Santiago Gamboa - Necropolis

I said goodbye to Kaplan and headed for the elevators. Twelfth floor. I crept to the door of Room 1209 but could not hear a thing, nor could I see if there was a light on inside. Apart from Walter, the second likeliest guest, in my opinion, was the black man, Jefferson. As I stood there, I saw a hotel employee coming with a tray, delivering room service; I looked at him out of the corner of my eye and saw that he was carrying a chicken sandwich and a Diet Coke. I thought he might stop at 1209, but he walked right past.

I decided to go back down to my floor, the eleventh, and take another look at the ex-pastor’s room. Again, the door was open! I pushed it cautiously, stood in the entrance, but could not see anyone. Suddenly, I heard a moan. On the other side of the bed, a young woman in the hotel uniform was writhing on the carpet, with her legs apart. A man, also in uniform, had his head under her skirt. Seeing me standing there, the young woman froze. When the man’s head emerged, I recognized Momo, who said: I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry, as you can imagine, working in a place full of beds it really makes you want to. . The young woman leaped to her feet and ran out the door. Then Momo said: you have to understand, these beds just seem to be saying, sex, sex. . Her name is Mel and she’s my girlfriend. We usually meet in 2918, which is a suite, but Mel is studying cinema and sociology and wanted to see the place where that man killed himself, are you going to report me? Don’t talk nonsense, Momo, the only thing I might feel is envy, what’s her job here? She works in the snack bar on the third floor, she’s Brazilian but her family is from Belarus, these Russian women, my God, they’re stunning, and with this war all around it gives you a hard-on all the time, I’m really sorry, sir, it’s not my fault.

The room was in perfect condition, ready to receive new guests. The cleaners had done their work well. Momo said that a police team had come that morning and taken everything away, even the dust and the water in the vase. We’re used to it, these things happen quite often, was that telephone number I gave you any use to you? Yes, I called Tel Aviv and got hold of an address. I was thinking to go tomorrow. Momo snapped his fingers and said, if you like I can take you, it’s my day off and I always go to Tel Aviv. I thanked him. We agreed that he would pick me up outside the main entrance of the King David at eight in the morning.

Back in my room, I grabbed my notes again, but it was hot, so I opened the window and breathed the night air. It was very cool, even the noises of war seemed distant. Marta had left a bunch of newspapers on the table, which she must have picked up from reception. The international news agencies had reported Maturana’s suicide and a few papers had picked it up before they went to press. I looked at the headlines: Suicide at the ICBM, or Death Hovers over Conference; one of the more sensationalistic was Death Gatecrashes the Feast of Life. The most succinct was in a French-language newspaper: Death of a Biographer. The item mentioned that the marks found on the body “would seem to indicate suicide.” I was looking at this when I heard a conversation coming from the terrace of the floor below. Somebody was saying: what bad luck to give my talk after Maturana’s suicide, and how ironic, after I’d e-mailed and telephoned the organizers and managed to have the program changed so that I could go before Sabina Vedovelli, it’s like a bad joke, pour me a little more of that. The voice was Supervielle’s. Then I heard Kosztolányi say, don’t be so negative, people were really pleased and interested to hear your story, you told it really well and it’ll stay lodged in their brains, I assure you. Maturana’s story may have been loud and attention-grabbing, and made even more so by his subsequent suicide, but yours was a slow burner, you’ll see, very soon everyone will be praising the sober manner in which you conveyed the narrative, the vividness of the metaphors you chose, the convincing way in which you handled time, with a highly original mise en abîme that cracks open and leads to an equally original anagnorisis or recognition, my God, yes, Edgar, and if one adds the stenographic accuracy of the dialogue, your discretion in dealing with burning issues, and your firm control of the emotional content, I don’t know what else to tell you, I don’t think you should have the slightest worry about the result, it was impeccable, don’t you see that?

Thanks, Leonidas, replied Supervielle, you’re a friend and what you say is some consolation, although you might be exaggerating a little, I don’t know, do you really think he came to hear me? did you see him at the talk? There was a silence. Perhaps Kosztolányi made a gesture asking, who are you talking about, who was supposed to be there? because Supervielle replied, who do you think? the head of Tiberias! Ebenezer Lottmann! Did you see him? My agent sent him two of my books a couple of weeks ago and he’s considering them, didn’t I tell you that? Kosztolányi said: oh, well, there’s no need to worry about that, he was there, and I’ll tell you this, he was taking notes and he had a rectangular object in his hand that might have been. . I don’t know, a Palm, a cell phone or even a miniature tape recorder, yes, something like that, I can see it now, and that’s good, isn’t it? it means he was interested, he wasn’t only there as a member of the audience but as part of his job, and guess what, now that I rack my brains, I can remember there was one moment he spoke into the machine, yes, there’s no doubt about it, it was his cell phone, putting two and two together we may assume he was calling his office, he might have been saying, find those books by Edgar Miret Supervielle, check if there’s a chapter about two chess players named Osloski and Flø, put them on my table, take them out of the pile and give them a place apart, and he might even, my dear friend, have been giving instructions to draw up a draft contract to send to your agent, perhaps this very day, now that would be tremendous news, wouldn’t it?

Supervielle must have been soothed by his friend’s words, because he interrupted, saying, do you think he used the telephone for that? wait, I’m very nervous, if that were the case it’s possible that my agent has already received something, mother of God, let’s find out immediately. Then I heard him on the telephone, saying, Supervielle here, now listen to me carefully, Ethan, did you receive anything from Tiberias this afternoon? no? how strange, I have reason to believe that Lottmann is thinking of making an offer at any moment, whatever you do keep your eye on the fax machine, and for the love of God, check to see if that damned piece of junk has paper and is connected!!! Make sure you don’t miss any calls, Ethan, I wouldn’t ask it if it wasn’t VERY important, what did you say? yes, of course the war is still on, but who the hell cares about that now?? keep an eye on the machine, sit by it till that damned contract arrives! Am I making myself clear?

He hung up and said to Kosztolányi, there’s no offer yet, at least according to my agent, who of course is an idiot, why must we always be in the hands of idiots? May God forgive me, Ethan is the son of a friend, but the poor man never gets things right, I must change agents as soon as I get back to Paris, phew, there’s no offer so far, that means if he called his office from the hall it wasn’t because of that, a false alarm, don’t you think? what if he called the publishing house to say exactly the opposite, to tell his assistant, put everything in an envelope and return to sender?

Anything’s possible, said Kosztolányi, but if that was the case your agent would already know, why send back manuscripts if he can write an e-mail? you can never tell with somebody whispering on the phone, he might even have been calling his wife, Edgar, or his young mistress, I don’t know, a female writer of the new generation anxious for recognition, why not? it often happens, he might have been calling to say, listen, darling, I know I promised I’d be there at seven but I’m listening to one of the best talks I’ve ever heard in my life, please wait for me, ask room service for whatever you like, clear out the minibar, but wait for me, don’t you think it could have been something like that?