A Perfect Waiter by Alain Claude Sulzer Page B

help him for old time’s sake, each after his own fashion. Erneste would play the role he’d always played: that of the scout and trail-blazer. His task was to jog an old man’s memory and extract some money from him. His task was to plead Jakob’s case with the celebrated Julius Klinger, whom he scarcely knew and who would not, of course, remember him because in those days, like Erneste himself, the great author had had eyes for Jakob alone. Klinger was a globe-trotter who had changed continents as often as other men change their shirts. He had stayed at so many hotels and known so many prominent people, he certainly wouldn’t remember a waiter he’d last seen thirty years ago.
    Why hadn’t Jakob written to Klinger himself? Why did he need a go-between? Was he too embarrassed to solicit Klinger’s help direct? Was he afraid of being rejected, and if so why? Klinger possessed a telephone. A world-famous, sought-after man like him must have a telephone, so why hadn’t Jakob simply called him? The celebrated author’s number was in the book, Erneste had already checked. It was easy enough to find, but Jakob evidently hadn’t called him. Was Klinger refusing to speak with him? Had he dropped Jakob the way Jakob dropped other people? Long engrossed in thoughts of Jakob, Erneste still hadn’t opened the letter. There was no avoiding it.

    Erneste was awaiting the arrival of his cousin Julie. She was the only person he could have discussed Jakob’s letters with, the only person who could have advised him—not that he would ask her to. That was unthinkable. The understanding that prevailed between them was based on discretion. Her interest in his personal affairs was only slight.
    Julie was coming on her own. She had paid an annual visit to Switzerland for the past twenty years, and for the past twenty years her husband the toy manufacturer had stayed behind in Paris. Their children had already left home. On the pretext of taking the waters for her arthritis, she ostensibly paid an annual visit to Zurzach, where she had actually been only once in order to bone up on the local scenery and the spa facilities. This was in case she was questioned about the place at home, although her husband, who probably didn’t even know what the waters at Zurzach were good for, was as uninterested in the scenery there as he was in his wife’s state of health. Meanwhile, Julie had for years checked into a small hotel not far from Erneste’s apartment, there to meet with her longtime English lover. Her unwitting husband allowed her to go without ever smelling a rat. She hardly ever mentioned him to Erneste.
    When Julie and Erneste wanted to talk in private they did so at Erneste’s apartment or at a café in the town center. Sunday being Erneste’s only day off, their meetings were few and far between, but although they saw each other so seldom, the intimacy between them remainedintact no matter how long it was since their last meeting. Julie discussed things with Erneste she couldn’t have mentioned at home, even to her best woman friend, whereas Erneste’s affairs were never touched on by either of them. Erneste was content with the role of listener and, since Julie talked a lot, that role had assumed growing importance as the years went by.
    Erneste was fond of his garrulous cousin because he could trust her without having to confide in her. Being one who lived a lie, she took no exception to his own way of life, perhaps because her own was not entirely irreproachable. She condoned his proclivity by simply ignoring it.
    Julie never tired of discussing the clandestine aspects of her life and all its resulting complications, whereas Erneste contented himself with her obvious endeavor to tolerate his true existence by disregarding it. That was her contribution. It seemed unnecessary to him to broach the subject itself. In any case, there had been nothing to tell since