The Nightmare

102

Axel Riessen lies fully dressed on a bed in the five-room suite he has been given on Raphael Guidi’s mega yacht. Next to him is a folder with complete information about a liver donor, a man in a coma after an unsuccessful operation. All the data is perfect-the tissue type matches Axel’s completely.

Axel concentrates so intently on the ceiling that he is startled by a knock on the door. It’s the man in the white uniform.

“Dinner.”

They walk together through a spa area. Axel glimpses low-lying green beds filled with empty bottles and cans. Plastic-wrapped towels are still stacked on white marble shelves, and behind glass doors frosted for privacy, he can make out a gym. A double door of matte-surfaced metal slides open as they walk past the relaxation room with its beige wall-to-wall carpeting, sofas, and chairs as well as a short but massive table of polished limestone. The lighting is odd-points of light and shadow slide across the walls and floor. Axel raises his eyes to realize they are beneath the yacht’s enormous swimming pool. The bottom of the pool is made of glass, and overhead Axel can see the bulk of garbage and broken furniture outlined by a pale sky.

Raphael Guidi is sitting on one of the sofas. He’s wearing the same gym shorts as before, but now with a white T-shirt stretched over his belly. He pats the seat beside him and Axel obediently goes over and sits down. Both bodyguards remain behind Guidi like two shadows. No one says anything. Raphael Guidi’s telephone rings. He answers and speaks on and on in a long conversation.

In a short while, the man in white silently pushes a serving cart in. Without a sound he sets two place settings on the limestone table with plates, silverware, and glasses along with large platters of grilled hamburgers, bread, french fries, a bottle of ketchup, and a huge plastic bottle of Pepsi.

Raphael continues his conversation without even glancing at the food. His voice is a dull monotone as he discusses what sounds like details about production speed and logistics.

No one says a word. They all wait patiently.

Fifteen minutes later, Raphael Guidi finishes his call and looks at Axel Riessen calmly. He then starts to speak in a soft tone.

“Maybe you’d like a glass of wine now,” he says. “Since in a few days you’ll have a new liver.”

“I’ve reread this material about the donor many times,” Axel says. “It’s in wonderful order. I’m impressed. Everything seems to be perfect.”

“There’s an interesting thing about desire,” Raphael begins as if he hadn’t heard Axel’s words. “A desire you want more than anything else in the world; myself, I wish that my wife was alive today and we could be together again.”

“I understand…” Axel murmurs.

“But I have a quirk. I like to see desire balanced by its opposite,” Raphael says.

He takes a hamburger and a scoop of french fries. Then he passes the platter to Axel.

“Thank you,” Axel says automatically.

“The desire is on one side of the scale,” Raphael continues. “The nightmare is on the other.” “The nightmare?”

“I mean to say… we live our lives with many outer trappings while inside… we have deep unfulfilled longings that we desire, and also nightmares that never come true.”

“Perhaps we do,” Axel says.

“You wish desperately to be able to sleep again, something very good, but what… I’m talking about the other side of the scale here… what is your worst nightmare?”

“I really don’t know,” Axel says with a smile, raising his brows.

“What are you afraid of?” Raphael shakes salt over his french fries.

“Illness, death… mostly pain.”

“Of course, everyone fears pain, I agree with you there,” Raphael says. “But as far as I am concerned, my worst nightmare, as I’ve begun to realize, concerns my son. He’ll soon be grown up, and I’m afraid he’ll turn away from me and pursue his own life.”

“So, loneliness?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Raphael says. “Complete loneliness is my worst nightmare.”

Axel shrugs. “Well, I’m already alone; the worst thing has already happened to me.”

“Don’t say that!” Raphael jokes.

“No, what I’m afraid of… oh, well, let’s not talk about it.”

“What?” Raphael coaxes.

“Forget it, I really don’t want to talk-”

“You fear you were the reason a young girl committed suicide so long ago,” Raphael says, and lays something on the table.

“Yes-”

“And who might think of suicide today?” asks Raphael quietly.

“Beverly,” whispers Axel, and sees that the item Raphael has set on the table in front of him is a photograph.

It’s facedown.

Axel doesn’t really want to touch it, but he does and turns it over. He pulls his hand sharply back. Beverly’s wondering face is clearly visible in the light of a camera flash. He stares down at the photograph, almost too afraid to understand its meaning. It is a warning. The photograph was taken a few days ago, inside his house, in the kitchen, the day Beverly tried to play the violin and then went away to find a vase for her dandelion bouquet.