“I don’t think anything.”
Graciela joined him in the washroom. She was holding an open box of chocolates. She ignored Ra and sat down next to me, o ered me a chocolate. “These are very special,” she said. “Handmade, from France. My parents bring me a box every time they go to Europe. I’m sure you’l like them. What’s your favorite flavor? Do you like coconut?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“We mix up al our courses here. Chocolates first, then dessert, then the main course …”
I couldn’t tel whether she was joking because her voice was so control ed and careful. Her movements were control ed too. She was as unhappy as I was.
The meal was in fact a lit le chaotic—not because the courses were served in reverse order, but because Ra and Graciela were both so The meal was in fact a lit le chaotic—not because the courses were served in reverse order, but because Ra and Graciela were both so frantical y solicitous toward me. They fussed and fret ed as though I were an honored but fragile guest. Volvo was stunned into silence for the rst time since I had known him; he was wondering whether he’d missed something, because wasn’t he the one without legs, wasn’t he the one who deserved at ention and pity and love? And so he sat there quietly, puzzling it out. And he ate voraciously. He loved food.
They were both solicitous, but each one separately, as though they were not connected in any way and had not been introduced. They never spoke to one another, only to me. There was a routine: Graciela in charge of serving, Ra in charge of salad and washing up; they didn’t negotiate anything.
“Where do you live?” Graciela asked me.
“Opposite the City Beach Hotel.”
“I know that hotel. Friends of my parents often stay there. It must be nice to be so close to the sea.”
“Yes, and we’re al friends in the building.”
“Real y! That’s very nice. How many are you?”
“Me and Volvo on the rst oor. Tanya and her mother and Jacky on the second. Benny’s on the top oor. Tanya used to be a prostitute but now she’s a fortune-tel er. Benny drives a taxi.”
“And Jacky?”
“You know him, Jacky Davidson. The rock singer.”
“Real y! I heard he went crazy.”
“Yes, he’s pret y crazy. But he manages. We al help him out.”
“Who looks after his money? He could get ripped of .”
“No, his sister looks after al that, though there isn’t much, you know. Rock stars don’t get rich in this country.”
“That’s true. Stil , there would be royalties … What about Tanya, is she good?”
“She has lots of clients.”
“I would like to have my fortune told. But I’m always afraid. I’m afraid they’l see something bad.”
“They don’t tel you the bad things.”
“I’d be able to tel , al the same, by the look on their faces.”
“Do you perform?” I asked.
She smiled for the first time since I’d arrived. “Yes. I guess you don’t fol ow classical music very much.”
“No, I don’t like going to hear music alone. Sorry, are you famous?”
“Wel , not international y. I only perform here, and we’re such a smal country that it’s not hard to become wel known.”
“Do you think you’l have an international career one day?”
“Who knows? I’m get ing bet er al the time, but I never go to competitions, that’s the problem.”
“Why not?”
“I hate them.”
“When’s your next concert?”
“I have a recital coming up in February that I’m working on now.”
“What pieces wil you be playing?”
“Mendelssohn, Songs Without Words. Chopin, Nocturne in E-flat, Bal ades One and Four. Beethoven’s Appassionata.”
“A romantic program,” I said.
“Yes. I’m doing a Bach concerto in the spring, though. The D Minor.”
She ate very lit le. “I’m on a special diet,” she explained. “For my joints. There are al these foods I can’t eat. But please don’t pay at ention to me.”
“My husband is very musical,” I said. “He can play jazz on the piano, even though he never had lessons and he can’t read music. He just likes improvising. But music is only a hobby for him. I wish I were musical.”
