Jon Bilbao - Still the Same Man

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.