Oh, I don't know, but I forgave you because of your looks. You're very cute, you know."

If you want Vienna to live up to your romantic expectations, get off the plane and go directly to Cafй Landtmann. It is marble tables, velvet seats, floor-to-ceiling windows, and newspapers from every interesting part of the world. It is, to be sure, one of the places where people go to look at one another, but it's such a large cafй that even that doesn't matter.

We chose a table by a window and looked around a while before either said anything. When we did, it was at the same time.

"In –"

"Who was –"

"Go ahead."

"No, you go ahead, Joe. I was only going to blabber."

"Okay. Are you in the mood to talk? I want to tell you something important."

She bowed her head, giving me the floor. I had no idea if this was the proper time to bring up Karen Mack, but like it or not, I had to.

"India, when I was in New York, I was with someone."

"I kind of thought so by the way you've acted since you got back. Somebody old or somebody new?"

"Somebody new."

"Uh oh, they're the most dangerous kind, aren't they? Before you go on, tell me her name."

"Karen. Why?"

"Karen Why. Is she Chinese?"

Despite the heaviness of the moment, I cracked up. I shook my head and kept laughing. Then our cake came, and we compared whose was better and who'd gotten gypped with a smaller piece.

"So go on with Karen, Joe. She's not Chinese and she's new."

"Why did you want to know her name?"

"Because I like to know the name of the enemy before I charge."

I told her about it generally, and India didn't say a word until I'd finished.

"And you slept with her?"

"No, not yet."

"Spiritual." She took a fork and squashed half her cake down flat on her plate.

She wouldn't look at me when she spoke again. She kept attacking the cake. "Why did you come back?"

"Because you're my friend and because a lot of this is my fault."

"Any love in there, Joey?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, did any of your choosing to come back have to do with loving me?"

Her head was bent, and I saw the careful, exact part in her hair.

"Of course there was love, India. I'm not . . ."

She looked up. "You're not what?"

"I'm not a good enough person to have returned if I didn't love you. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, I suppose. What are my chances against her?"

I closed my eyes and rubbed my face with my hands. When I took them away, I looked at her. She had the most astounded look on her face. She was gaping over my shoulder, and both hands were on the table, trembling. I turned around to see what was so amazing. Paul Tate, in his beautiful black overcoat, was making his way through the cafй to our table.