Javier Cercas - The Tenant and The Motive

At twelve noon the next day, Casares turned up at Álvaro’s apartment. They sat down on the sofa in the dining room. Álvaro asked him if he’d like something to drink; Casares politely declined. To assuage the tension his neighbour had written all over his face, Álvaro spoke of the happy proximity of the summer holidays. Casares practically interrupted him, no longer hiding his embarrassment.

‘It’d be best if we got straight to the point. I’m going to be frank with you.’ Álvaro said to himself that, although he still addressed the couple with the formal usted, they had both now definitively adopted the friendlier tú. The fact did not make him feel uncomfortable. ‘If I’ve resorted to this it’s only because I find myself in a bind and because I think I can trust you. The truth is I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t inspire confidence.’

Casares looked him frankly in the eye. Álvaro cleared his throat, prepared to offer all of his attention.

Enrique Casares explained that his company had begun a process of downsizing. This restructuring of the workforce affected him directly: they were now processing his redundancy. As he would have read in the papers, the workers had gone on strike, the union had broken off talks with the company and the ministry. For the majority of workers affected by these measures, the situation was hopeless. His own case, however, was different. Casares outlined the details that made his situation special. He said he wondered whether it might be possible to appeal against his dismissal with some chance of success and that, to avoid getting lost in a jungle of unfamiliar laws and decrees, he was going to need the help of a lawyer.

He added, ‘Of course, I’ll pay whatever it costs.’

Álvaro remained silent in his armchair, without the slightest gesture of assent or refusal. His visitor seemed relieved of a terrible burden. He said that he’d now gladly accept the beer Álvaro had offered earlier. Álvaro went to the kitchen, opened two beers, which they drank together. More relaxed, Casares said he couldn’t exaggerate the importance of the matter, since his salary from the factory was his family’s only source of sustenance. He begged him not to mention the matter to anyone: he’d been keeping it secret so as not to worry his wife unnecessarily. Álvaro promised he’d investigate the case thoroughly and assured him he’d communicate any concrete result as soon as he had one. They said goodbye.

For some time, the writing of the novel was put on hold. Álvaro spared no effort in studying Enrique Casares’ case. He obtained all the relevant information, examined it carefully, studied it, revised it several times, checked the case against other analogous ones. He arrived at the conclusion that, in effect, it would be possible to appeal against the redundancy, with a virtual guarantee of success. In the worst case, the severance pay the company should be obliged to provide if the dismissal was carried out was almost double the paltry sum his neighbour had been offered.

Once the situation was clarified, he reflected cautiously. He considered two options:

a) If he appealed the dismissal it was very likely Casares would manage to keep his job or, at least, that the damage would be far less — on the hypothesis that the company might choose to resort to a paragraph of the law which stated that they had no obligation to readmit a dismissed employee to his post. In this case — Álvaro continued — I will have won Casares’ gratitude, but I will also have lost time and money, since I have no intention of sinking so low as to charge him a fee.

b) If he allowed events to take their natural course, without intervening in them, he would still gain his neighbour’s friendship and appreciation, given that he would understand and respect all the disinterested attention Álvaro had devoted to his problem. Besides, Álvaro wouldn’t charge him a cent for all the time generously spent on it. On the other hand, it was certain that the loss of his job — their only source of sustenance — would have repercussions on the couple’s relationship, which might deteriorate in such a way as to make possible that he, Álvaro, might be able to expect to hear, from his surveillance post by the ventilation window, the vicissitudes of that process of deterioration, which he’d undoubtedly be able to use in his novel. This would facilitate his work enormously as he would enjoy the possibility, so long nurtured, of obtaining from the couple the material he needed to proceed with and conclude his work.

He arranged to see Casares. He explained the steps he’d taken, his investigations at the ministry and the union, illustrated the situation with analogous examples, clarified various juridical details, added data the factory had supplied. Finally, he invented interviews and lied coldly.

He concluded, ‘I don’t think there’s the slightest chance they’ll accept the appeal.’

The expression on Enrique Casares’ face had passed from expectation to despair. He loosened his tie, knotted his hands together, rested his elbows on his knees; his breathing sounded laboured. After a silence during which Casares’ eyes stung, Álvaro offered him all his support and, although theirs was only a recent acquaintance, all his friendship at such a difficult time. He told him he must, now more than ever, keep calm, that a man’s measure is revealed on occasions like this, that no good would come from losing hope. He also assured him that everything in life had a solution.

Casares looked out the dining-room window. A pigeon landed on the sill. Álvaro noticed that his neighbour was stunned. Casares stood up and walked to the door, apologizing for all the trouble he’d caused and thanking him for all that he’d taken. Álvaro modestly brushed aside his words and said don’t mention it, that’s what friends are for. By the door, he rested a friendly hand on his shoulder and reiterated his support. Casares left with his head hanging.

Álvaro immediately took a chair, a little table and a microphone into the bathroom. He set up the microphone on the table, where there was also a notebook and pen. He sat in the chair. Whenever he began a listening session, the building swarmed with indistinct noises: his ear had to adjust to that murmuring to be able to distinguish between them. Now he clearly heard the voices of the couple next door. He was explaining the situation to her: he said he now had no solution, they’d just have to accept it. At one point, the roar of a cistern interrupted the dialogue. Álvaro stopped the tape and swore. When silence was restored he turned the tape recorder back on and heard the woman reassuring the man, comforting him affectionately. She said, ‘Everything in life has a solution.’ He mumbled that Álvaro had tried to comfort him with the very same words. The woman asked what Álvaro had to do with all this. He confessed that he’d consulted their neighbour because he knew he was a lawyer, and begged him for help. The woman didn’t reproach him; she said that Álvaro inspired her confidence. The man praised his generosity, the sincere interest that he’d shown in his case, all the trouble he’d taken. Besides, he hadn’t charged him a single cent for all the work. From the next flat came a blast of music: the spotty-faced journalist was listening to Bruce Springsteen at full volume.

Álvaro didn’t get annoyed. For the moment he was satisfied. He thought he’d be able to take full advantage of the dialogue he’d just recorded for his novel. With a few details modified, others improved, the conversation could sound extraordinarily energetic and lifelike, with its eloquent silences, pauses and hesitations. Spurred by his initial success, he considered the possibility of installing a permanent recording device in the bathroom to pick up the conversations from the neighbouring apartment, especially since, starting from next week, they would also talk to each other during the hours when he was absent.