Still the Same Man (9 page)

“He has a telephone?” repeated the woman.

“I just told you he does, are you deaf?” responded her husband, not looking at her, and his eyes locked on Joanes. “And now I’d like to know why he won’t let us use it, what critical motive is preventing him from lending it to us.”

“I’ll say it again—my phone is out of battery.”

“You know as well as I do that’s not true.”

The professor’s wife heaved herself across the sheets toward Joanes.

“Please . . . I have to know how my son is.”

Joanes backed off, as if afraid of her touch.

“Please, I’m begging you. I have to know if he’s OK!”

The professor held his stony expression.

Joanes threw up his hands, trying to appease the situation.

“I need the phone,” he said, categorically.

“You need it,” said the professor.

“That’s right.”

“For what, may I ask?”

“I’m expecting a call.”

“From your family?”

“An important call.”

“Even though the system’s overloaded.”

“That’s right,” repeated Joanes, now less certain.

“Which is to say that your phone is still in working order. Perhaps because it’s a satellite phone?”

Joanes didn’t answer.

“What does that mean?” asked the woman, unnerved by the silence that followed. “What was that about the phone?”

“What it means,” explained the professor, “is that with this kind of phone, it makes no difference if the network’s overloaded. What it means is that the phone is perfectly usable.”

The professor’s wife immediately redoubled her pleading.

“There’s hardly any battery left at all,” said Joanes, remaining firm. “Just enough for one call. And I need it.”

The woman seemed not to have heard him. She begged, her face bathed in tears.

“Why is this call so important?” the professor demanded to know.

His calm tone was somehow far more unsettling than his wife’s supplications.

“Why haven’t you made the call already?”

“It’s not a call I have to make. It’s one I’m waiting for,” Joanes explained. “A professional matter.”

“Would you care to elaborate?” asked the professor. “I believe the situation calls for an explanation.”

“All you need to know is that it’s an important call for my business. If it weren’t the case, I’d have already lent you the phone, I assure you.”

“But . . . my child!” implored the professor’s wife.

“I’m sorry,” said Joanes. “Maybe your husband will be able to get ahold of another phone. There are several people in the hotel that—”

“This professional call,” interrupted the professor, “it’s more important than a person’s life?”

“Forgive me, but, from what I’ve heard, your son’s life does not depend on you calling him. He’ll live or he’ll die, phone call or no.”

On hearing this, the professor’s wife buried her face in the pillow, and her entire body collapsed into great, sobbing heaves.

The professor was unmoved. Staring at Joanes, he said, “You cannot imagine what I can achieve with a simple phone call.”

Joanes took a deep breath, looked at his hands, and dried his palms on his pants. He contemplated the tiled floor for a second and said, “In that case, I’m very pleased for you. All you have to do is get ahold of a phone, and all your problems will be solved. But it won’t be mine.”

He got back down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall, and sat glaring into a corner of the room.

The professor looked at him in disgust and turned his attention to his wife. He rubbed her back and whispered soothing words—quite unconvincingly—in her ear. After a while she drew her face away from the pillow and muttered something. The professor put his face right up against hers in order to make out what she was saying. Then he said, “Of course,” and his wife buried her head back in the pillow.

The professor got to his feet and addressed Joanes.

“My wife would like to be alone for a moment, if you would be so kind. Given that you cannot lend us the telephone, perhaps the least you could do is grant us this small request. We’d like to have a moment alone.”

Joanes grabbed his backpack and reluctantly got to his feet.

Some candles stuck in jars were the only form of lighting in the living room. The hotel owner had a prime position among the many people in the room—a massage chair right in front of the television. Neither, however, was working. He spent a while fiddling with the dial on the portable radio, hoping to find a station without interference, but he gave up and switched it off.

“Saves the battery,” he said.

The living room was packed. As well as the people sitting on chairs and sofas, there were dozens of others on the floor. Joanes was among them. They’d provided seat cushions to make them more comfortable, but the room was boiling, and the cushions seemed to make it even hotter. There were two babies in a little playpen. At least one of them needed a change of diaper. A huge, sourfaced woman, who was in charge of the hotel storeroom, appeared carrying bottles of water whose seals were broken and took away the empty ones. Several of the Mexican guests were nibbling on strips of jerky. Another had a guitar in his arms; he didn’t play a single note, just held it against himself tightly. Various conversations were going on at once, and Joanes only joined in when someone addressed him directly.

It was already completely dark out, and raining. Every now and then the conversations fell quiet, and then you could hear the wind. It didn’t seem to Joanes to be blowing especially hard. He’d felt stronger gales. This one wasn’t making him feel particularly vulnerable. It wasn’t really clear why they were all there, cooped up in that hotel. He had to close his eyes and do some breathing exercises to suppress the urge to go outside, get into the car, and disappear.

Another silence, longer than the previous ones, made him open his eyes. The professor was standing by the door, looking at the scene before him with a look of revulsion on his face. He made a sign to Joanes.

