On Fire by Thomas Anderson
“Hey, are you going to get that?”
Zak is framing a picture of the Eiffel Tower from the back of their Bateaux Mouche. It will be a picture of the Eiffel as seen from over the heads and shoulders of the other tourists on the boat. But his phone is ringing.
“Hey, are you going to get that?” Kim says into his ear, slipping in behind him, a hand and arm snaking around to his right coat pocket to find the phone, to pull it out, and to take a look at its face.
“Uh oh! Guess who’s coming to dinner?” she asks.
The tourists, having taken their pictures, reassemble in plastic seats beneath the boat’s glass panel roof. The low slung vessel with the French advertising on the side is unlike the large Bateaux Mouches, which can seat hundreds. This one can accommodate no more than a hundred or so. Kim and Zak found it at the Quai d’Orsay, and it has already been down the River Seine before finding a wide place to turn around, bringing them past the Eiffel for a second time. The crisp and sunny afternoon seemed a good time for a leisurely tour on the water. The concrete qui up and down the river are decorated with Parisians eating lunch, taking afternoon breaks, and basking in the sun, trying to make the most of these last warm days of the year.
Zak sits down in the plastic seat next to Kimberly at the stern.
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s from Rashida. Kina and Megan are joining her and catching a plane.”
“Great. I get the bed.”
“I’m so sure.”
“They’re leaving now?”
“Yep. They’re heading out.”
“We better lay in provisions. Tell them to watch their backs and we’ll see ‘em when we see ‘em.”
The Bateaux Mouche takes them East on the River Seine until they turn around beyond the Ile Saint-Louis. They arrive on the North side of Notre Dame just as both of their phones ring.
“Wish I had better news,” says Bog.
“Say, are we secure?” responds Zak quickly.
“Look at your phones. We’re being scrambled, part of my installation,” replies Bog.
“Oh, is that what that thing means?” asks Kim.
“Yeah, it says ‘scrambling’. You think?” Bog is unable to hide his IT annoyance.
“Yeah. It’s there. We’re good. Thanks,” says Zak.
“No problem. Everybody has a panic button too. Or have you forgotten?” Bog is testy.
“That I remember. If touch it my phone becomes a brick. That’s the sort of thing I’d remember,” replies Kim.
“Yes, Kimmie, it is the sort of thing you would remember,” says Bog. It is the name he used to use for her when they were dating. This whole discussion reminds her of just why it is they no longer are.
Zak gets up and pulls on the sleeve of Kim’s jacket, as they move away from the others at the back of the boat.
“Look, guys. I have bad news. There’s an Indian wire report that Artie was injured in his home town of Jaipur. According to the report, local officials are investigating.”
“What? What the hell happened?” asks Kim.
“Apparently he fell at the City’s Palace while he was on a tour. At least that’s what they’re saying. He’s in the hospital.”
“What’s his condition?” asks Zak.
“Critical. They mention lacerations and the possibility that he may have been pushed. They found him in a part of the Palace where tourists aren’t even normally allowed.”
“Damn!” Kim exclaims, loud enough to earn the curiosity of those nearby.
“We don’t even know who’s responsible for this,” states Zak with dismay.
“Yeah, I realize. Look, if I hear anything more I’ll let you know. Artie’s a tough dude and he’ll make it, I’m sure.”
Kim and Zak speculate on what happened to Artie as the boat returns to the Quai. They find their way across the Pont Royal to the Louvre, where they plan to spend the afternoon. They enter by way of the I.M. Pei Pyramid and buy their tickets in a large hall that has the La Pyramide Inversee at its center and which connects underground shops and restaurants. Less than systematically, they take in exhibits of great art while alternately checking the internet for more information about Artie, taking in as much as they can of the full length and breadth of the galleries until the six pm closing. As they leave the great art museum they stand surrounded by the giant inner courtyard of the once Royal Palace just as darkness descends. The interior lighting of the Pei reflects diamond like on its many panels of glass and is mirrored in the surrounding reflecting pools along with the dignified stone façade of the Louvre.
Zak and Kim’s phones ring as they stand next to the black marble edge of one of the reflecting pools. Bog again.
“It’s Ethan this time. He was staying with a friend, Ellie Hunter, in Monterey. She emailed using his phone. They’re saying it was a diving accident. Ellie had to rescue him after he came to the surface.”
“He had equipment problems?” asks Zak.
“No, and here’s where it gets pretty weird. He was hit by a spear from a spear gun. But the police canvased everybody in the area and no one saw anybody with anything like that. They’re not aware of anybody else even diving around there at the time.”
“How bad is he?” Kim asks.
“They took him into surgery to remove the spear. Yeow! Gotta hurt. Man!”
