voice.
“Whatever there is,” the woman answered.
They took a room that looked onto the street, on the third floor. The desk clerk apologized that there was no elevator and offered to carry up the suitcases.
“No suitcases. We lost them,” said the woman.
The clerk smiled. He was a good man. He watched them disappear up the stairs and didn’t think badly of them.
They went into the room and neither of them made a move to turn on the light. The woman placed her purse on a chair and went to the window. She pushed aside the transparent curtains and looked down for a while, into the street. Occasional cars passed, unhurried. In the wall of the house opposite, lighted windows told the domestic tales of little worlds, happy or sad—ordinary. She turned, 92
took off her shawl, and put it on a table. The man waited, standing, in the middle of the room. He was wondering if he should sit on the bed, or maybe say something about the place, for example that it wasn’t bad. The woman saw him there, with his overcoat on, and he seemed to her alone and timeless, like a movie hero. She went over, unbuttoned his coat, and slipping it off his shoulders let it fall to the floor. They were so close. They looked into each other’s eyes, and it was the second time, in their lives.
Then he slowly leaned over her because he had decided to kiss her on the lips. She didn’t move and in a low voice said, “Don’t be silly.” The man stopped, and he stood like that, leaning slightly forward, in his heart the precise sensation that everything was ending. But the woman slowly raised her arms, and taking a step forward embraced him, first gently, then hugging him to her with irresistible force, until her head rested on his shoulder and her whole body pressed against his. The man’s eyes were open. He saw before him the lighted window. He felt the body of the woman who was holding him, and her hands, 93
light, in his hair. He closed his eyes. He took the woman in his arms. And with all his old man’s strength he hugged her to him.
When she began to undress she said, smiling:
“Don’t expect much.”
When he was lying on her, he said, smiling:
“You are very beautiful.”
From a room nearby came the sound of a radio, just perceptible. Lying on his back, in the big bed, completely naked, the man stared at the ceiling, wondering if it was weariness that made his head spin, or the wine. Beside him the woman was still, her eyes closed, turned toward him, her head on the pillow. They held each other by the hand. The man would have liked to hear her speak again, but he knew there was nothing more to say, and that any words would be ridiculous at that moment. So he was silent, letting sleep confuse his ideas, and bring back to him the dim memory of what had happened that evening.
The night outside was illegible, and the time in which it 94
was vanishing was without measure. He thought that he should be grateful to the woman, because she had led him there by the hand, step by step, like a mother with a child.
She had done it wisely, and without haste. Now what remained to be done would not be difficult.
He held her hand, in his, and she returned his clasp. He would have liked to turn and look at her but then what he did was let go of her hand and roll onto his side, giving her his back. It seemed to him that it was what she was expecting from him. Something like a gesture that left her free to think, and in a certain way gave her some solitude in which to decide the final move. He felt that sleep was about to carry him off. It occurred to him that he didn’t like being naked because they would find him like that and everyone would look at him. But he didn’t dare tell the woman. So he turned his head toward her, not enough to see her, and said:
“I’d like you to know that my name is Pedro Cantos.”
The woman repeated it slowly.
“Pedro Cantos.”
95
The man said:
“Yes.”
Then he laid his head on the pillow again
“Whatever there is,” the woman answered.
They took a room that looked onto the street, on the third floor. The desk clerk apologized that there was no elevator and offered to carry up the suitcases.
“No suitcases. We lost them,” said the woman.
The clerk smiled. He was a good man. He watched them disappear up the stairs and didn’t think badly of them.
They went into the room and neither of them made a move to turn on the light. The woman placed her purse on a chair and went to the window. She pushed aside the transparent curtains and looked down for a while, into the street. Occasional cars passed, unhurried. In the wall of the house opposite, lighted windows told the domestic tales of little worlds, happy or sad—ordinary. She turned, 92
took off her shawl, and put it on a table. The man waited, standing, in the middle of the room. He was wondering if he should sit on the bed, or maybe say something about the place, for example that it wasn’t bad. The woman saw him there, with his overcoat on, and he seemed to her alone and timeless, like a movie hero. She went over, unbuttoned his coat, and slipping it off his shoulders let it fall to the floor. They were so close. They looked into each other’s eyes, and it was the second time, in their lives.
Then he slowly leaned over her because he had decided to kiss her on the lips. She didn’t move and in a low voice said, “Don’t be silly.” The man stopped, and he stood like that, leaning slightly forward, in his heart the precise sensation that everything was ending. But the woman slowly raised her arms, and taking a step forward embraced him, first gently, then hugging him to her with irresistible force, until her head rested on his shoulder and her whole body pressed against his. The man’s eyes were open. He saw before him the lighted window. He felt the body of the woman who was holding him, and her hands, 93
light, in his hair. He closed his eyes. He took the woman in his arms. And with all his old man’s strength he hugged her to him.
When she began to undress she said, smiling:
“Don’t expect much.”
When he was lying on her, he said, smiling:
“You are very beautiful.”
From a room nearby came the sound of a radio, just perceptible. Lying on his back, in the big bed, completely naked, the man stared at the ceiling, wondering if it was weariness that made his head spin, or the wine. Beside him the woman was still, her eyes closed, turned toward him, her head on the pillow. They held each other by the hand. The man would have liked to hear her speak again, but he knew there was nothing more to say, and that any words would be ridiculous at that moment. So he was silent, letting sleep confuse his ideas, and bring back to him the dim memory of what had happened that evening.
The night outside was illegible, and the time in which it 94
was vanishing was without measure. He thought that he should be grateful to the woman, because she had led him there by the hand, step by step, like a mother with a child.
She had done it wisely, and without haste. Now what remained to be done would not be difficult.
He held her hand, in his, and she returned his clasp. He would have liked to turn and look at her but then what he did was let go of her hand and roll onto his side, giving her his back. It seemed to him that it was what she was expecting from him. Something like a gesture that left her free to think, and in a certain way gave her some solitude in which to decide the final move. He felt that sleep was about to carry him off. It occurred to him that he didn’t like being naked because they would find him like that and everyone would look at him. But he didn’t dare tell the woman. So he turned his head toward her, not enough to see her, and said:
“I’d like you to know that my name is Pedro Cantos.”
The woman repeated it slowly.
“Pedro Cantos.”
95
The man said:
“Yes.”
Then he laid his head on the pillow again
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