The Lady Waiting by Magdalena Zyzak

Author:Magdalena Zyzak [Zyzak, Magdalena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2024-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

14

Giovanni e Paolo Hospital. Sleeper hurt. I was taking a late-morning nap when the text came, and my eyes were dry and itchy. Through a film of eyedrops, I read the message again and got out of bed.

What? What happened? I texted back. Is he okay?

No response. I called her, Sleeper, Lance. Lance’s phone was off. The Sleepers didn’t pick up. I dressed quickly in clothes I’d left on the floor. Always picking up after Bobby, I had no strength to pick up after myself. In the lobby, the concierge was giving hushed directions to an older man with a newspaper under his elbow. A receptionist told me the fastest way was by water taxi.

I’m coming, I texted and crossed the black-and-beige checkered floor, playing a game with myself—if I stepped on beige, Sleeper wouldn’t be okay. Exclusively on black tiles, I made my way to the canal door, onto the pier. The Grand Canal teemed with people in boats, on bridges, in windows, on walkways, people selling objects, people rowing people, people on the cathedral’s cupola—these, on second glance, were gargoyles—all this shimmering, drifting, bobbing, floating to the pulsing rhythm of panic in my head.

“Giovanni e Paolo Hospital, please,” I said to an attendant.

“Taxi arrives, signorina,” he said, scanning me up and down, probably to assess if I was injured or unwell.

Just then Bobby texted. It was as if she were next to me, watching—this intuitive luck, this talent for disruptive timing fueled both her charm and her uncanny control over other people. All good, she wrote. No need to come.

It calmed and angered me. Is Sleeper ok? I knew if I called, she wouldn’t pick up.

Already left the hospital.

The taxi pulled up to the dock.

“Sorry, I’m not going,” I said to the attendant, smiling at him.

“Are you sure, signorina?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Is he ok? I texted again.

I knew he was probably fine, but the possibility that he wasn’t troubled me. The taxi bobbed; its captain shrugged at me, then revved and steered away.

I stood to one side on the pier, staring at my silent phone, and from under the noise of motors and bells a private inner noise arose in me, a white noise full of wanting and frustration, violent and pathetic. I opened my notes app: to-do lists, a how-to-improve-B’s-house file, a how-to-improve-myself list. Opening a new note, I typed in Polish at the top: why do I — him list. I couldn’t bring myself to actually list any reasons, or even to write the verb.

I don’t know how long I stood there. Finally a new message came from Bobby:

I told you not to tell Sleeper about us talking to Kostya.

Who’s Kostya?

Seryozha’s goon.

What happened??

Meet us for lunch at Trattoria Malebolge.

When?

Now.

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