The appearance of Branstyne and Tina, and Swinczyc and his wife Phyllis, interrupted Olalde’s speech. They arrived with cheerful greetings and glasses of wine in their hands. Mario felt a bit dazed; his temples were buzzing slightly. He thought: It’s the wine. Olalde put out his cigarette on a patio stone, threw it into a flowerbed and sat back in the hammock with laboured slowness. As he did so Swinczyc cast Mario a sidelong glance. ‘I bet Professor Olalde has been saying nasty things about us,’ he said with irony but not spite, since Olalde was listening. ‘Or about the department, the university, the country, whatever. I’ve always wondered,’ Swinczyc went on in an almost joyful, almost affectionate tone, ‘why Professor Olalde doesn’t leave this country that treats him so badly once and for all and go back to live in Spain.’
‘Spain’s no place to live,’ said Olalde, very slowly, turning towards them and looking at Swinczyc with his one good eye. ‘Spain’s a place to die.’
There was a silence too long not to be uncomfortable. Other guests wandered into the garden: Wojcik and the young man from India, Deans, Sarah Soughton and her husband, a few graduate students. The group divided into several circles of animated conversation. Tina and Mario talked about their vacations. Then Tina asked, ‘When are you coming over for dinner?’
‘That depends on the chef,’ Mario joked.
‘The chef will outdo herself.’
‘In that case, name the day.’
‘Thursday?’
‘Thursday.’
Mario claimed he needed more wine and went back inside. He looked for Ginger: she wasn’t in the living room or the library. Only then did he notice that Berkowickz hadn’t arrived either.
He went into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror; he barely recognized himself: his skin was pallid, his lips and cheeks gaunt, his chin tense. Although it didn’t reach that far, the echo of the conversations in the garden still hummed in his head. Without meaning to he thought: I’m going to end up like Olalde. He immediately regretted having thought such a thing. He relieved himself, washed his hands, splashed water on his face and wrists, dried off with a towel. When he came out of the bathroom, feeling slightly more at ease, he noticed most of the guests had moved from the garden to the living room. Blatantly absorbing the attention of the most numerous group, who’d gathered round the fireplace, Berkowickz was speaking energetically, explaining something, gesturing. The group exploded in unanimous laughter as Mario approached. When the laughs died down, Berkowickz carried on speaking in a calmer tone. Mario saw Ginger at one side of the circle, beside Branstyne. He smiled affectionately at her and wondered if she’d arrived at the party with Berkowickz. He thought: She looks lovely. The group broke up. Mario noticed that Ginger stayed talking to Berkowickz, Scanlan and Tina. Branstyne, Swinczyc, Wojcik and Deans chatted and laughed by the drinks table.
Mario went back out to the garden; he didn’t see Olalde. While he lit a cigarette he wondered if he’d gone out with the intention of talking to the Spanish professor. He couldn’t answer himself because Branstyne interrupted his thoughts.
‘What’s the matter, man?’ he said in a tone of light-hearted disapproval. ‘You’re not being too sociable.’
‘No,’ Mario admitted, smiling weakly, then added by way of an excuse, indicating the garden with the hand holding the cigarette, ‘I came out to get some air and smoke. The truth is my head aches a bit.’
‘You’re not worrying about the courses.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘No one had to tell me,’ said Branstyne. ‘I only had to sum up and subtract. There’s no two ways about it.’
‘I wasn’t worried until you reminded me that I should be,’ said Mario. ‘I wonder how you’d be in my place.’
As soon as he said it he thought he’d been unfair to Branstyne, who’d undoubtedly not meant to irritate him. As he began to apologize, Scanlan, Ginger and Berkowickz came out to the garden. There were jokes and greetings. Mario reflected: I can’t stop talking, I can’t stop thinking: it’s like a nightmare. Now Berkowickz was talking again slowly, enunciating carefully. Scanlan, Ginger and Branstyne were listening to him wide-eyed. Looking at Ginger, Mario thought he was in love with her. He thought: I’ve always been in love with her. Then he heard: ‘You must know that Mario and I are neighbours.’
Scanlan and Branstyne made comments on the coincidence; Ginger looked at Mario through narrowed eyes. After a moment Branstyne returned to the living room; Scanlan and Berkowickz walked to the back of the garden, where the hammocks were.
Ginger spoke. ‘You didn’t tell me Berkowickz was your neighbour.’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t tell me Berkowickz was your neighbour,’ Ginger repeated.
‘I forgot.’
Ginger spoke again. ‘He’s offered to supervise my thesis.’
‘Who?’
‘Berkowickz.’
‘I’m delighted for you,’ Mario lied, feeling all his bitterness towards Berkowickz, towards Scanlan, towards Ginger, towards Branstyne, towards everything and everyone welling up in his throat. As if trying to free himself of something, he said in a rush, ‘Why don’t we see each other later at my place? I’d like to talk to you on our own.’
‘I can’t,’ Ginger hurried to answer. ‘I still have to prepare tomorrow’s classes.’
Back in the living room, he looked for Joan.
‘Could I use the telephone?’
‘Of course,’ said Joan.
She took him into an interior room. Mario dialled a number and asked for a taxi. Then he went back to the library with Branstyne and Tina.
‘I’m going,’ he said.
‘Do you want us to give you a lift?’ asked Tina.
‘That’s OK,’ Mario said. ‘I’ve already called a taxi.’
‘Tomorrow I’ll come and pick you up before ten,’ said Branstyne. ‘You don’t want to spend your whole salary on taxis.’
‘The way things are going, it wouldn’t be too difficult,’ Mario admitted.
There was a silence.
‘Sorry about what I said earlier,’ Branstyne apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to annoy you.’
‘You didn’t annoy me.’
‘We’ll see you on Thursday,’ said Tina.
‘See you on Thursday,’ repeated Mario.
Joan accompanied him to the door. Before he left, Mario looked for Olalde among the swarm of guests, but didn’t find him. Scanlan’s wife said, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’
Mario didn’t recall having said he’d enjoyed himself.