Mother Night

30: Don Quixote ...

We would fly to Mexico City — Kraft, Resi, and I. That became the plan. Dr. Jones would not only provide us with transportation, he would provide us with a reception committee in Mexico City as well

From Mexico City we would go exploring by automobile, would seek some secret village in which to spend the rest of our days.

The plan was surely as charming a daydream as I had had in many a day. And it seemed not only possible but certain that I would write again.

Shyly, I told Resi so.

She wept for joy. For real joy? Who knows. I can only guarantee that her tears were wet and salty.

'Did I have anything to do with this lovely, this heavenly miracle?' she said.

'Everything,' I said, holding her close.

'No, no — very little — ' she said, 'but some — thank God, some. The big miracle is the talent you were born with.'

'The big miracle,' I said, 'is your power to raise the dead.'

'Love does that,' she said. 'And it raised me, too. How alive do you think I was — before?'

'Shall I write about it?' I said. 'In our village there in Mexico, on the rim of the Pacific — is that what I should write first?'

'Yes — yes, oh yes — darling, darling,' she said. 'I'll take such good care of you while you do it. Will — will you have any time for me?'

'The afternoons and the evenings and the nights,' I said. 'That's all the time I'll be able to give you.'

'Have you decided on a name yet?' she said.

'Name?' I said.

'Your new name — the name of the new writer whose beautiful works come mysteriously out of Mexico,' she said. 'I will be Mrs — .'

'Se?ora' I said.

'Se?ora who?' she said. 'Se?or and Se?ora who?'

'Christen us,' I said.

'It's too important for me to decide right away,' she said.

Kraft came in at this point

Resi asked him to suggest a pseudonym for me.

'What about Don Quixote?' he said. 'That,' he said to Resi, 'would make you Dulcinea del Toboso, and I would sign my paintings Sancho Panza.'

Dr. Jones now came in with Father Keeley. 'The plane will be ready tomorrow morning,' he said. 'You're sure you'll be well enough to travel?'

'I'm well enough right now,' I said.

'The man who will meet you in Mexico City is Arndt Klopfer,' said Jones. 'Can you remember that?'

'The photographer?' I said.

'You know him?' said Jones.

'He took my official photograph in Berlin,' I said.

'He's the biggest brewer in Mexico now,' said Jones.

'For God's sake,' I said. 'The last I heard, his studio got hit with a five-hundred-pound bomb.'

'You can't keep a good man down,' said Jones. 'Now then — Father Keeley and I have a special request to make of you.'

'Oh?' I said.

'Tonight is the weekly meeting of the Iron Guard of the White Sons of the Constitution,' said Jones. 'Father Keeley and I want to stage some sort of memorial service for August Krapptauer.'

'I see,' I said.

'Father Keeley and I don't think we could deliver the eulogy without breaking down,' said Jones. 'It would be a terrible emotional ordeal for either one of us. We wonder if you, a very famous speaker, a man with a golden tongue, if I may say so — we were wondering if you would accept the honor of saying a few words.'

I could hardly refuse. 'Thank you, gentlemen,' I said. 'A eulogy?'

'Father Keeley thought up a general theme, if that would help,' said Jones.

'It would help a lot, a general theme would,' I said. 'I could certainly use one.'

Father Keeley cleared his throat. 'I think the theme should be,' that addled old cleric said, 'His Truth Goes Marching On'