The Two Hotel Francforts: A Novel Read Free

gratitude—to him, and also to Iris, who had just done me the great favor of taking Julia off my hands for a while. For the past weeks had been arduous, and Julia—well, the kindest thing to say would be that she had done little to make them less so. Just getting her to eat was an effort. At home she never ate much, and now she was eating virtually nothing. Nor did she care for our room at the Francfort, though it was paradise compared with some of the places we had slept during our trip: squalid hotels, barns, one night on the floor of a rural French post office, several nights in the car. I don’t want to suggest that Julia was incapable of coping with adversity. On the contrary, I have nodoubt but that, had the journey been one she was keen to be making, she would have gladly put up with all manner of discomfort. But the journey was not one she was keen to be making, and so each bed, each dinner, each toilet was an ordeal.
    “Do you think they’ll have lunch?” I asked Edward. “Our wives, I mean?” I was hoping that Iris might succeed where I had failed, get Julia to eat a square meal for once and, in so doing, buy me a few more hours of freedom.
    “I can’t see why not,” Edward said. He took my arm, as if I really was a blind man. “Now, I don’t know how familiar you are with the city—”
    “Not very.”
    “Then I’ll play tour guide for a bit. The neighborhood we’re in is Baixa. The neighborhood in the hills ahead of us is the Bairro Alto. The neighborhood in the hills behind us is the Alfama. That’s where the castle is. White peacocks roam the grounds. Now we’re crossing the Rossio. The Rossio isn’t its official name, of course. Its official name is Praça Dom something-or-other. That big statue way up there on the pedestal, that’s Dom something-or-other himself. Oh, and here’s an interesting bit of local color. Can you make out the paving stones? They’re laid in a pattern of waves. The effect is supposed to be nautical, suggesting Portugal’s dominion over the seas. Well, in the last century, when the English expats colonized Lisbon, they called the Rossio ‘Rolling Motion Square,’ because when they crossed it after a night of drinking they got seasick. Careful!”
    I had nearly fallen; would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me.
    “You seem to know the city so well,” I said. “Have you been here before?”
    “My first time. I got in seventy-two hours ago. Which makes me an old Lisbon hand.”
    “An older hand than I am after a week.” Again I tripped, landing against his side.
    “You can’t see anything, can you?”
    “Oh, I can see the outlines of things. Colors, shapes. Over there’s a big yellow worm. And next to it’s a bouncing ball. And tops spinning.”
    “The worm is a tram. The ball is a dog. The tops are children.” He tightened his grip on my arm. “Now that I think about it, I wonder if it wouldn’t be in my best interest to make sure you
don’t
get your other glasses.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because without them, you’re my prisoner. You’re completely in my power.”
    He punched me lightly on the biceps. I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “I don’t know … I suppose it’s just how strange the world looks.”
    “And how does it look?”
    “As if a wind’s blowing everything. Even the solid things. The writing on the signs—it’s like skywriting that’s starting to break apart.”
    “And me? How do I look?”
    “Oh, you I can see just fine. I’m nearsighted, not farsighted.”
    “Yes, but how?”
    Suddenly he stopped me in my tracks. He took me by the chin and turned me to face him. Close up, his features came into a focus that was all the sharper for the vagueness of the background. A zigzag scar ran the length of his chin. The nose flared, the small green eyes blinked once … twice …
    “You look,” I said, “—well, fine.”
    Apparently this answer was more droll than I had intended, for he laughed