After Camus by Jay Neugeboren

Author:Jay Neugeboren [Neugeboren, Jay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Madville Publishing
Published: 2023-10-19T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

“Being on Van Gogh’s turf has obviously inspired you,” Fiona said to Julia.

“The sunflowers were my father’s idea,” Julia said.

Fiona handed the flowers back to Julia. “I feel better—groggy as hell, but better,” she said. “Would you mind asking one of the nurses for a vase?”

Julia took the flowers, left the room. From under the sheets, tubes ran to plastic pouches, and a drip—glucose? morphine?—ran from Fiona’s left wrist to a bag of clear liquid that hung from an IV pole.

“She’s lovely, Saul—and it’s apparent how much she adores you,” Fiona said. “But then, who wouldn’t?” She took his hand. “You were wonderful yesterday.”

“Just doing my job,” Saul said. “You’re the one who’s wonderful.”

“This is the first time I’ve met one of your children, so I can see why you always…” She wiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist. “Forgive me—I’m sorry for losing it this way, but since I woke from surgery, I’ve been highly emotional…”

“Unlike the way you usually are, right?”

“What I thought about first thing when I woke, was that it was a good idea to visit you,” Fiona said. “If I’d been by myself, I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Not true.”

“Take some credit. I mean, think of it this way—you’ve probably added months to my life.” She laughed. “It would be sheer hell to have my family around now, my mother clucking over what a shame it was that I was going to die without having given her grandchildren, or my sisters…”

“Shh,” Saul said. “Don’t.”

Julia returned, set the vase of sunflowers on a window sill. “When you’re discharged, would you like to visit Saint Paul de Mausole?” she asked. “I could show you Van Gogh’s room, though it’s not clear that the room they say was his was actually his. But from the window you can see what he saw when he painted. It’s still pretty much the same: a wheat field, a stone wall enclosure, cypress trees, hills.”

“I’d love to,” Fiona said.

“While he was there he tried to kill himself by drinking lamp oil and sucking the paint out of tubes,” Julia said.

“Do you like the taste of paint?” Fiona asked

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

“I’m a lawyer, by the way,” Julia said.

“I’m sorry—” Fiona said “—not that you’re a lawyer, but that I’m a bit out of it. Your father told me you were a lawyer, that you went to Columbia Law School, that you clerked for a judge in D.C., that you were slated to become a partner in one of those old New York white shoe law firms, but why are you here—?”

“I took an extended leave of absence.”

“Hey—so did I—and so did your father!” Fiona said. “See? I knew we had lots in common. What we don’t have in common, though, me and your father, is that I’ve never been known for being diplomatic. So I was wondering why you came here. Why Saint Rémy?”

“I’m here because I’m pregnant,” Julia said. “And because I read Van Gogh’s letters—the ones he wrote to his brother.

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