Chapter 28 The Art of Cooking Mushrooms
The Art of Cooking Mushrooms
During the eight days that followed, Mitch and Anna didn’t exchange a single word about the inspector’s visit.
Mitch busied himself with ordering stock and thinking about events.
Anna was getting her restaurant up and running.
She’d recruited a commis chef and a waitress, and every evening she trained them in a dining room where the only customer was Mitch – now promoted to official taste-tester.
On the ninth day, while Mitch was washing dishes after the dinner service, he found Anna in the walk-in fridge. She was standing on her tiptoes, reaching for a crate of tomatoes.
“How did you manage it?” he asked, taking the crate from her.
“The gazpacho? Totally botched it.”
“Anna. Come on.”
“Rony?” she asked innocently. “That was thanks to Verner.”
“Verner?”
“Didn’t you wonder why he confessed so suddenly, only to backpedal a minute later?”
“I figured maybe he’s a terrible liar, too.”
“Wrong. He’s an excellent liar, and I can tell you he didn’t need much encouragement.
But what really struck me was how ready he was to admit that he’d been lying.
Much too ready. Like his whole performance had been planned to steer us in another direction.
Their little act, I should say, because Madame Ateltow played her part too, telling us the story about her son under the guise of apologizing for lying to you.
She suspected what Rony had done – no, she knew – and if you ask me, she told Verner.
No mother could bring herself to turn her own son in, and neither could the man who loves her.
At least, not directly. But if someone else could take care of it for them, well… that’d suit everyone just fine.”
“How did Rony even figure out how to make the poison?”
“The art of cooking mushrooms? He must have read it in a book,” replied Anna, with a grin.
“Did he really kill Salinas? Maybe, maybe not. But he’s guilty of sending you to prison for five years.
Guilty of trying to make sure you stayed there for life.
Guilty of poisoning his mother’s life. All that, we know for sure.
Justice will take its course. And now, if you don’t mind me changing the subject, I want you desperately. ”
* * *
A few days later, Mitch decided that it was time to confront the one thing keeping him from truly freeing himself from his past. And so he made a long detour to a pharmacy in the northern part of the city.
Mathilde had changed. Her features had hardened somewhat. Her face was thinner, the air of indolence gone. When she saw him walk in, she ordered him to wait outside. Her voice was ice-cold. He obeyed, and stood on the pavement for ten long minutes before she finally appeared.
“What are you doing here, Mitch?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what? You look like a man in love. Even worse, you look happy.”
“I am.”
“Then what do you want from me after all this time? Are you here to announce your engagement? I really couldn’t care less.”
“Why didn’t you come to my trial? Or visit me in prison, even once?”
“Why didn’t you visit me?” she retorted. “I spent six months in pre-trial detention.”
“Because of me?”
“No. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Mitch. If you really want to talk about the good old days, then I do have something to tell you.”
She perched on the seat of her motorbike, which was parked in front of the pharmacy, and lit a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke.
“After you disappeared, some of the secret book club students got together and carried on the movement we started.
“We couldn’t get into the bookshop, of course, but, thanks to two print workers who were sympathetic to the cause, we got our hands on a whole stash of banned books.
Then we circulated them around every university.
There were so many, the cops couldn’t keep up.
Sure, they raided us from time to time, but every book they managed to confiscate was immediately replaced.
The photocopiers never stopped running, and we bound every copy ourselves.
“That was when I got arrested. So, you see, it had nothing to do with you. Or not much, at least. My little stint behind bars didn’t change anything, which just goes to show – no one’s irreplaceable.
More and more students got involved and the books kept getting passed around.
At night, they went out and left books all over the city, even on benches in the swanky neighbourhoods, books with BANNED BY YOUR GOVERNMENT stamped on the covers in big black capital letters.
“People started to become outraged that so many books were being banned.
They became aware of the liberties that had been stripped from them.
And so more people joined the movement: women rising up against men trying to control their bodies by outlawing abortion.
Minorities and communities persecuted by the people in power.
“And eventually, one day, the governor was ousted.
See, Mitch – all that momentum started in your little bookshop.
All it took was a few books to spark a revolution.
Those books turned into sparks of defiance.
They helped people remember they felt the same joys, suffered the same losses, shared the same dreams.
“I was never in love with you,” Mathilde announced, crossing her fingers behind her back, “But I’m glad to have known you. I hope you’ll be happy with her. For a long time.”
And he was.