“I’m sure. Stay in touch with Ellie and keep us informed?” Zak is running scenarios in his head over how this could have happened.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll send him something on everybody’s behalf.”
“Is it possible he could have seen something? Someone?” Kim asks.
“I’m sure the police are asking the same question. I’ll put it to Ellie for when he wakes up.”
“And you be careful. If something happens to you I’ll kill you,” Kim scolds.
“I get it. I’m sending an email to everybody that we’re going to Defcon One. Au revoir!”
“On the other side, Cheeseball. Watch your back,” adds Zak.
“You too.”
Zak and Kim leave the marble bench and walk in silence to the Pont Des Arts, the pedestrian bridge connecting the Louvre and the East Bank to the Institute de France and the West Bank. They see the Institute on the opposite bank as they reach the bridge, its neoclassical dome, columns and pediment glistening in the sheen of gold dispensed by the late afternoon sun.
A band of cyclists approaches them from the opposite side, whizzing by in a rush of air accompanied by the sounds of laughter. The low setting sun barrels down the Seine. A long Bateaux Mouche approaches on the water, its rooftop lights already ablaze, stripping the period buildings on both shores naked in its glare. Its spotlights fall onto the water and skip across undulating waves as the tour boat moves languidly toward them.
To their left is the Eiffel Tower, the lower part hidden by intervening buildings. Bathed in sparkling gold light, it looks like a piece of jewelry from this distance and casts a beacon from its peak into a sky that is darkening to the East. The City’s street lights have just come on and they reflect like ribbons along the water’s edge, up and down the shores and the bridges
Zak and Kim stand next to the railing and a lamp post on the West side of the bridge, squinting into the onslaught of the sun’s last rays. Chicken wire fencing has been installed below the railings and is festooned with countless padlocks of every color and shape, the keys to each lock not far away at the bottom of the river.
Zak and Kim are black shadows in the sun.
“I know this is ridiculous,” Kim says, pulling a padlock from her coat.
She gives it to Zak. He notices that she has scratched their names onto it.
“The whole bridge is covered in locks!” Zak says with amazement.
“Love locks,” she corrects him. “They’re on only about a dozen bridges over the Seine.”
Kim kneels, finds a spot and snaps the lock in place. She gives the key
to Zak.
“Here.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
Kim points to the River.
“Gauche,” Zak remarks.
“So?”
Zak reaches back. It is a mighty toss.
Chapter 53
Zak is framing a picture of the Eiffel Tower from the back of their Bateaux Mouche. It will be a picture of the Eiffel as seen from over the heads and shoulders of the other tourists on the boat. But his phone is ringing.
“Hey, are you going to get that?” Kim says into his ear, slipping in behind him, a hand and arm snaking around to his right coat pocket to find the phone, to pull it out, and to take a look at its face.
“Uh oh! Guess who’s coming to dinner?” she asks.
The tourists, having taken their pictures, reassemble in plastic seats beneath the boat’s glass panel roof. The low slung vessel with the French advertising on the side is unlike the large Bateaux Mouches, which can seat hundreds. This one can accommodate no more than a hundred or so. Kim and Zak found it at the Quai d’Orsay, and it has already been down the River Seine before finding a wide place to turn around, bringing them past the Eiffel for a second time. The crisp and sunny afternoon seemed a good time for a leisurely tour on the water. The concrete qui up and down the river are decorated with Parisians eating lunch, taking afternoon breaks, and basking in the sun, trying to make the most of these last warm days of the year.
Zak sits down in the plastic seat next to Kimberly at the stern.
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s from Rashida. Kina and Megan are joining her and catching a plane.”
“Great. I get the bed.”
“I’m so sure.”
“They’re leaving now?”
“Yep. They’re heading out.”
“We better lay in provisions. Tell them to watch their backs and we’ll see ‘em when we see ‘em.”
The Bateaux Mouche takes them East on the River Seine until they turn around beyond the Ile Saint-Louis. They arrive on the North side of Notre Dame just as both of their phones ring.
“Wish I had better news,” says Bog.
“Say, are we secure?” responds Zak quickly.
“Look at your phones. We’re being scrambled, part of my installation,” replies Bog.
“Oh, is that what that thing means?” asks Kim.
“Yeah, it says ‘scrambling’. You think?” Bog is unable to hide his IT annoyance.
“Yeah. It’s there. We’re good. Thanks,” says Zak.
“No problem. Everybody has a panic button too. Or have you forgotten?” Bog is testy.
“That I remember. If touch it my phone becomes a brick. That’s the sort of thing I’d remember,” replies Kim.
“Yes, Kimmie, it is the sort of thing you would remember,” says Bog. It is the name he used to use for her when they were dating. This whole discussion reminds her of just why it is they no longer are.
