Antonio Tabucchi - Requiem - A Hallucination

V

YOUR PINEAPPLE SUMOL , the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art said in a bored voice, placing the glass on my table. The garden’s lovely, I said, just to say something, it’s beautifully cool even on a hot day like today, it was a good idea to open a café here, the museum really needed one, in my day there wasn’t anything. Right, the Barman said in the same bored tone, we serve alcoholic drinks and everything, but unfortunately the customers drink nothing but Sumol and lemonade. I need a Sumol to help my digestion, I said, I had a rather heavy lunch today, it still hasn’t gone down. Alcohol’s the best thing for that, said the Barman, it’s alcohol that aids digestion, you’re a foreigner you should know that. Why should a foreigner know about that? I asked. Because abroad they know everything, he said implacably, the problem in this country is that people don’t know anything, they’re ignorant, they don’t travel enough. Would you like to sit down? I asked, offering him a chair. The Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art looked around. All right, he said, seeing as no one’s here I can rest my legs a bit, I’ve been on my feet since this morning. He sat down, crossed his legs and took out a cigarette. And what about you, have you travelled a lot? I asked him, picking up the conversation again. I lived in France, he replied, I worked there for a long time, I lived really well in Paris, but last year I decided to come back and now here I am serving lemonades, I should be working in one of those posh bars in Cascais, the sort of bars where the English and the French go to drink, but I couldn’t get a job there, it’s almost impossible to get a job in Cascais and Estoril, and I’ll tell you something else, there are guys working as barmen there who can’t tell a Bourbon from a Macieira brandy, it’s pathetic. Don’t you like serving people lemonade? I asked. Well, he said, the thing is I’m a barman by profession, I mean a real barman, the sort who mixes cocktails and long drinks, I’m wasted here, I used to work at Harry’s Bar in Paris, perhaps you know it. No, I don’t, I said. It’s in Rue Daunau, he said, near the Opera, if you’re ever passing, pop in and ask for Daniel, you can mention my name, he’s the best barman in the world, he taught me everything I know, he’s getting on a bit now but he’s still the best, just order an “Alexander” and you’ll see what I mean. The Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and sighed. Quite a change as you can see, he said, now here I am serving nothing but lemonade, do you know, in Harry’s Bar we had a hundred and sixty different types of whisky, do you see what I mean? Harry’s Bar is like the quartier général of all the English and Americans living in Paris, people who really know how to drink, not like the Portuguese who just drink fruit juice. Rather shamefacedly I finished my Sumol and said: I don’t agree, I think the Portuguese can drink with the best of them. Wine maybe, said the Barman, as far as wine’s concerned you’re quite right, I wouldn’t disagree with you there, but you see they drink almost nothing else. They drink grappa , I said, they don’t hold back when it comes to that. I know, said the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art resignedly, but they don’t like cocktails, they haven’t a clue about them. So why did you come back? I said, you could have stayed in Paris. I had to, he sighed again, my mother-in-law got ill, she had a stroke, she was living on her own in Benfica and my wife wanted to take care of her, besides, my wife never really liked France, she missed things like chouriço sausage and sardines, my wife’s terribly Portuguese, poor woman, but she’s a good sort, so what else could I do, and here I am serving people lemonade. The Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art looked at my empty glass and winked at me. Have you digested your meal now? he asked. Yes, I think so, I said, Sumol is wonderful for the digestion, especially pineapple Sumol . Then perhaps I can recommend you one of my own concoctions, said the Barman, it’s a cocktail I invented when I came to work here, you won’t believe who drank it here yesterday, go on, have a guess. I’ve no idea, I said, not an inkling. You really don’t know who was here yesterday? asked the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art, disappointed, it was even in the newspapers, 0 Públicos colour supplement gave it a big photo spread, I’m in one of the photos. I didn’t buy the morning papers, I said, I’m sorry, I only bought A Bola. A Bola ! he exclaimed scornfully, you should buy 0 Público , it’s more like a French newspaper. I know, I said, but unfortunately I only bought A Bola . Oh well, said the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art, but look, try and guess. Guess