Forgetfulness by Ward Just Page B

what he was seeing; and when he did, and rushed to his patient's side, he was too late. Three days later they went to the funeral and the woman's husband, now widower, refused to shake the doctor's hand. Thomas, then seventeen and big for his age, had to intervene to prevent a scuffle. Sitting in the front pew of the church at St. Michel du Valcabrère, staring at his wife's coffin, Thomas remembered the awful look of grief on the widower's face and noticed also his fists lifeless at his side. His wife was dead and someone would have to own up to the responsibility because she had left for the doctor's office in perfect health and returned in a hearse. But in the end the old man only shook his head and walked away to his car, where his young children waited for him.
    Thomas watched a shooting star fall and disappear. The night was peaceful, no wind and the prospect of a bright morning. He had forgotten the day of the week. Was it Friday? Yes, Friday. Each day was associated with a specific event. Florette died on Sunday and her body was not found until early Monday and even that was a sort of miracle. One of the men had stepped off the trail to take a leak and, moving his flashlight, he had spied her through the trees, an unnatural shape in the woods, a spot of color, curled up like an animal.
    Oh God, he said, and everyone went still.
    In seconds they were all around her, staring dumbly at her body, the broken ankle and the thin line of blood frozen at her throat. Thomas forced his way through them but his arms were roughly pressed to his sides and one of the gendarmes stood in his way so that he was unable to step forward. Then Bernhard and Russ moved him away from the scene. He did not have the strength to resist, his bones turned to liquid, and so he stood passively as the men wrapped Florette in a blanket and lifted her off the slope and onto the trail. Her foot hung at a right angle off the edge of the stretcher until someone noticed and tucked it back under the blanket so that it made a tiny hill in the blue weave. Thomas did not move his eyes from the stretcher, so brilliantly illuminated by halogen flashlights as they manhandled it through the trees.
    Careful, one of them said. Careful.
    The senior gendarme came slowly back and put his hand on Thomas's arm and said how sorry he was, he had known Florette since school days. He opened his mouth to say something more but in the end said nothing and returned to his men, already commencing the descent. Thomas turned away when they were out of sight, and he immediately regretted that he had not gone with them, seen Florette down the mountain to the hospital or wherever they were taking her. He was not thinking straight. He somehow believed he should stay where she was found so that he would be available if they needed him. Russ remained with Thomas while Bernhard joined the two gendarmes examining the spot where Florette had died. Thomas shook free of Russ and stood on the perimeter of where Bernhard and the gendarmes were talking. One of them asked curtly if Bernhard was police and he said yes, he was a sort of policeman, a retired investigator familiar with violent crime, familiar enough to observe that the killers had spent some time on the slope. Probably they were wondering what to do with Florette. They were weighing assets and liabilities. Bernhard pointed out the cigarette butts, Gitanes, and pointed out that there were none in Florette's vicinity though Florette was a smoker. No doubt she had asked for a cigarette and they had refused. What does that tell you about them? Bernhard said, There were four of them, perhaps five, and they were careful, though not careful enough to dispose of the cigarette butts. There were remains of food also, something packaged. They were here for some time, worrying the problem of Florette ... The gendarme with the notebook wrote down every word. Bernhard's voice and manner commanded respect and his French was serviceable, except