“May we speak a minute?”

Joanes got up and walked out, all eyes in the room on him.

He followed the professor to the lobby. They were alone. The space was being used as a storage area for all the chairs and tables that had been out in the yard earlier. The professor took two chairs and placed them next to each other. He signaled at Joanes to take a seat.

“I think you and I ought to talk things through a bit more calmly.”

Joanes sat down.

“I went too far,” began the professor, also taking a seat. “I shouldn’t have asked you for the phone in front of my wife. It was tactless, and I’m genuinely sorry. But I’m sure you understand that both my wife and I are under serious pressure. I apologize. We’re all human, right?”

He smiled at Joanes as he said this. Then he wiped his palms along his pant legs and tried to straighten out the creases, which were considerably faded from the day’s wear.

“How’s your wife?” asked Joanes.

“I gave her a sedative, and she’s sleeping a little.”

“I’ve tried to get ahold of a telephone for you, but the owner of the hotel swears the network’s overloaded. He has personally offered to lend you his phone later, once communications are back up. He promised me.”

The professor took a deep breath and slowly let the air out.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

After a pause, the professor said, “You were a student of mine.”

“That’s right.”

“Could you remind me when?”

Joanes reminded him, and the professor wrinkled his brow trying to remember.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember you. A good number of you passed through those classrooms. I hope I didn’t make things too hard for you. I know that neither I nor my course had a very good reputation among the students.”

“I didn’t have any trouble passing. In fact, I was crazy about Numerical Analysis,” said Joanes with a sheepish smile.

“You liked it? A lot? Well . . . it’s not often you hear that. Where do you work now?”

“I run my own business. Air conditioning units.”

The professor frowned.

“Air conditioning.”

“That’s right.”

“What’s your business called?”

Joanes told the professor, who shook his head.

“I’m not familiar with it.”

Joanes gave him a few more details, like the brands he used as his suppliers and the names of a few big clients—health care centers, banks, and supermarket chains, most of them from back when he’d shared the running of the business with his friend.

“Sounds like things are going remarkably well,” said the professor. “I’m really pleased for you.”

“Can’t complain.”

“I’ve never worked for myself. I imagine it must be very gratifying. Above all when business is booming.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Would you say you’re satisfied?”

There was a pause before Joanes replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t catch your drift.”

“Satisfied with your professional life. With the decisions you’ve made.”

“Of course I am. Very satisfied. I make my own decisions.”

“That’s important to you.”

Joanes gave a firm nod and added, “A lot of people would like to be in my position.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment. Especially since things are going so well.”

Joanes nodded again.

The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the lenses with his shirttail. Then, as if he were merely thinking out loud, he said, “Before, in the room, I was under the impression that you were in some sort of trouble. That is, professional trouble. Something about your insistence on keeping the phone.”

“I’m waiting for an important call.”

“Yes, that much was made perfectly clear. But when you said that it was important, I imagined it was something crucial.”

“Precisely.”

“But now you’re telling me you’re the owner of your own business, so I suppose this ‘crucial’ refers to the fact that the future of the business depends, to a great extent, on this phone call.”

Joanes didn’t say a word.

“And yet, you’ve just told me that your business is thriving.”

“I’m waiting for a call from an important client. But my business doesn’t depend on it.”

“I see. But it is sufficiently important a call for you not to lend me your phone for even a minute.”

“I’m afraid so. I have my reasons for not giving it to you.”

“I don’t doubt your reasons. I understand that in circumstances such as these, having access to some means of communication is essential. For example, to be able to get ahold of your family. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck in this place. It’s perfectly understandable that you should want to keep the phone for yourself, and only for yourself. Anyone in your shoes would do the same.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Joanes responded, although he didn’t sound convinced.

“That’s why it was wrong of me to ask you for it the way I did. In front of my wife. To submit you to that, let’s say, emotional strain. Because my wife isn’t able to rationalize the situation as I have just done, traumatized as she is just now. She wouldn’t understand your reasons.”

The professor pulled his chair in closer toward Joanes. Lowering his voice, with a complicit smile, he said, “But now, with no one around to hear us, I’m asking you again for your telephone.”

To underscore his words, he pointed to the backpack, which Joanes hadn’t once let out of his sight.

“We’ll keep the whole thing between me and you,” he went on. “Between two practical people. I’ll try to be as brief as possible. And as for what I’m able to find out, if it’s good news, I’ll share it with my wife. But if it’s not such good news . . . well, I’ll keep it to myself, for now. We’re not exactly in the most appropriate place for her to find out that . . . well, you understand me, right?”

“I can see you’ve thought of everything.”

“I try. I understand that if your phone runs out on you, it could be inconvenient for the reasons we’ve discussed, but you can get ahold of one in this hotel easily. And most likely tomorrow the weather will have improved a bit, and we’ll all be able to get out of here. Try to understand, I can’t just sit here and give up hope of finding out what’s happened to my son. I have to try right now. I’m asking you to put yourself in my place and imagine if it were your son who—”

“I can imagine it perfectly well,” interrupted Joanes. “But it’s out of the question. As I’ve already told you—”

“You have your reasons.”

