Read Sleeping in Flame for Free Online Page B

and spoke to Maris.
    "Go away now. I'll take care of it. The kid's mine, not hers."
    "Do you love him?" Maris looked at the man, then the boy.
    The man nodded instantly. "Yes. He told me she did these things, but I didn't believe him. She's always nice to him when I'm around. That won't happen again, the bitch.
    I'll kick her fat ass if it does!" Letting go of her neck, he gave her a tremendous slap across the back of her head. It sounded like two hollow wood blocks hitting. She staggered forward, let go of the boy, fell down. The boy squealed in delight and clapped his hands.
    "And you _know_ I'll kick your ass, don't you?"
    Maris walked quickly away, looking once over her shoulder for me. I gave one last look at the family. Papa had the boy in his arms. Mama was just getting up off the ground. Her knees were smeared with mud, and she was trying to smile at anyone who'd look. They were real George Grosz people, and it was plain this event would do little to change any of their lives. In a day, or a week, this important tension and recognition would lose its purpose in the fog of meanness and stupidity that enclosed their lives.
    I went after Maris. She was walking even faster than before, hands deep in her coat pockets.
    When I caught up, I touched her elbow. She turned quickly.
    "Why didn't you stop me, Walker?"
    "Why? You were right."
    "You're sure? But I hit her! It's so embarrassing."
    "Of course you shouldn't have hit her, but so what? Maybe it was time someone bopped her.
    Give her back some of her own medicine."
    Her expression said she was unconvinced. She started walking again. "I would never hit a child. _Never_. No matter how bad it was."
    I wanted to change the subject. "Do you want children?"
    "Oh yes, although I'm getting a little old for it. At least two." She smiled and slowed a little.
    "Two girls."
    "Girls? What would be their names?"
    Her smile widened. "Names? I don't know. Jessica and Kenyon."
    "Are you okay now about what happened back there?"
    "Not really. My teeth are still chattering a little. Would you take me someplace happy? Do you know what I mean?"
    I lit up at the idea. "I know exactly! There are three places I go in Vienna when I feel bad. I'll take you to all three."
    We caught a tram and rode it around the Ring. Even in the rain, many people were out walking.
    Open horse-drawn carriages, full of sightseers, wheeled slowly down the middle of the street.
    At Schottentor we got out and walked the Herrengasse into the center of town.
    There are baroque palaces on the Herrengasse: the Spanish Riding School, the National Library, and the Albertina Museum. The Café Central, where Freud and Lenin drank black coffee and Page 18

    disturbed the universe, is one street over.
    Some mornings, if you're lucky, you can see trainers leading the white and gray Lippizaner horses from their stables on one side of the street to the performance ring on the other side. The sound those hooves make on the stone pavement is indescribable.
    When we passed the entrance to the Hofburg Palace and were about to go left onto the Kohlmarkt, Maris stopped and looked up at one of the statues in front of the gate. I thought she was going to say something about it or the palace, but I was wrong.
    "My God, life is hard, isn't it, Walker? Did you ever play one of those computer games, like _Donkey Kong_ or _Lode Runner_? They're terrible, because the better you get at them, the more adept, the harder they get and the faster
    they go. You never get rewarded for your achievements -- more like penalized!"
    "Is that an analogy to life, or are you still trying to figure out why you hit that woman?"
    "Both! Yesterday Luc was hitting me, today it's me hitting someone else.
    Don't you want to get better at life? Learn from your mistakes, make the right decisions, not feel guilty, use your energy in a good way . . ." She shrugged and sighed. "How far are we to your first happy place?"
    "Five minutes. It's a