Zak gets up and pulls on the sleeve of Kim’s jacket, as they move away from the others at the back of the boat.
“Look, guys. I have bad news. There’s an Indian wire report that Artie was injured in his home town of Jaipur. According to the report, local officials are investigating.”
“What? What the hell happened?” asks Kim.
“Apparently he fell at the City’s Palace while he was on a tour. At least that’s what they’re saying. He’s in the hospital.”
“What’s his condition?” asks Zak.
“Critical. They mention lacerations and the possibility that he may have been pushed. They found him in a part of the Palace where tourists aren’t even normally allowed.”
“Damn!” Kim exclaims, loud enough to earn the curiosity of those nearby.
“We don’t even know who’s responsible for this,” states Zak with dismay.
“Yeah, I realize. Look, if I hear anything more I’ll let you know. Artie’s a tough dude and he’ll make it, I’m sure.”
Kim and Zak speculate on what happened to Artie as the boat returns to the Quai. They find their way across the Pont Royal to the Louvre, where they plan to spend the afternoon. They enter by way of the I.M. Pei Pyramid and buy their tickets in a large hall that has the La Pyramide Inversee at its center and which connects underground shops and restaurants. Less than systematically, they take in exhibits of great art while alternately checking the internet for more information about Artie, taking in as much as they can of the full length and breadth of the galleries until the six pm closing. As they leave the great art museum they stand surrounded by the giant inner courtyard of the once Royal Palace just as darkness descends. The interior lighting of the Pei reflects diamond like on its many panels of glass and is mirrored in the surrounding reflecting pools along with the dignified stone façade of the Louvre.
Zak and Kim’s phones ring as they stand next to the black marble edge of one of the reflecting pools. Bog again.
“It’s Ethan this time. He was staying with a friend, Ellie Hunter, in Monterey. She emailed using his phone. They’re saying it was a diving accident. Ellie had to rescue him after he came to the surface.”
“He had equipment problems?” asks Zak.
“No, and here’s where it gets pretty weird. He was hit by a spear from a spear gun. But the police canvased everybody in the area and no one saw anybody with anything like that. They’re not aware of anybody else even diving around there at the time.”
“How bad is he?” Kim asks.
“They took him into surgery to remove the spear. Yeow! Gotta hurt. Man!”
“I’m sure. Stay in touch with Ellie and keep us informed?” Zak is running scenarios in his head over how this could have happened.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll send him something on everybody’s behalf.”
“Is it possible he could have seen something? Someone?” Kim asks.
“I’m sure the police are asking the same question. I’ll put it to Ellie for when he wakes up.”
“And you be careful. If something happens to you I’ll kill you,” Kim scolds.
“I get it. I’m sending an email to everybody that we’re going to Defcon One. Au revoir!”
“On the other side, Cheeseball. Watch your back,” adds Zak.
“You too.”
Zak and Kim leave the marble bench and walk in silence to the Pont Des Arts, the pedestrian bridge connecting the Louvre and the East Bank to the Institute de France and the West Bank. They see the Institute on the opposite bank as they reach the bridge, its neoclassical dome, columns and pediment glistening in the sheen of gold dispensed by the late afternoon sun.
A band of cyclists approaches them from the opposite side, whizzing by in a rush of air accompanied by the sounds of laughter. The low setting sun barrels down the Seine. A long Bateaux Mouche approaches on the water, its rooftop lights already ablaze, stripping the period buildings on both shores naked in its glare. Its spotlights fall onto the water and skip across undulating waves as the tour boat moves languidly toward them.
To their left is the Eiffel Tower, the lower part hidden by intervening buildings. Bathed in sparkling gold light, it looks like a piece of jewelry from this distance and casts a beacon from its peak into a sky that is darkening to the East. The City’s street lights have just come on and they reflect like ribbons along the water’s edge, up and down the shores and the bridges
Zak and Kim stand next to the railing and a lamp post on the West side of the bridge, squinting into the onslaught of the sun’s last rays. Chicken wire fencing has been installed below the railings and is festooned with countless padlocks of every color and shape, the keys to each lock not far away at the bottom of the river.
Zak and Kim are black shadows in the sun.
“I know this is ridiculous,” Kim says, pulling a padlock from her coat.
She gives it to Zak. He notices that she has scratched their names onto it.
“The whole bridge is covered in locks!” Zak says with amazement.
“Love locks,” she corrects him. “They’re on only about a dozen bridges over the Seine.”
Kim kneels, finds a spot and snaps the lock in place. She gives the key
“Here.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
Kim points to the River.
“Gauche,” Zak remarks.
“So?”
Zak reaches back. It is a mighty toss.
Chapter 53