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Meeting My Assassin, 1991
I went back to Mary’s apartment and knocked on the door—the same
door she had opened the night before, when I arrived with Roland.
“Oh honey, there you are,” Mary said when she opened
the door. “I thought you were not coming back.”
“I told you she would,” Roland said walking behind her,
looking into my eyes with a cold look on his face.
Mary led me to the living room and I apologized for
abruptly leaving the house before they came back from lunch. I tried my best to
compose myself and not let her know the fury which I felt inside me. “I did not
want to overstay my welcome,” I lied to her.
“Oh, honey, just as I said before, Land’s friends are
my friends. Besides, I haven’t had a chance to embarrass him in front of you,”
she said, while she searched through some photo albums, which sat on the coffee
table. “Wait until you see pictures of him when he was a little boy,” she said
pleased that I was back.
“Honey,” she said, “Land told me that you are a
collector?” She asked me with sweet questioning eyes.
I knew I was in trouble then.
“What is it that you collect?”
“She collects maps. Maps and coins,” Roland said
hastily, forcing me to agree with him.
“Yes,” I told her looking at him, and I swallowed the
knot in my throat that was making me sick. For now, I was playing his game.
It was not ok what he was doing to me. It was not ok
what he was doing to the lady who absolutely thought the world of him.
“I am here because there is going to be an auction at
the Ritz,” I said and I looked at him in defiance, showing him that I could
play his game.
“Oh . . . the Ritz again, we don’t like
it there do we Land?”
Mary walked into
the kitchen, leaving me alone in the room with the stranger who was playing a
dangerous game with me. It was a dangerous game for him to be playing, for I
had nothing to lose anymore. The only one who could get hurt was he. There were
absolutely no more places for scars in me.
Mary came back to the room carrying a tray with the
chocolate mousse from the night before. This reminded me that I had not seen
Roland since dinner, when he answered the call and told us that he was going to
step out for a few minutes—but did not come back for hours. I had hoped not to
see him again.
I was feeling ashamed playing his game. Inside me,
there was a fury waiting to explode. I was just trying not to do it in front of
Mary. After all, she seemed like a kind lady, but did she really know her Land?
Roland ate his mousse while Mary insisted on showing me
some old family pictures. She kept the albums like treasures, for they held the
accounts of her Land’s life.
I vaguely remember the pictures, but there were
pictures of Land steering grandpa’s boat; Land riding his bike; Land in his
school play; Land blowing out ten candles; Land, Mary, Grandpa and Douglas.
Douglas?
I turned the page of the old yellowed album back and
tried to focus on the picture where Roland was standing next to him. I could
not believe my eyes. My heart sank, and together all my dreams sank with it.
Who was Roland? Why was he in a picture with Douglas?
It could not be. I looked at Roland and tears filled my
eyes. He grabbed me by the hand and dragged me out the door, giving Mary some
excuse, which I could not comprehend; my brain had detached from my heart and
all reason had vanished.
He pushed me inside the elevator, which felt
claustrophobic, and he closed the iron door behind us. The sound of the old
metal door being slammed was terrifying. As I watched the floors through the
elaborate iron door as we descended in the old building, I felt as if I was
going to throw up. I was light headed and my knees were going to give up on me.
My heart started to race as he tightened his grip. It was the same feeling from
the day before, while flying from Morocco next to him.
I obeyed him and followed him out of the elevator and
out through the huge iron doors which guarded his home. I tried to take a
breath, but instead I choked on my tears as he pushed me against the building’s
wall where he held my other hand and pressed his body against mine. Now, he had
both my hands and his face was inches from mine. I finally gave in. My knees
gave in, and he pressed his body harder into mine so I would not fall to the
hard ground. He let go of one of my hands and touched the back of my head. As
he did so, my chin fell on his chest and I felt beaten. I did not know what to
do.
