speaking of London Bridge. And it proves my point perfectly: London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. It isn’t up or down. It’s falling. But I find all this talk of bridges boring. Tell me about your difficult day. Where did you go? Who did you see?
Isn’t that Elizabeth Bishop?
Yes. How did you know?
I read poetry, said the man. Or did. In college.
Well, Lota de Macedo Soares was my second cousin.
Are you Brazilian?
My mother was Brazilian. My father was English. But we digress. You were about to tell me about your day. How is your wife? Where is your wife? Where is your baby? For a man with a family you seem remarkably alone.
I am alone, said the man. My wife is at Brother Emmanuel’s. The baby is at the orphanage. I may never see either of them again.
I’m sure you exaggerate. Why do you say that?
My wife forbids me to see her again. And they won’t give me the baby unless my wife is with me.
Listen, I thought the baby had a name. Didn’t we establish that?
Yes. Simon. But it’s not going to be my baby so it isn’t Simon.
Of course it’s Simon. He’s your baby and he’s Simon. They can’t keep him from you just because your wife is indisposed. That’s absurd. It’s criminal. People here make a great show of following rules and regulations but they could really not care less. You’ve just got to speak to them very plainly and show them that you mean business.
The nurse I spoke with made of point of saying they wouldn’t release the baby if my wife wasn’t there.
Of course she did. But that doesn’t mean she won’t give him to you without your wife. If your wife won’t go with you, I will. I know how to handle these people. We’ll tell them I’m your mother. Little Simon’s grandmother. And they’ll hand him right over, mark my words.
I suppose it’s worth trying.
Of course it is! Unless you don’t really want the baby. Is that why you’re prevaricating?
I’m not prevaricating! I want the baby. Simon. I’ve done everything I could possibly do to get him.
Then you shall have him. Of course that’s a horrible way to put it—no one ever has a child. Most of the misery in the world comes from people thinking that they do, that they own their children when all they’re doing is taking care of them until they can take ownership of themselves. And some children do it very early on—I’ve known six-year-olds that are completely self-possessed and autonomous. But I’m sure Simon needs some looking after. So we will go and get him tomorrow.
Thank you, said the man.
There’s no need to thank me. It’s an adventure. I love adventures and they don’t come along very often. I can’t remember the last time I had an adventure . . . oh, wait: I can, but I shan’t tell you about it because it ended somewhat disastrously through no fault of my own, but nevertheless it wasn’t a particularly happy adventure. And I’m sure our adventure tomorrow will be very happy.
Maybe this isn’t a good idea, the man said.
You’ll never manage to get poor little Simon out of there by yourself.
Perhaps you’re right, said the man.
Of course I’m right! There can be no doubt about it. Now you must go to bed. You look exhausted. Have you had your supper?
No, said the man.
Well, you must eat something. Lárus, bring our friend here some of your delicious scrambled eggs. And fry some of those little potatoes along with them. I must return to the piano. Some of us must sing for our suppers.
Livia Pinheiro-Rima drank the schnapps that was left in her glass and slid off her stool. She reached out and touched the man’s cheek, cupped it with her hand for a moment, and looked into his eyes. Then she bent down and kissed him, tenderly, on his lips.
Don’t worry, she told him. Everything will be fine.
Someone had taped a piece of cardboard over the hole in the door, which of course didn’t protect him at all—anyone could easily rip it off and reach inside and open the door, as he had done. He supposed he should ask for another room with a properly locking door, but he realized he did not care very much about this.
He unlocked the door and entered the room. He decided not to turn any of the lights on, for he did not want to see the room. He