The Tenant and The Motive Read Free Page B

undoubtedly be interested in the study she was attempting to carry out and would certainly hasten to offer her his support. She declared again that the following day she would speak to Berkowickz. If things went as she expected (she’d been told Berkowickz was a kind, hard-working and enthusiastic man), perhaps he might offer to supervise her thesis. She was sure Mario wouldn’t mind letting him take over.
    â€˜Besides,’ she concluded, half-closing her eyes and feigning an expression she meant to appear mischievous or dreamy, ‘just imagine: it always looks good having a guy like that direct your thesis.’
    Mario was disconcerted. He didn’t know why he still hadn’t told Ginger that Berkowickz had just rented an apartment in the building where he lived, nor could he understand how Ginger could humiliate him like that, taking it as a given that he, seemingly incompetent, wouldn’t mind giving up the supervision of her thesis, however insignificant or merely nominal a position it might be, in favour of Berkowickz, whose intellectual worth was seemingly beyond doubt. And what surprised him even more – although here the surprise was perhaps only an instinctive form of defence – was not having recognised the title of the article Ginger had mentioned. For the rest, he found it impossible to associate Berkowickz’sname with anything vaguely related to phonological investigation. But what really had Mario stunned was the aplomb with which he was accepting the situation: not a single gesture of objection, nor of impatience, nor of nervousness. It was like when he realised he was dreaming while still dreaming: everything lacked importance except the certainty that nothing could affect him and that at any moment he would wake up and the dream would have vanished into thin air, without leaving the slightest trace.
    After a while Mario realised Ginger had been talking away without his paying any attention, absorbed in the task of crafting smoke rings. Feeling rather tired, Mario supposed she’d been talking about Berkowickz, about her thesis, about herself, maybe about him. He tried to change the subject by asking about mutual friends, about Ginger’s parents, whom she’d visited for a few days, about news from the department. Then the conversation lagged again. They paid and left.
    On the sidewalk, in front of the restaurant, Mario noticed his ankle was hurting.
    â€˜I’ve got some things to do right now,’ he said. ‘But what do you think about coming over this evening for a drink?’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ Ginger apologised, perhaps insincerely. ‘I promised Brenda we’d go see a movie.’
    Brenda was Ginger’s room-mate; to soften the blow of the rebuff, Mario asked after her. Ginger told him she’d just come back from California, where she’d spent two weeks.
    â€˜You could see a movie some other time,’ Mario suggested without much conviction. Then he lied. ‘I have to talk to you about something.’
    â€˜Some other time,’ said Ginger. ‘I can’t today.’
    â€˜OK,’ Mario gave in. ‘See you tomorrow.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Ginger agreed vaguely, and as Mario walked towards his car she added, raising her voice slightly, ‘Take care of that ankle, Mario. Sometimes life gets complicated by the silliest little things.’
    Mario thought: Everything repeats itself.

V
    Instead of going home he drove towards the hospital. He parked on an expanse of asphalt surrounded by grass, and was about to enter the building through the main door when he noticed someone waving to him. He changed direction and approached the car window out of which a young woman with bulging eyes had just been waving her hand.
    â€˜Sorry,’ said the young woman when Mario was a few feet away. ‘I thought you were someone else.’
    Mario thought: How strange.
    He went into the hospital. At the end of a