speaking behind him. He turned back toward her but kept both feet on red tiles.
You didn’t support me, she said. You never support me.
What? he asked.
When I asked to see him. You didn’t support me. I’m sure if you had supported me, we could have seen him. She would have showed him to us.
I don’t think so, said the man. She said only the doctor could show him to us—
I know that’s what she said. But it doesn’t mean anything. If you had supported me, if you had told her we had to see him, if you had given her some money—
Money?
Yes: money. You don’t understand how anything works! If you had given her some money, a few kopecks or schillings or whatever it’s called here, I’m sure she would have brought us to him.
We’ll see him tomorrow, said the man.
The woman sighed. She pushed open the door and left the building, allowing the door to shut behind her.
The man stood there for a moment, regarding the closed door. He could see his wife’s shadow figure, standing just beyond the smoky glass. He realized he still had his feet ridiculously splayed on separate red tiles and slid them back together.
When they returned to their hotel room the woman, exhausted from their travels and travails, once again stripped down to her silken underwear and got into bed.
Don’t you want some lunch? the man asked.
No, the woman said. I just want to sleep.
I’m hungry, the man said. I’m going down to the restaurant. Should I bring you back something? You’ve got to eat.
I’m not hungry. Just go. She drew the gold coverlet up over her face. The man stood there for a moment, as if there was something else he could do, or say, but he could think of nothing, so he went down to the lobby.
The restaurant was closed. A chain hung across the open doorway from which depended a small sign that said CLOSE. The man looked into the vast, empty space. The lights were all turned off and the room was almost dark, although it was only the middle of the afternoon.
He walked back across the lobby to the reception desk, behind which there now stood an older man with a shiny bald head and a walrus mustache wearing the same sort of vaguely militaristic uniform as the young woman who had greeted them upon their arrival and striking the same sort of impassive, unseeing attitude. The man realized it was less than twenty-four hours since they had arrived, and yet it seemed they had spent days—months, years—in this place.
Good afternoon, the man said.
Good afternoon, said the concierge. May I help you?
I was hoping I might eat some lunch, said the man. But it appears the restaurant is closed.
Indeed it is. Lunch is never served in the restaurant on weekends. Only breakfast and dinner.
Perhaps the man had lost track of the days, but he was fairly sure it was not yet the weekend.
So there is nowhere I can get something to eat?
There are several excellent restaurants in the vicinity, said the concierge. Some may still be serving lunch, although it is late. Or if you don’t wish to venture out, a limited menu of cold dishes is offered at all times in the bar.
Thank you, said the man. I will try my luck there.
Lárus stood in his usual position behind the bar, and a young Japanese couple occupied the center of the bar, where the man had sat the night before. So he sat down at the far end, in Livia Pinheiro-Rima’s place.
Lárus walked slowly toward him. Good afternoon, he said.
Good afternoon, the man said.
Would you like the schnapps, or something else?
The man had not intended to start drinking so early, but then he remembered it was already dark outside, and for all intents and purposes the day was over, since it had never really begun. He told Lárus that yes, he would like a schnapps. Please.
Lárus poured him a schnapps, set it before him.
Is it possible to get something to eat? asked the man. I’m very hungry.
Of course, said Lárus. He reached below the bar and placed a small red leatherette-bound volume in front of the man. The name of the hotel was stamped upon its cover in gold. Inside, a folded piece of paper was restrained with a gold tasseled cord. Four words appeared in a centered column on the first page:
Snacks
Закуски
Bocadillos
Grickalice
The man turned the page and the menu was repeated, once again in various languages. The