“i’m on what you might call my own secret mission.”
“of course. i understand.”
the countess did not ask slim any more questions about himself. she lay back on one of the couches and started working her way through a pack of the luckies from the carton slim had tossed her.
she did not turn the light up, or make a move toward the fireplace.
slim felt cold. he was hungry too, and for something besides the c-rations in his sack. what is the point, he wondered, of going awol, and hooking up with a real live countess in more a less a real live castle, if you were going to be cold and hungry?
“you got anything to eat in this place?” he finally asked her.
“of course.”
slim waited her to go on, but she did not. what was she, some kind of farmer from farmersville that would only answer the exact question you asked them. like if you asked, is there a train to chicago, they would just say “yes,” and you would have to say, “well, when is the train to chicago?”
“the next train to chicago from where?,” the countess asked. “ paris? moscow? istanbul?”
did i say that aloud? slim wondered. my brain must be going. or maybe she’s a mind reader. maybe countesses are mind readers, like gypsies.
but before he could think of anything to say, the countess asked him. “are you from chicago?”
“um - i just passed through it a few times - on fast freights.“
“i always wanted to go to chicago - and meet al capone.”
“everybody wants to meet al capone.”
“is it true that he takes his tommy gun with him everywhere he goes? even to most exclusive restaurants?”
“al wouldn’t go anywhere without his tommy gun.”
the countess blew a couple of smoke rings and continued. “i always wanted to meet all the famous americans… john dillinger… billy the kid… buffalo bill… sitting bull… annie oakley… shirley temple. have you met all of them?”
“sure. they are all just folks. happy to pass the time of day with anyone who wants to pass the time of day with them.”
“i am only a farmer’s daughter, but i always wanted to see the world. especially america - the new world, where anything can happen.”
”a farmer’s daughter! i thought you said you were a countess.”
the countess turned and looked directly at slim. “i married the count. i was born a farmer’s daughter.” she sighed. “i was young once, and beautiful.”
“i wasn’t too hideous myself,” slim answered. “but, say, if you’re a farmer’s daughter, couldn’t you rustle up some grub for a hungry man? isn’t that what farmer’s daughters do?”
the countess laughed. “what, didn’t they feed you on that secret mission of yours?”
“not as much as i would like.”
“maybe in the morning, sir american, when the rooster crows and the world awakens to a bright new day, i will see what i can do for you.” the countess tossed her cigarette into the dark fireplace and stood up. “right now i want to see what our friends next door are doing.” she picked her little binoculars up off a table besude her and strode to the window.
“probably nothing much,” slim told her. “sleeping, or getting ready to.”
“no. i see some activity.”
“you don’t say so.” slim got up and joined the countess at the window.
she handed him the binoculars. “see for yourself.”
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