Again I did not know what to say. I thought: "There seems to be no escape, this man obviously knows what he's doing. It would be best just to own up, to apologize for having phoned so late and invent some excuse." The previous night seemed to me now remote and confused, although I did clearly remember (for they had not gone away) my feelings of desire for Natalia Manur.
"Yes, you're right. I asked for your number because I'd forgotten to tell Natalia something about the performance tonight (which I hope, by the way, you too will be able to attend). Then, when the phone was already ringing, I realized how late it was, which is why I hung up. I'm terribly sorry if I disturbed you, I didn't mean to."
But Manur appeared to have heard only part of my explanation. At every pause, he smiled a minimal, mechanical smile, the same smile with which he had been so prodigal when I was observing him on the train, where he had sat in complete silence, staring straight ahead.
"No," he said, and spread his thick lips into a slightly wider smile, "you hung up afterwards, when you heard my voice." And as if everything else I had said was irrelevant to the conversation, he went on: "Look, it doesn't bother me in the least that my wife should make friends, on the contrary. I'm a busy man and I can't devote all the time to her that I would like, so it seems perfectly normal to me that she should have fun with other people, people like you, for example, an opera singer. However, what I cannot allow is for those other people to demand from her any more than that In a word, if I see (as I have seen already to be happening with you) that one of those people is beginning to show an excessive or irregular interest in my wife, then I do not hesitate to intervene in order to dissuade that person from continuing. I try, moreover, to do so before any real complications arise, and before the person in question becomes too stubborn or is likely to get hurt, do you understand? That is why I am here now."
I was so surprised that, for a few seconds, I wasn't sure whether it was a bad joke or one of those moments of resounding ingenuousness so often indulged in by northern Europeans, with their incorrigible taste for frankness.
"And what makes you think that I have, as you put it, an excessive and irregular interest in your wife? This all seems somewhat disproportionate to me."
"It's quite simple," said Manur, and with his hand he checked that his green silk tie (which matched his fedora and the paler green of his shirt) was quite straight: he wasn't wearing a tiepin. "It may seem disproportionate to you, but I know that it isn't. Last night, for the first time, you did something anomalous: you phoned at a very late hour and then hung up when you heard my voice. Just one anomalous action is enough for me to see what will happen next Besides, there was a second anomaly: you had a prostitute sent up to your room, doubtless intending to vent your unease and frustration on her. These two actions of yours last night are intimately linked, and (although it's quite likely that you yourself may not yet have realized it)" — Manur was a pedant—"together they indicate an excessive and irregular interest in my wife. If you haven't realized it yourself, then I am here to put you straight. I know the whole process well and your response is absolutely standard. Believe me, I would prefer to put a stop to it in its initial phases."
I did not blush this time. I thought: "I could deny that link, I could pretend to be insulted and tell him he's mad, but I've got time to do that later; I can also hear what else he has to say."
"You've been extraordinarily quick and efficient in your investigations, Señor Manur. Who told you all this? Cespedes?" — I was pleased that the name came so immediately to mind: in order to instill respect, it is vital to remember the names of both people and things. "Or does Dato keep an eye on me at night as well as during the day?"
"Dato knows nothing about this. I deal personally with any matters affecting my marriage. But I have not yet finished my exposition of the facts. There is a third anomaly: you did not actually avail yourself of the services of that prostitute, did you?"
This Belgian banker knows everything, I thought in some alarm: about my language and about what I did last night. He had even spoken to the prostitute Claudina. But when? Prostitutes tend not to be early risers. Perhaps her next appointment had been with Manur himself. Or would the prostitute have told Cespedes and then Cespedes told Manur? Why would the Argentinian prostitute have let the cat out of the bag like that? Not, of course, that she owed me any loyalty. Besides— and, as I said, this is something I have been thinking about a lot this morning — I had not exactly been very nice to her and had not treated her well. I felt like laughing.
"It seems absurd to me that we should be talking about such things, Señor Manur."
"It would indeed be absurd if, before these things happened, you had not telephoned my room. But you did not avail yourself of that prostitute's services," — Manur repeated this rather formal phrase somewhat hesitantly, as if he had only recently learned it and wanted to try it out—"and I cannot help but interpret this as confirmation of everything I have been saying to you regarding your interest in my wife. We have reached a point when I feel obliged to tell you not to see her again. We will all go to your first night tonight, we will congratulate you after the performance (we will even have a drink afterwards to toast you), but tomorrow you will not meet. In a few days' time, you can bid each other a polite farewell, and she will thank you for your kindness. That shouldn't be so very difficult, since neither you nor we will be spending many more days in Madrid, and I very much hope you will not come to Brussels. I would be most put out."
"Listen, Manur, aren't you getting things out of proportion?"
"Perhaps. But I am allowed to get things out of proportion."
I remained silent for a moment, a moment that Manur deployed to smooth down with one hand his non-existent hair, to finish his second cup of coffee and to pour himself a third, this time from my coffee pot. A slave to coffee. I, on the other hand, had still not drunk mine. I picked up the glass of orange juice (not freshly squeezed) which was on the tray intended for me and held it in one hand without actually raising it to my lips.
"Do you always make Natalia's decisions for her? I imagine she will have her own views on the matter."
"Let's not play games, Mr. Opera Singer," said Manur, and it bothered me that he should address me like that "At this stage of your friendship with my wife, you must know that our marriage is based on some very unusual conditions. Well, you should know that these conditions, however unfair, are always met, as they will be now."
"Most marriages are run like that, at least in theory."
"Not exactly. It is not the case in most marriages that one of the spouses has," — he paused for a split second—"bought the other, acquired them. My wife belongs to me in the strictest sense of the word 'belong', and that means that what you call her 'views' have only a very relative value."
"Bought? What do you mean?"
For the first time in the conversation, Manur appeared not to have anticipated how I might respond. He raised his eyebrows, a gesture of surprise common to nearly every country I have visited (it seems to be an international gesture).
"Hasn't she told you?"
"She's never spoken to me about you."
"Really?" Manur, I thought, was capable of being quite theatrical. "I don't know whether I should be pleased or worried by that little bit of information. You see, you are not the first man with whom I have had to have such a conversation, you may well not be the last, although my wife is not as young as she was. But the others (believe it or not, there have been quite a few already) were rather better informed. To be honest, I don't quite know what to make of your ignorance. Don't tell me my wife hasn't told you about our marriage! Don't tell me she hasn't complained to you!" — Manur had made an instant recovery from his surprise and now seemed mildly amused. He again straightened his green tie with his hand. He drank more coffee. A tiny drop fell on his tie, but he didn't notice.