“That’s right.”

The professor let out a sigh and rested his elbows on his knees. He stayed there for a moment or two. Joanes knew he was planning his next assault and kept quiet, preparing himself for whatever might be thrown at him.

When he straightened up again, the professor’s smile was one of resignation.

“I suppose I can’t influence your decision with a little incentive.”

“You’re talking about money? You want to pay me?”

“I know it’s uncouth, but yes.”

“No,” Joanes replied steadfastly. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

“That’s what I thought. And what I imagined, too, coming from someone of your integrity, and a former student of mine, at that. That’s why I’m begging you, for my son and for my wife. You know me, so you know I wouldn’t normally ask in such a way.”

Barely audibly, Joanes responded, “I’m so sorry, but the answer is still the same.”

The professor nodded and sat back in his chair.

“I understand,” he said, “and I hope you understand that I had to try.”

“Of course I understand. I’m very sorry for the situation you’re both in.”

The two men were silent for a moment. The conversations in the nearby bedrooms and living room were muffled by the wind, which was whipping against the hotel door, making it clatter against its frame. Joanes felt calmer now that they’d cleared things up. He was pleased with the way he’d handled the situation and thought that, despite the painfulness of the situation, the professor, too, felt better. Joanes hadn’t let his emotions get the better of him. He’d remained true to the pragmatism that the professor so valued and had tried hard to inculcate in his students. Joanes had given him reason to be proud of him.

“I have to be honest with you,” said the professor, interrupting Joanes’s train of thought. “The truth is that I do remember you. I remember perfectly well.”

There was a pause, then he went on.

“I remember that you came to see me at my home. It was a Saturday, in the morning. The weather was bad, but we sat out on the balcony. You were about to start working for Robot Systems, a business that was going strong in those days. I was very pleased that one of my students should have gotten a position like that at such a young age. I found out later that there’d been some kind of problem. It was a shame. I was pretty sorry about it. I ought to apologize for lying before about not remembering you. But I thought that by admitting to remembering you and our meeting and what happened afterward, I would bring back bad memories for you. But now you tell me things are going excellently, so I have no reason to worry.”

Joanes listened in disbelief. The professor went on speaking.

“I’ve been retired for several years, but a few companies still request my services as a consultant. By which I mean that I’ve held on to my contacts. And I was thinking that, even though your business is doing splendidly, a bit of extra help never does any harm. I could talk to some of those contacts. Several of them owe me serious favors. I could put in a good word for your business, make a few calls. Of course, not right now, but later on, once the dust has settled. What do you say?”

Joanes couldn’t reply. He was too busy processing what he’d just heard, trying to reconcile what the professor had just told him with his own memories and the fantasies he’d developed over the years. The professor took his silence as an invitation to go on speaking.

“You might also be interested in trying your hand at something new. Before, in the room, I noticed you were particularly interested in what we were discussing. You’ve clearly kept your finger on the pulse and not limited yourself to your own specific area of business. You presented some ideas back there that, even if I don’t exactly agree with them, were undoubtedly interesting. You tick all the right boxes for succeeding at a new challenge. Something more meaningful than an air conditioning business, and, please don’t take offence, better looked upon by your colleagues. Something akin to the role you would have had at Robot Systems, if things hadn’t worked out the way they did.”

The professor spoke slowly, lending weight to his words and ensuring that Joanes was absolutely clear about what he was offering. Joanes stayed glued to his seat, his hands resting limply on his thighs.

“I can offer you that, too. The chance to start again, if you wish. In return, you already know what I’m asking—something very simple, so simple we can resolve it right here, in an instant.”

A loud clatter, like something collapsing, startled the congregation in the living room. A few of them leapt to their feet to see what had happened. The rest, delighted that something had finally livened up the tedious evening, followed them.

The chairs that had been stacked in piles were now strewn across the lobby floor, and in among them sat the professor, checking to see if his glasses were broken. His lip was bleeding. Joanes was watching him with his arms hanging limply at his sides. The Mexican guests formed a circle around them both. The hotel owner, slowed by his limp, cleared a way through the crowd to get to Joanes. He assessed the scene and then turned to the professor, who was struggling to get to his feet.

“What happened?”

Joanes, his eyes fixed on the professor, didn’t answer. The professor rejected the help of two Mexican men who were trying to get him to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“Did you punch him?” the hotel owner asked Joanes.

It was the professor who answered.

“Nothing’s happened. I simply tripped and fell against the chairs. A clumsy accident.”

The hotel owner looked at him incredulously.

“Is that what happened?” he asked Joanes.

Joanes didn’t answer.

Several people in the crowd had begun to whisper, and the hotel owner silenced them with an authoritative gesture.

“Don’t you have anything to say, sir?”