what, I asked. Guess who was here yesterday, he said. I don’t know, I said, I haven’t a clue. The President of the Republic! exclaimed the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art proudly, the President of the Republic was here in person, he came with a foreign guest who’s on an official visit to Portugal, the prime minister of some Asian country, and they came to visit the museum. The Barman slapped me on the back as if we were old friends. Well, he said, I’m not one to boast, but what do you think he said to me? he said: Good afternoon, Senhor Manuel, can you imagine, he called me by my name, Senhor Manuel. They have a very efficient information service, I said, and before making any visit, they find out about things like that, they know everything. No, that’s not what happened at all, sir, objected the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art, not at all, the fact is that the President of the Republic was once in Harry’s Bar, years ago now, when he was in exile in Paris, and he simply remembered my name, he’s got a remarkable memory, our president. Really extraordinary, I said, but then that’s a fundamental quality in a good politician, a memory like an elephant. The Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art went on: he said, how are you, Senhor Manuel? don’t you think that’s amazing? I do, I said, and how did you respond? I shook him by the hand, the Barman said, and I mixed him a good cocktail, because I know he likes a drink, he’s a remarkable man, our President, but he likes his food, he enjoys eating and drinking, and so I mixed him a really good drink, the very drink I was recommending to you, wouldn’t you like to try it, now that your stomach’s settled down a bit? I might, I said, what is it? Look, he said, it isn’t exactly a cocktail and it isn’t exactly a long drink, let’s just say it’s something in between, it’s a drink I invented, it’s called “Janelas Verdes’ Dream”, after the street the museum’s in. Very appropriate, I said, but what’s it made of? Look, my friend, said the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art confidentially, I don’t usually reveal the ingredients of any of my creations, they’re a professional secret, but you’re a foreigner and so I’ll tell you, it’s three parts vodka to one part lemon juice plus a spoonful of crème de menthe, you put all the ingredients in a shaker with three ice cubes, shake it hard until your arm aches and remove the ice before serving, the vodka and the lemon juice blend perfectly and the crème de menthe gives both the smell and the green colour you need for the name, do you get it? verde as in Janelas Verdes, the colour’s absolutely essential. All right, I said, I will try a “Janelas Verdes’ Dream”, you’ve convinced me. An excellent choice, exclaimed the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art, I’ll tell you something else, the lemon juice quenches your thirst, the alcohol gives you energy, which you need on a hot day like today, and the peppermint refreshes your insides, an excellent choice. He jumped up and went over to the bar. I looked at the clock and realised it was getting late, I wouldn’t have time to see my painting. The Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art returned with my “Janelas Verdes’ Dream” and placed the glass on the table with a look of triumph. I raised the glass to my lips and thought that, however ghastly it turned out to be, I couldn’t back down, I had to show I was a man, but it wasn’t ghastly at all, in fact I smacked my lips and said: It’s really good. The Barman sat down again and said: It is, isn’t it? It is, I said, it really is. And then I went on: Look, my friend, could you do me a favour? do you know the museum guards? Every one of them, he said unhesitatingly, they’re all friends of mine. Well, look, I said, my problem is this, I came here to see a painting, but I’ve only just realised that the museum’s about to close, I really need to see this painting, but ten minutes won’t be enough, I need at least an hour, could you ask the guard who’s in charge of that room if I could stay on for an hour? I can try, said the Barman at the Museum of Ancient Art with a conspiratorial look, the staff don’t leave until an hour after closing time anyway, because of the cleaners, you might be able to stay on for a while. Then he lowered his voice, as if what he was asking were a secret: Which painting is it? The Temptation of St Anthony , I said. Haven’t you ever seen it? he asked. Dozens of times, I said. Then why do you want to see it again, if you’ve already seen it? he asked. It’s just a whim, I said, let’s just call it a whim. That’s fine, he said, I understand all about whims, anything to do with whims or alcohol, I’m your man. I asked: Do you think a tip would help to persuade the attendant? No, I think that might be a bit out of order, he said.