ship’s cabin on a cruise to the Canary Islands organized by the Barcelona Confectioners’ Association — an idealized image of a woman, with her youth frozen in time and embalmed in a corner of his memories. All to no avail. His premonitions of impending disaster proved too powerful for him, and he and his penis were left looking at each other. The little creature retired in humiliation, and he thought to himself: ‘Save it for another day, brother.’
Now it was time to confront another bald-headed figure— himself, this time, viewed in the bathroom mirror as his hands automatically sought the wig perched on top of a polyurethane head near by. He put it on and combed it down at the sides. Then he brushed his teeth, and noticed that he had spat out blood with the water. Was he getting cancer? Cancer was waiting round the corner. As he walked to his office he tried to decide on the best phone call to make — the most prudent, but also the one most guaranteed to produce results. A call which would not necessitate further phone calls, but which would also not irritate the beast in question. He wasn’t going to wake it at that time of the morning, however, and he sat at his desk, with his hands in his dressing-gown pocket, watching the phone to make sure it didn’t run away. When half past eight sounded on the Swiss cuckoo clock that he had acquired on a trip to buy Gruyère cheese and to visit his Geneva suppliers and the world in general, he dialled a number from memory, decisively, and even as he dialled it he felt the strength draining out of his fingers.
‘Is that you, Germán? I’m sorry for calling at this time of the morning, but I had to talk with you. It looks like your friends have lost patience with me. You know what I’m talking about. We need to talk.’
‘Very well. Now.’
Now. An abrupt ‘now’ which sent a shudder through his arms, his shoulders, and his entire frame. If Germán said now, then now it would have to be. He shuffled across the floor to his wardrobe. He chose the blue suit with white stripes, and a silk tie which his daughter had brought back from a trip to Italy after she had finished her course at the Hostess School. He went to the kitchen and prepared himself a ham sandwich, and a cup of milky coffee, because you think better with food inside you. He fetched his car from the parking lot and drove the four blocks that separated him from the flat of Germán Dosrius, the lawyer — as it happened,
his
lawyer. When this business was finally sorted out, he planned to issue him with an ultimatum. Whose side are youreally acting on? But when he came face to face with him, on a balcony terrace overlooking Turo Park, ushered in by a half-asleep servant, what came from his lips was not an ultimatum but solicitous comments regarding the welfare of the plants which Dosrius was watering.
‘I water them every morning. I know it’s not the best time of day for watering, but I never know how the rest of my day is going to turn out, and anyway it gives me time to plan my day. When do you plan your day?’
‘In the morning, the same as you. In the toilet, in fact.’
‘A good place to do it. Very intimate. Shall we take breakfast together?’
‘I’ll just have a little coffee; I’ve already had a sandwich.’
And as he was about to drink his coffee, Dosrius broke off from buttering his toast to ask: ‘So what’s this all about?’
‘That’s exactly what I want to know. What’s this all about, Dosrius? Don’t play around with me like this. We’ve been friends all our lives, Dosrius. Somebody has sabotaged a lift in one of my warehouses … It’s obvious that it was deliberate …’
‘It doesn’t take much for a lift to break down.’
‘Well what about the warehouse fire in the sweet factory, eh?’
‘You’re insured, aren’t you? I’ll sort out the paperwork.’
‘Look, Dosrius, you talk with whoever you need to talk to, and just tell them to be patient. This is
Now it was time to confront another bald-headed figure— himself, this time, viewed in the bathroom mirror as his hands automatically sought the wig perched on top of a polyurethane head near by. He put it on and combed it down at the sides. Then he brushed his teeth, and noticed that he had spat out blood with the water. Was he getting cancer? Cancer was waiting round the corner. As he walked to his office he tried to decide on the best phone call to make — the most prudent, but also the one most guaranteed to produce results. A call which would not necessitate further phone calls, but which would also not irritate the beast in question. He wasn’t going to wake it at that time of the morning, however, and he sat at his desk, with his hands in his dressing-gown pocket, watching the phone to make sure it didn’t run away. When half past eight sounded on the Swiss cuckoo clock that he had acquired on a trip to buy Gruyère cheese and to visit his Geneva suppliers and the world in general, he dialled a number from memory, decisively, and even as he dialled it he felt the strength draining out of his fingers.
‘Is that you, Germán? I’m sorry for calling at this time of the morning, but I had to talk with you. It looks like your friends have lost patience with me. You know what I’m talking about. We need to talk.’
‘Very well. Now.’
Now. An abrupt ‘now’ which sent a shudder through his arms, his shoulders, and his entire frame. If Germán said now, then now it would have to be. He shuffled across the floor to his wardrobe. He chose the blue suit with white stripes, and a silk tie which his daughter had brought back from a trip to Italy after she had finished her course at the Hostess School. He went to the kitchen and prepared himself a ham sandwich, and a cup of milky coffee, because you think better with food inside you. He fetched his car from the parking lot and drove the four blocks that separated him from the flat of Germán Dosrius, the lawyer — as it happened,
his
lawyer. When this business was finally sorted out, he planned to issue him with an ultimatum. Whose side are youreally acting on? But when he came face to face with him, on a balcony terrace overlooking Turo Park, ushered in by a half-asleep servant, what came from his lips was not an ultimatum but solicitous comments regarding the welfare of the plants which Dosrius was watering.
‘I water them every morning. I know it’s not the best time of day for watering, but I never know how the rest of my day is going to turn out, and anyway it gives me time to plan my day. When do you plan your day?’
‘In the morning, the same as you. In the toilet, in fact.’
‘A good place to do it. Very intimate. Shall we take breakfast together?’
‘I’ll just have a little coffee; I’ve already had a sandwich.’
And as he was about to drink his coffee, Dosrius broke off from buttering his toast to ask: ‘So what’s this all about?’
‘That’s exactly what I want to know. What’s this all about, Dosrius? Don’t play around with me like this. We’ve been friends all our lives, Dosrius. Somebody has sabotaged a lift in one of my warehouses … It’s obvious that it was deliberate …’
‘It doesn’t take much for a lift to break down.’
‘Well what about the warehouse fire in the sweet factory, eh?’
‘You’re insured, aren’t you? I’ll sort out the paperwork.’
‘Look, Dosrius, you talk with whoever you need to talk to, and just tell them to be patient. This is
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