“This seemed to bring Turgut to life; he half stood and with a scowl of indignation began to berate the Gypsy. It was not difficult to understand his tone and gestures, which invited her in no uncertain terms to take herself off. She glared at all of us and withdrew as suddenly as she’d appeared, vanishing among the other pedestrians. Turgut sat down again, looking wide-eyed at Helen, and after a moment he rummaged in his jacket pocket and drew out a small object, which he placed next to her plate. It was a flat blue stone about an inch long, set with white and paler blue, like a crude eye. Helen blanched when she saw it and reached as if by instinct to touch it with her forefinger.
“‘What on earth is going on here?’ I couldn’t help feeling the fretfulness of the culturally excluded.
“‘What did she say?’ Helen spoke to Turgut for the first time. ‘Was she speaking Turkish or the Gypsy language? I could not understand her.’
“Our new friend hesitated, as if he did not want to repeat the woman’s words. ‘Turkish,’ he murmured. ‘Maybe it is not the better part of valor that I tell you. It is very rude what she said. And strange.’ He was looking at Helen with interest but also with something like a flicker of fear, I thought, in his genial eyes. ‘She used a word I will not translate,’ he explained slowly. ‘And then she said, ”Get out of here, Romanian daughter of wolves. You and your friend bring the curse of the vampire to our city.“’
“Helen was white to the lips, and I fought the impulse to take her hand. ‘It’s a coincidence,’ I told her soothingly, at which she glared; I was saying too much in front of the professor.
“Turgut looked from me to Helen and back. ‘This is very odd indeed, gentle companions,’ he said. ‘I think we must talk further without ado.’”
Ihad almost dozed in my train seat, despite the extreme interest my father’s story held for me; reading all this the first time, during the night, had kept me up late, and I was weary. A feeling of unreality settled over me in the sunny compartment, and I turned to look out the window at the orderly Dutch farmlands slipping by. As we approached and departed from each town, the train clicked past a series of small vegetable gardens, growing green again under a cloudy sky, the rear gardens of thousands of people minding their own business, the backs of their houses turned toward the railway. The fields were wonderfully green, a green that begins, in Holland, in early spring and lasts almost until the snow falls again, fed by the moisture of air and land and by the water that glints in every direction you look. We had already left behind a broad region of canals and bridges and were out among cows in their neatly delineated pastures. A dignified old couple on bicycles rolled along on a road next to us, swallowed the next minute by more pastures. Soon we’d be in Belgium, which I knew from experience one could miss entirely on this trip in the course of a short nap.
I held the letters in my lap tightly, but my eyelids were beginning to droop. The pleasant-faced woman in the seat opposite was already dozing off, magazine in hand. My eyes had closed for just a second when the door to our compartment flew open. An exasperated voice broke in and a lanky figure inserted itself between me and my daydream. “Well, of all the nerve! I thought so. I’ve been searching every carriage for you.” It was Barley, mopping his forehead and scowling at me.
Chapter 26
Barley was angry. I couldn’t blame him, but this was a most inconvenient turn of events for me, and I was a little mad, too. It made me all the angrier that my first twinge of annoyance was followed by a secret swelling of relief; I hadn’t realized before seeing him how thoroughly alone I’d felt on that train, headed toward the unknown, headed perhaps toward the larger loneliness of being unable to find my father or even toward the galactic loneliness of losing him forever. Barley had been a stranger to me only a few days before, and now his face was my vision of familiarity.
At this moment, however, it was still scowling. “Where in bloody hell do you think you’re going? You’ve given me a pretty chase-what are you up to, anyhow?”
I evaded the last question for now. “I didn’t mean to worry you, Barley. I thought you’d gone on the ferry and would never know.”
“Yes, and hurry back to Master James, tell him you were safe in Amsterdam and then get word that you’d vanished. Oh, I would have been in his good graces then.” He plunked himself down next to me, folded his arms, and crossed his long legs. He had his little suitcase with him, and the front of his straw-colored hair stood on end. “What’s got into you?”
“Why were you spying on me?” I countered.
“The ferry was delayed this morning for repairs.” It seemed he couldn’t help smiling a little now. “I was hungry as a horse, so I went back a few streets to get some rolls and tea, and then I thought I saw you slipping out the other direction, way up the street, but I wasn’t at all sure. I thought I might be imagining things, you know, so I stayed and bought my breakfast. And then my conscience smote me, because if it was you I was in big trouble. So I hurried this way and saw the station, and then you boarded the train and I thought I was going to have heart failure.” He glared at me again. “You’ve been quite a bother this morning. I had to run around and get a ticket-and I almost didn’t have enough guilders for it, too-and hunt through the whole train for you. And now it’s been moving so long we can’t get off right away.” His narrow bright eyes strayed to the window and then to the pile of envelopes in my lap. “Would you mind explaining why you’re on the Paris express instead of at school?”
What could I do? “I’m sorry, Barley,” I said humbly. “I didn’t mean to involve you in this for a minute. I really thought you were on your way a long time ago and could go back to Master James with a clean conscience. I wasn’t trying to be any trouble to you.”
“Yes?” He was clearly waiting for more enlightenment. “So you just had a little hankering for Paris instead of history class?”
“Well,” I began, stalling for time. “My father sent me a telegram saying he was fine and I should join him there for a few days.”
Barley was silent for a moment. “Sorry, but that doesn’t explain everything. If you’d got a telegram it would probably have come last night and I’d have heard about it. And was there any question of your father’s not being ‘fine’? I thought he was just away on business. What’s all that you’re reading?”
“It’s a long story,” I said slowly, “and I know you already think I’m strange -”
“You’re awfully strange,” Barley put in crossly. “But you’d better tell me what you’re up to. You’ll have just time before we get off in Brussels and take the next train back to Amsterdam.”
“No!” I hadn’t meant to cry out like that. The lady across from us stirred in her gentle sleep, and I dropped my voice. “I have to go on to Paris. I’m fine. You can get off there, if you want, and then get back to London by tonight.”
“‘Get off there,’ eh? Does that mean you won’t be getting off there? Where else does this train go?”
“No, it does stop in Paris -”
He had folded his arms and was waiting again. He was worse than my father. Maybe he was worse than Professor Rossi had been. I had a brief vision of Barley standing at the head of a classroom, arms folded, eyes scanning his hapless students, his voice sharp: “And what finally leads Milton to his terrible conclusion about Satan’s fall? Or hasn’tanybody done the reading?”
I swallowed. “It’s a long story.” I said it again, more humbly.
“We have time,” said Barley.
“Helen and Turgut and I looked at one another around our little restaurant table, and I sensed a signal of kinship passing among us. Perhaps to delay for a moment, Helen picked up the round blue stone Turgut had put next to her plate and held it out to me. ‘This is an ancient symbol,’ she said. ‘It is a talisman against the Evil Eye.’ I took it, felt its heavy smoothness, warm from her hand, and set it down again.