These Dreams of You

~ ~ ~

Zan blurts, “She’s black.” Not “She’s wearing this or that,” not “Her body transmits music from far-flung stations of the universe.” He goes on, “She’s four. Years old.”

“Mrs. Nordhoc is black as well, then, I take it?”

“No,” but since the constable has made it clear that Viv isn’t the London police’s concern, Zan isn’t sure why this question is relevant. He explains, “We adopted Sheba. Zema.”

“Zema?”

“Her name’s not really Sheba.”

“Is it Sheba or Zema?”

“Uh. . ”

“You last saw her yesterday in Hyde Park near Kensington.”

“Yes.”

“It was Hyde Park proper rather than Kensington Gardens?”

“What?”

“It was Hyde Park proper rather th—”

“I don’t know. It was the park. She was with her mother, they were supposed to wait for us to come back from seeing the Ethiopian ambassador.”

The officer frowns. “Her mother?”

“What?”

“Her mother?”

“What about her mother?”

“You said she was with her mother. Your daughter was with her mother?”

“I said she was with her nanny. They were waiting—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nordhoc. But I assure you that you said her mother.”

“Are we,” Zan says angrily, “going to start arguing about what we said, like I have to do with the bank? My wife is missing. My daughter is missing. Why do I have to argue with everyone about what they said?”

“We’re not arguing about what I said, are we?” the officer answers calmly. “We’re arguing about what you said.”

“Dad,” Parker says quietly from his seat, “you said mother. Sorry.”

Helpless, Zan and Parker return to the hotel. Now everywhere Zan goes, every corner he turns, he hopes against hope that Sheba will appear before him. He feels himself sinking. His son watches him and whispers, It will be O.K., and Zan thinks, I should be telling him it will be O.K. Glancing at his cell, he notes that he’s missed another call from Brown, whose message is brief: “Alexander. James here. Ring me when you can,” but when Zan returns the call he once again gets Brown’s voice-mail.

Parker is on the laptop and Zan stands at the hotel window still thinking any moment he’ll see Sheba coming up the road, with the nanny or without her, when his son says, “The heck? Zan.”

“What?” says the father.

“Look at this.”