CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

I finally reached the balcony. The sun was sinking, the balcony was bright with sunlit glass, broken and sharp like fire. In the plate-glass window my reflection ran beside me, the face dark, the hair standing out around my head, a red nimbus.

I unlocked the door and went in. There was no one inside, not yet, I still had time.… I hadn’t seen him clearly. Perhaps I could elude him. I’d wait until he was walking along the balcony; then I’d slip into the bathroom and bolt the door. While he was trying to get in, I could climb up on the toilet and squeeze through the tiny window.

I went into the bathroom to look at the window. It was too small, I’d get stuck. I didn’t want to be either arrested or interviewed halfway out a window. It was too undignified.

Perhaps I could hide among the artichokes. Perhaps I could run down the hill, perhaps I could disappear and never be found. But if I ran I would simply be caught, sooner or later. Instead I was going to defend myself. I refused to go back. I went into the kitchen and got the empty Cinzano bottle out of the garbage can, grasping it by the neck.

I crouched behind the door, out of sight of the window, and waited. Time passed; nothing happened. Perhaps I’d been wrong, perhaps that hadn’t been the right man. Or maybe there was no man at all, Mr. Vitroni had made him up in order to frighten me. I began to be restless. It struck me that I’d spent too much of my life crouching behind closed doors, listening to the voices on the other side.

The door itself was ordinary enough. Through the glass pane at the top I could see a small piece of the outside world: blue sky, some grayish-pink clouds.

It was noon when she entered the maze. She was determined to penetrate its secret at last. It had been a hazard for too long. Several times she had requested Redmond to have it torn down, but he would not listen. It had been in his family for generations, he said. It did not seem to matter to him that so many had been lost in it.

She made several turnings without incident. It was necessary to remember the way she had come, and she attempted to do this, memorizing small details, the shape of a bush, the color of a flower. The pathway was freshly graveled; here and there daffodils were in bloom.

Suddenly she found herself in the central plot. A stone bench ran along one side, and on it were seated four women. Two of them looked a lot like her, with red hair and green eyes and small white teeth. The third was middle-aged, dressed in a strange garment that ended halfway up her calves, with a ratty piece of fur around her neck. The last was enormously fat. She was wearing a pair of pink tights and a short pink skirt covered with spangles. From her head sprouted two antennae, like a butterfly’s, and a pair of obviously false wings was pinned to her back. Felicia was surprised at the appearance of the woman in pink, but was too well bred to show it.

The women murmured among themselves. “We were expecting you,” they said; the first one shifted over, making room for her. “We could tell it was your turn.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“We are Lady Redmond,” said the middle-aged woman sadly. “All of us,” the fat woman with the wings added.

“There must be some mistake,” Felicia protested. “I myself am Lady Redmond.”

“Oh, yes, we know,” said the first woman. “But every man has more than one wife. Sometimes all at once, sometimes one at a time, sometimes ones he doesn’t even know about.”

“How did you get here?” Felicia asked. “Why can’t you go back to the outside world?”

“Back?” said the first woman. “We have all tried to go back. That was our mistake.” Felicia looked behind her, and indeed the pathway by which she had entered was now overgrown with branches; she could not even tell where it had been. She was trapped here with these women.… And wasn’t there something peculiar about them? Wasn’t their skin too white, weren’t their eyes too vague …? She noticed that she could see the dim outline of the bench through their tenuous bodies.

“The only way out,” said the first woman, “is through that door.”

She looked at the door. It was at the other side of the graveled plot, affixed to a doorframe but otherwise unsupported. She walked all the way around it: it was the same from both sides. It had a plain surface and a doorknob; there was a small pane of glass at the top, through which she could see blue sky and some grayish-pink clouds.

She took hold of the doorknob and turned it. The door unlocked and swung outward.… There, standing on the threshold, waiting for her, was Redmond. She was about to throw herself into his arms, weeping with relief, when she noticed an odd expression in his eyes. Then she knew. Redmond was the killer. He was a killer in disguise, he wanted to murder her as he had murdered his other wives.… Then she would always have to stay here with them, at the center of the maze.… He wanted to replace her with the other one, the next one, thin and flawless.…

“Don’t touch me,” she said, taking a step backward. She refused to be doomed. As long as she stayed on her side of the door she would be safe. Cunningly, he began his transformations, trying to lure her into his reach. His face grew a white gauze mask, then a pair of mauve-tinted spectacles, then a red beard and moustache, which faded, giving place to burning eyes and icicle teeth. Then his cloak vanished and he stood looking at her sadly; he was wearing a turtle-neck sweater.…

“Arthur?” she said. Could he ever forgive her?

Redmond resumed his opera cloak. His mouth was hard and rapacious, his eyes smoldered. “Let me take you away,” he whispered. “Let me rescue you. We will dance together forever, always.”

“Always,” she said, almost yielding. “Forever.” Once she had wanted these words, she had waited all her life for someone to say them.… She pictured herself whirling slowly across a ballroom floor, a strong arm around her waist.…

“No,” she said. “I know who you are.”

The flesh fell away from his face, revealing the skull behind it; he stepped towards her, reaching for her throat.…

I opened my eyes. I could hear footsteps coming down the gravel path. They were real footsteps, they were on the balcony. They stopped outside the door. A hand knocked gently, once, twice.

I still had options. I could pretend I wasn’t there. I could wait and do nothing. I could disguise my voice and say that I was someone else. But if I turned the handle the door would unlock and swing outward, and I would have to face the man who stood waiting for me, for my life.

I opened the door. I knew who it would be.