Robber Bride - Margaret Atwood [239]
“That’s all?” she says.
“I like to sprinkle a little salt, into the candle flame,” says Charis, sprinkling it.
“I just hope nobody’s watching,” says Roz. “I mean, how long before we are three genuine certified batty old crones?” She’s feeling slightly light-headed; maybe it’s the codeine pills she took for her headache.
“Don’t look now,” says Tony.
“Crones is not so bad,” says Charis. “Age is just attitude.” She’s staring dreamily at the candle.
“Tell that to my gynecologist,” says Roz. “You just want to be a crone so you can mix potions.”
“She already mixes them,” says Tony.
Suddenly Charis sits up straight in her chair. Her eyes widen. Her hand goes over her mouth.
“Charis?” says Roz. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Oh my God,” says Charis.
“Is she choking?” says Tony. Possibly Charis is having a heart attack, or a fit of some kind. “Hit her on the back!”
“No, no,” says Charis. “It’s Zenia! She’s dead!”
“What?” says Roz.
“How do you know?” says Tony.
“I saw it in the candle,” says Charis. “I saw her falling. She was falling, into water. I saw it! She’s dead.” Charis begins to cry.
“Honey, are you sure that wasn’t just wishful thinking?” says Roz gently. But Charis is too absorbed in her grief to hear.
“Come on,” says Tony. “We’ll go to the hotel. We’ll check. Otherwise,” she says to Roz, over the top of Charis’s head, which is bowed into her hands now and swaying back and forth, “none of us is going to get a decent night’s sleep.” This is true: Charis will worry about Zenia being dead, and Tony and Roz will worry about Charis. It’s worth a short car ride to avoid that.
As they get their coats on, as Roz settles the bill, Charis continues to sob quietly. Partly it’s the shock; the whole day has been a shock, and this an even bigger shock. But partly it’s because she saw more than she’s told. She didn’t only see Zenia falling, a dark shape turning over and over, the hair spreading like feathers, the rainbow of her life twisting up out of her like grey gauze, Zenia shrinking to blackout. She also saw someone pushing her. Someone pushed Zenia, over the edge.
Although she couldn’t see it clearly, she thinks she knows who that person was. It was Karen, who was left behind somehow; who stayed hidden in Zenia’s room; who waited until Zenia had opened the door onto the balcony and then came up behind her and shoved her off. Karen has murdered Zenia, and it’s Charis’s fault for holding Karen away, separate from herself, for trying to keep her outside, for not taking her in, and Charis’s tears are tears of guilt.
That is just one way of putting it, of course. What Charis means, she explains to herself, is that she wished Zenia dead. And now Zenia is dead. A spiritual act and a physical one are the same, from the moral point of view. Karen-Charis is a murderer. She has blood on her hands. She’s unclean.
They go in Roz’s car, the smaller one. There is some delay while Roz tries to find someone to park the car; as Roz complains to the man who is finally provided, the Arnold Garden is not exactly Johnny-on-the-spot when it comes to service. Then the three of them walk into the lobby. Charis has pulled herself together by now, and Tony has a steadying hand on her arm.
“She’s in the fountain,” Charis whispers.
“Shh,” says Tony. “We’ll see in a minute. Let Roz do the talking.”
“I was here this afternoon, checking out your hotel as a convention possibility, and I think I left my gloves,” says Roz. She’s decided it would be a mistake to say they are looking for Zenia, on the outside chance that Charis may be right; not that Roz believes it for an instant, but still. Anyway, if they call the room and there’s no answer, what would it prove? Nothing about death. Zenia could have checked out.
“Who were you talking to?” says the woman behind the counter.
“Oh, this was just preliminary,