CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I didn’t really mean to hit him with the Cinzano bottle. I mean, I meant to hit someone, but it wasn’t personal. I’d never seen him before in my life, he was a complete stranger. I guess I just got carried away: he looked like someone else.…
And I certainly didn’t think I would knock him out like that; I suppose it’s a case of not knowing your own strength. I felt terrible about it, especially when I saw the blood. I couldn’t just leave him there, he might have had a concussion or bled to death, so I got Mr. Vitroni to call a doctor. I said I thought this man was trying to break into the house. Luckily he was out cold, so he couldn’t contradict me.
It was nice of him not to press charges when he came to. At first I thought it was only because he wanted the story: reporters are like that. I talked too much, of course, but I was feeling nervous. I guess it will make a pretty weird story, once he’s written it; and the odd thing is that I didn’t tell any lies. Well, not very many. Some of the names and a few other things, but nothing major. I suppose I could still have gotten out of it. I could have said I had amnesia or something.… Or I could have escaped; he wouldn’t have been able to trace me. I’m surprised I didn’t do that, since I’ve always been terrified of being found out. But somehow I couldn’t just run off and leave him all alone in the hospital with no one to talk to; not after I’d almost killed him by mistake.
It must have been a shock for him to wake up in bed with seven stitches, though. I felt quite guilty about that. His coat was a mess, too, but I told him it would come out in the dry cleaning. I offered to pay for it but he wouldn’t let me. I took him some flowers instead; I couldn’t find any roses so they were yellow things, sort of like sunflowers. They were a little wilted, I said maybe he could get the nurse to put them in water for him. He seemed pleased.
It was good of him to lend me the plane fare. I’ll pay it back once I’m organized again. The first thing is to get Sam and Marlene out of jail, I owe it to them. It was Sam’s lawyer that gave away the fact that I was still alive; I shouldn’t hold it against him, he was just doing his job. And I’ll have to see Arthur, though I’m not looking forward to it, all those explanations and his expression of silent outrage. After the story comes out he’ll know the truth anyway. He loved me under false pretenses, so I shouldn’t feel too rejected when he stops. I don’t think he’s even gotten my postcard yet, I forgot to send it air mail.
After that, well, I don’t have any definite plans. I’ll feel like an idiot with all the publicity, but that’s nothing new. They’ll probably say my disappearance was some kind of stunt, a trick.… I won’t write any more Costume Gothics, though; I think they were bad for me. But maybe I’ll try some science fiction. The future doesn’t appeal to me as much as the past, but I’m sure it’s better for you. I keep thinking I should learn some lesson from all of this, as my mother would have said.
Right now, though, it’s easier just to stay here in Rome – I’ve found a cheap little pensione – and walk to the hospital for visiting hours. He hasn’t told anyone where I am yet, he promised he wouldn’t for a week. He’s a nice man; he doesn’t have a very interesting nose, but I have to admit that there is something about a man in a bandage.… Also I’ve begun to feel he’s the only person who knows anything about me. Maybe because I’ve never hit anyone else with a bottle, so they never got to see that part of me. Neither did I, come to think of it.
It did make a mess; but then, I don’t think I’ll ever be a very tidy person.