The Falling Woman by Pat Murphy Read Free Book Online Page A

were tattooed with patterns of swirling lines. A woven bag filled with cacao beans lay on the steps beside him.
    The old diviner pointed at the red beans that lay on the cloth before him and spoke softly. I could not make out the words.
    I took a long drag on my cigarette and wondered what I could say to this young woman who had dropped into my life so unexpectedly. What did she want of me?
    She sat with her back to the open doorway; her knees were bent and her arms were wrapped around them. She was prettier than any child of mine had a right to be: her red hair, fair skin, and slim build marked her as Robert's daughter. She wore jeans and an open-necked white shirt. Her eyes were hidden by dark glasses and her hair was tied back in a single braid. "Is it what you expected?" I asked her, waving the cigarette at the camp, the jungle, the overgrown mounds, the diviner and his customer.
    "I didn't really know what to expect," she said cautiously.
    Robert's daughter: he had probably trained her to be careful, to admit to little. That had been his style: he was careful; he always had to be the one in the know. He had kept himself in check, always carefully controlled.
    "Do you want to tell me about how Robert died?" I asked. I tried to speak gently, but the words sounded harsh. I am not good at these things; I deal with dead people better than I do with live ones.
    Diane was looking out toward the camp, her chin up, her jaw set. "He died of a heart attack ... his third one. He was playing tennis at the club."
    It seemed an appropriate way for Robert to die. I hadn't seen him for at least five years, but I could imagine him at fifty: out on the court in his tennis whites, smiling his pleasant professional smile, his hair touched with gray at the temples, but nowhere else. I wondered who he had been playing: a colleague from the hospital, a pretty young woman. It didn't matter. I could not manage much sorrow over his death.
    During divorce proceedings, Robert and I had come to treat each other with a hard-edged polished courtesy. Over the past twenty-five years, that glossy politeness had marked all our infrequent contacts, until at last it seemed like the natural relationship between us. He was a stranger, a vague acquaintance I had once known better. I did not hate him, did not even dislike him particularly, though I did find him dull and opinionated. I could remember the distant times when arguments with him had made me furious, but the fire had burned to ashes and the ashes had blown away on the evening wind. I was indifferent toward him.
    "The funeral was two weeks ago," she said. "Aunt Alicia set it up. I guess she didn't let you know."
    I remembered Alicia, Robert's older sister, a widow with a smooth, uncrackable personality. I tapped the ash off the end of my cigarette and nodded. "Alicia and I were never exactly friends."
    "I know it must be really strange, my turning up out of the blue like this. It's just that Dad never wanted me to talk to you. He never wanted me to know anything about you." She spoke quickly, as if she had to say this quickly or not at all. Her voice had an edge of urgency. "I've read all your books." When she said the last few words, her voice softened and took on a pleading note. She wanted my approval; she wanted me to like her.
    I could not look at her. If Diane were crying, I did not want to know. Not now. The jungle was a restful stretch of dirty green. On the steps, the merchant leaned toward the diviner, questioning him closely on a particular point. "So what do you think you'll find here?" I asked her. "What are you looking for?"
    "I don't know." Her voice was hesitant. "I guess I just want to dig up the past and figure out what's under all the rubble. That's all."
    The diviner waved his hand to the east, the direction governed by Ah Puch, the god of death. Beneath the tattoos, the merchant's face looked mournful.
    "You may just find broken pots," I said to Diane. "Nothing interesting at