sick—and I wonder if it’s possible to bring her something small to eat? Some soup, perhaps. The consommé or cream of barley perhaps?
Oh, yes, she said. Of course. And perhaps some creamed carrots and rice?
Yes, said the man, that would be perfect. Thank you! Thank you so much.
Your poor wife! she said. I am sorry she is unwell. What is your room number?
Five nineteen, the man said.
Five nineteen, the waitress repeated. Yes. I will have the kitchen boy bring her up something nice very soon.
Thank you, said the man. You are very kind. Here. He took his wallet out of his pocket and opened it. He selected a bill of middling denomination and held it to the waitress.
Oh! she exclaimed. You are sure?
Yes, he said. Take it, please. And thank you very much.
The waitress took the bill and stuffed it into a pocket in her apron. God bless you, she said.
The man felt suddenly happy because he knew he had finally done something right and good: he had arranged for food to be brought up to his wife and had been blessed by the waitress. He smiled as he recrossed the lobby.
The businessman was sitting at the bar drinking beer from a ridiculously large glass stein and reading the Financial Times. In place of his suit he wore a velvet smoking jacket of deep bottle green and a white shirt opened at the throat to reveal a paisley-patterned silk cravat. He looked up as the man entered the bar, and chucked the newspaper to the floor.
My God, he said, I’ve been waiting for you. Where have you been?
Really? said the man. He knew that the businessman had probably not been waiting for him—why would he have been?—but nevertheless there was something very nice about the idea of being waited for.
Of course, said the businessman. I never lie. To lie is to betray yourself. Only cowards and faggots lie. I’ve been waiting here for you. We’re going out to dinner.
Are we?
Yes, said the businessman. Unless you want that ancien régime pig trough they’re serving in the dining room.
No, said the man. I’ve just fled from it.
I knew you were a compadre. We’re venturing out. Have you got a coat?
Up in my room.
Then fetch it, man. Hurry. Time is a-wasting.
Where are we going?
Get your coat, baby. Bundle up. It’s cold outside. We’re going to a real place, with real food. For men. I’ll wait here for you.
The man went up to his room. His wife was sleeping and did not awaken when he entered and turned on the light. His parka was on the chair where he had left it. He put it on. He stood for a moment and watched his wife sleep. There was so much he wished he could do for her, so much he wished he could give to her, but nothing he tried to do, or give, ever seemed to reach her. It was as if she wore a shield that deflected all of his love, an armor that protected her from anything he gave.
The businessman was waiting just inside the revolving doors. He wore a somewhat ridiculous-looking woolen cape and a Tyrolean hat with a feather in its band. Without acknowledging the man, he pushed himself through the revolving door. The man followed behind him. The man always felt a strange intimacy with people with whom he shared a revolving door. They both ducked their heads because the wind, which was fierce, blew the falling snow directly into their faces. There were no cars or other people on the street; it was as if everything had been cleaned up and put away.
At the first intersection the businessman turned right onto a street that was almost as dark and narrow as an alley. The lashing wind subsided and the man realized he had been holding his breath. The alleyway was as deserted as the street and had not been plowed or shoveled, so the two men had to wade through tall drifts of snow. It was dark except for one light that faintly glowed about a hundred yards ahead of them. They passed several dark windows, and in the dim light in the center of each window, gold-stenciled words dully gleamed: HAMMASLÄÄKÄRI, MARKT. The man paused for a minute outside the market, but a drape was drawn across the window so he could see nothing inside. But it was good to know that there was a market nearby. They paused outside the lighted window and through the