Free Next Life Might Be Kinder by Howard Norman

Hotel), near the front door, but that is what she did. “Could it be a bouillabaisse? Mmmm,” she said. “Such a dinner takes time. It takes patience. I have learned something about you.” She set the engraving down on the sofa and walked into the kitchen, lifted the top off the cooking pot on the stove, closed her eyes, and inhaled dramatically. Then she took up the wooden spoon from the counter, dipped it in the pot, and sampled the soup. “Sea bass, definitely, but a bouillabaisse needs two fish, usually. I can’t quite make out the other—”
    â€œSimple cod,” I said. “All spiced to taste.”
    She returned the lid to the pot, then retrieved
The Sleepless Night of the Litigant,
set it on the kitchen table, and carefully unwrapped the paper. I stepped closer to study it as she continued reading from Istvakson’s letter:
    â€œâ€˜The image shows two mythical figures disturbing the litigant’s rest: horrible Restlessness confronts him in his bed while another demon, Anxiety, hounds Sweet Sleep from the room. Do you know your scripture, Sam Lattimore? “For all his days are sorrows, and his travails grief; even in the night his heart does not rest.” This is from Ecclesiastes. Sweet Sleep runs away. The fat bourgeois burgher, the litigant, can’t sleep. His nights are haunted. What is the question he needs to have answered? What is the mystery he needs solved? He cannot speak directly to God with all that disturbance around him. That’s the real problem, I think.
    â€œâ€˜So from this gift I would like you to understand that I am awake much of the night litigating myself, judging my every decision that I make on my movie. Will it do justice to the life of Elizabeth and Samuel Lattimore and their young, tragic marriage? I will never experience sweet sleep during the making of this movie, and maybe never again. Come into Halifax, I am begging you. Give me guidance and direction. Look at even the few scenes we have shot already. My assistant can chauffeur you if you prefer. I mean no sanctimoniousness, only to relate to you, artist to artist, that if you look closely at what is depicted in the engraving, you are seeing my desperate state of mind. I need to speak with you.’”
    Lily Svetgartot put the letter on the table.
    â€œMy God, how can you work with this man?” I said. “Self-litigation!”
    â€œHe wants to restore emotional fullness to the intellectual process of making a film.”
    â€œThat makes me want to throw up. Are you his ventriloquist’s dummy? He makes me want to vomit.”
    â€œGo ahead. I’ll wait right here.”
    â€œHere’s what I’d like. Please take this engraving across the road and give it to Philip, your new close friend. It is the perfect engraving for Philip. He’ll understand it right away. It belongs with him. He’ll really appreciate it.”
    â€œFine, I understand.” She picked up the engraving. At the door she took her raincoat from the silent butler and wrapped it around the engraving. The steady rain had become a downpour.
    â€œAlso, please tell Cynthia and Philip that dinner is ready. Have a nice drive back, Miss Svetgartot.”
    When Philip and Cynthia arrived for the bouillabaisse dinner, Philip said, “Thanks for giving me the working title of my new book, Sam.
The Sleepless Night of the Litigant.
It’s perfect. I’ve hung the engraving on the wall behind my typewriter. By the way, Lily’s eating leftovers at the house. What with this weather, she’s staying in the guest room tonight. You can’t send a person out on the road in this mess.”
    It was a pummeling windblown rain, which was the only reason, after Philip and Cynthia went home, about nine-thirty, I didn’t go down to the beach; Elizabeth never appeared in the rain. “I think she doesn’t want her books to suffer any water damage” is what I