The Last Don - Mario Puzo [184]
“Maybe she knows about my relationship with her mother,” Cross said.
“She doesn’t care about her mother,” the doctor said. “Forgive me, madame, that is one of the things you must accept—nor her mother’s beauty or her fame. They literally do not exist for her. It is you who she extends herself to. Think. Perhaps an innocent tenderness, something inadvertent.”
Cross looked at him coolly. “If I did it I would tell you. If that would help her.”
“Do you feel tenderness for this girl?” the doctor asked.
Cross considered for a moment. “Yes,” he said.
Dr. Gerard leaned back and clasped his hands. “I believe you,” he said. “And that gives me great hope. If she can respond to you, she may be helped to respond to others. She may tolerate her mother someday and that will be enough for you, am I right, madame?”
“Oh, Cross,” Athena said. “I hope you’re not angry.”
“It’s OK, really,” Cross said.
Dr. Gerard looked at him carefully. “You are not offended?” he said. “Most men would be extremely upset. One patient’s father actually struck me. But you are not angry. Tell me why.”
He could not explain to this man, or even to Athena, how the sight of Bethany in her hugging machine affected him. How it reminded him of Tiffany and all the showgirls he had made love to who had left him feeling empty. How his relationships with all the Clericuzio and even with his father left him with feelings of isolation and despair. And finally how all the victims he had left behind seemed the victims of some ghostly world that became real only in his dreams.
Cross looked the doctor directly in the eye. “Maybe because I’m autistic too,” he said. “Or maybe because I have worse crimes to hide.”
The doctor leaned back and said in a satisfied voice, “Ah.” He paused and smiled for the first time. “Would you like to come in for some tests?” They both laughed.
“Now, madame,” Dr. Gerard said. “I understand you catch a plane back to America tomorrow morning. Why not leave your daughter with me now. My nurses are very good, and I can assure you the girl will not miss you.”
“But I’ll miss her,” Athena said. “Could I keep her tonight and bring her back tomorrow morning? We have a chartered plane so I can leave when I like.”
“Certainly,” the doctor said. “Bring her here in the morning. I will have my nurses escort her down to Nice. You have the phone number of the Institute and you can call me as often as you like.”
They got up to go. Athena impetuously kissed the doctor on the cheek. The doctor flushed, he was not insensible to her beauty and fame, despite his ogreish appearance.
Athena, Bethany, and Cross spent the rest of the day strolling the streets of Paris. Athena bought new clothes for Bethany, a full wardrobe. She bought painting supplies and a huge suitcase to hold all the new things. They sent everything to the hotel.
They had dinner in a restaurant on the Champs Elysées. Bethany ate greedily, especially the pastries. She had not spoken a word all day or responded to any of Athena’s gestures of affection.
Cross had never seen such a show of love as that Athena showed Bethany. Except when as a child he saw his own mother, Nalene, brushing Claudia’s hair.
During dinner Athena held Bethany’s hand, brushed the crumbs off her face, and explained that she would return to France in a month to stay with her at the school for the next five years.
Bethany paid no attention.
Athena was enthusiastic when she told Bethany how they could learn French together, go to museums together and see all the great paintings, and how Bethany could spend as much time as she wanted on her own paintings. She described how they would travel all over Europe, to Spain, to Italy, to Germany.
Then Bethany spoke the first words of the day. “I want my machine.”
As always Cross was stricken by a sense of holiness. The beautiful girl was like a copy of a great portrait painting but without the soul of the artist, as if her body had been left empty for God.
It was after dark when they walked back to their hotel. Bethany was between them, and they swung