my neck like I was some serial killer or something, Malkovich and his wife. I was in agony, totally broken.’
‘Broken because of all the people around you or the one who wasn’t there?’
Marcus stared unflinchingly into her eyes. ‘The one who wasn’t there,’ he admitted. ‘Where is she? I went to her apartment but another family was living there.’
Sherrie shook her head disconsolately.
‘I wish I could help you, but I don’t know. She worked for me for a few weeks. One day, suddenly, she comes to tell me that she and her grandma are moving, kisses me on the cheek and leaves me an envelope with some money for you.’
‘What?’
‘She said it was a hundred dollars she owed you for some work. She told me that if you came back, I should give it to you, and if not, I should give it to charity.’
Marcus jumped to his feet and flicked his cigarette into the sand. His face, which until then had seemed carved from the finest pale marble, now twisted in fury.
‘What am I supposed to do with her fucking money?’ he exclaimed. ‘I was hoping, dammit, I was hoping you at least knew where she was! How am I gonna find her?’
Sherrie watched him with tenderness. Her baby. Her broken-hearted baby. Her baby in love. She thought back to the day Penny left. How she’d cried in Sherrie’s motherly embrace. Who knew where she was now; who knew how she was?
‘I’ll go get you that money. Throw it away if you want, but I have to give it to you. I promised her I would.’
When Sherrie returned with the small envelope Penny had left her, still sealed after all these years and tucked inside a copy of her favourite fairy tale from when she was a child, Sleeping Beauty, Marcus was already on his feet. He grabbed the envelope and walked briskly towards the shoreline.
Sherrie didn’t tell him that she’d held it up to the light, trying to discern if the envelope contained something like a letter instead of cash. She didn’t tell him that she’d been very upset when, without a shadow of a doubt, she’d spotted no more and no less than the face of Benjamin Franklin.
Sherrie watched Marcus go, and prayed he would find his way. Even Francisca was making progress. But there was no more strenuous a road than a stretch of sand leading to an angry sea. Her baby had already suffered enough, and he deserved all the best life had to offer.
34
MARCUS
I can’t say I didn’t try, but I definitely didn’t succeed. I’d thought of Penny non-stop after leaving that night. The accident was a good thing.
So I went back to prison. It’s the best place for someone who hates his life on the outside. If you want something you can’t have, if you want it with all your being, if the world suddenly feels too small because it’s suffocating you and too big because you can’t run far away enough to forget, a spell in jail is a good compromise.
Francisca wrote to me for a while, and this time Malkovich didn’t stop her. I answered her once or twice and that’s it. Penny never wrote to me. I imagined her with Igor, happy and satisfied, and I was thankful to be where I was so I couldn’t fuck him up like I did Grant. Not for fear of being sent to prison again, but for fear that Penny would hate me.
I kept wondering what this thing was that I felt. I’d like to be smarter, so I could find an explanation in the books, but I’m just not intelligent like that. I’m just a poor sad bastard who thought he was made only of muscle and temptation and found himself dying of love – for someone who didn’t even want him. It would be kinda funny if it wasn’t so damn tragic.
The first thing I do when I’m out is to go back to that building, to that apartment. I know, it’s bullshit. She made it very clear over two years ago that we’re on different planets and that she prefers Igor, but I can’t resist. Penny doesn’t live there anymore, and her grandmother’s gone too; the neighbours tell me they moved out a few months after I left, but no one knows exactly where.
Then I go see Malkovich. He’s not home, but his wife drags me in and showers me with praise about Francisca. First she was the devil incarnate,