Alongside Night(45)
“Rabinowitz,” Elliot said. “I called earlier about a room.”
In a few moments, a man opened a peephole. “I’m Emmanuel Ferrer. You spoke to my son?”
“No, sir. To Mrs. Ferrer.”
He opened the door and let them in.
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The building’s interior was not luxurious but was well appointed with wood-paneled walls and carpeted floors. Ferrer, a thin-haired man with a small paunch, led them up a twisting staircase to his second-floor apartment; a delicious mixture of cooking odors floated out the door.
Inside his living room, in front of a video wallscreen, were a thin woman about forty, a boy about Elliot’s age, and a girl whom Elliot guessed thirteen. Mrs. Ferrer turned to her son and said, “Turn off the record, Raphael. Company.” Raphael got up and disengaged the videodisc.
“This is my wife, Francesca,” said Ferrer, “my daughter Carla, and—as you heard—my son Raphael. Please sit down.”
Elliot and Lorimer took seats near the couch, where the family was sitting. “Did you have a nice dinner?”
“Very nice,” said Lorimer.
“Good, good. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’m still pretty full.” Elliot shook his head also.
“My wife tells me that you were sent to us by Mr. Chin?”
“That’s correct, sir,” Elliot answered.
“Please forgive me if I sound suspicious but these are terrible times. Could you describe what Mr. Chin looks like to me?”
Elliot considered it a moment, then replied, “Yes, sir, but I don’t think it would be discreet for me to do so.”
Ferrer nodded; Elliot had evaded his trap. “How long were you planning to stay with us?”
“Well, that’s sort of up in the air. We’d be interested in a weekly rate—starting off with one week.”
“You’d want to do your own cooking?”
Elliot looked over to Lorimer. She nodded.
“And I should mention before we get too far along,” Elliot continued, “that all I have to pay with is gold or eurofrancs.”
Mr. Ferrer’s attitude shifted visibly from cautious to respect-148
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ful. “Let me show you the apartment we have available. If you like it, we can discuss price. Raphael, the key to 3A.”
Ferrer led Elliot and Lorimer up another flight, taking them into a front apartment. Elliot decided at first glance that he liked it. Light and airy—as much as any apartment could be at night—it was decorated with Spanish modern furnishings. A good-sized living room with a picture window facing the street, a dinette off a small kitchen, and a bedroom with queen-size bed—full bath adjoining—were all spotlessly clean and carpeted throughout. All appliances, with the exception of a tenyear-old Sony portable television, were fairly new; the kitchen was fully equipped with cooking gear, utensils, and dishes. Elliot caught Lorimer’s eyes, receiving nonverbal confirmation that she liked the apartment as much as he did, and he asked Ferrer how much he had in mind.
“The price on this apartment is three grams of gold a week, or thirty eurofrancs.”
Elliot nodded.
“Come downstairs again while my daughter brings up towels and makes up the bed.”
“She doesn’t have to go to all that trouble. I can take it up.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” said Ferrer. “It’s how she earns her allowance.”
After they had returned downstairs, Ferrer directed Carla to her preparations, Elliot then paying him thirty eurofrancs cash. Mrs. Ferrer wrote out a receipt for one week’s rent, a fabricated price in New Dollars written in.
“Is there anyone around here who sells ration books?” Elliot asked. “Or a grocery store not too fussy about regulations?”
“We have a food cooperative here that doesn’t bother with such nonsense,” said Ferrer. “If you like, we can have groceries delivered while you’re here. I’ll give you the order form.”
They chatted about nothing in particular until Carla returned, then Mrs. Ferrer mentioned to her husband that it was Alongside Night
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ten thirty. “Yes,” said Mr. Ferrer, rising, “early Mass tomorrow.”
“Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Rabinowitz would like to join us?”
chimed in Raphael. His sister directed a dirty look at him. Elliot was pondering Lorimer’s religious orientation—his own was militant solipsism—when Lorimer saved him by cutting in, “Thank you, but we’re Jewish.”
“Would you eat breakfast with us?” Mrs. Ferrer asked.
“There is nothing to eat in your refrigerator and there are no food deliveries until Monday.”