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"
My
appointment
was
for
eleven
,
"
says
Salim
with
a
placating
smile
.
"
Mister
Blanding
knows
you
’
re
here
,
"
she
tells
him
,
reprovingly
.
Bidter
Bladdig
dode
you
’
re
here
.
Salim
picks
up
an
old
copy
of
the
New
York
Post
from
the
table
.
He
speaks
English
better
than
he
reads
it
,
and
he
puzzles
his
way
through
the
stories
like
a
man
doing
a
crossword
puzzle
.
He
waits
,
a
plump
young
man
with
the
eyes
of
a
hurt
puppy
,
glancing
from
his
watch
to
his
newspaper
to
the
clock
on
the
wall
.
At
twelve
thirty
several
men
come
out
from
the
inner
office
.
They
talk
loudly
,
jabbering
away
to
each
other
in
American
.
One
of
them
,
a
big
,
paunchy
man
,
has
a
cigar
,
unlit
,
in
his
mouth
.
He
glances
at
Salim
as
he
comes
out
.
He
tells
the
woman
behind
the
desk
to
try
the
juice
of
a
lemon
,
and
zinc
,
as
his
sister
swears
by
zinc
,
and
vitamin
C
.
She
promises
him
that
she
will
,
and
gives
him
several
envelopes
.
He
pockets
them
and
then
he
,
and
the
other
men
,
go
out
into
the
hall
.
The
sound
of
their
laughter
disappears
down
the
stairwell
.
It
is
one
o
’
clock
.
The
woman
behind
the
desk
opens
a
drawer
and
takes
out
a
brown
paper
bag
,
from
which
she
removes
several
sandwiches
,
an
apple
,
and
a
Milky
Way
.
She
also
takes
out
a
small
plastic
bottle
of
freshly
squeezed
orange
juice
.
"
Excuse
me
,
"
says
Salim
,
"
but
can
you
perhaps
call
Mister
Blanding
and
tell
him
that
I
am
still
waiting
?
"
She
looks
up
at
him
as
if
surprised
to
see
that
he
is
still
there
,
as
if
they
have
not
been
sitting
five
feet
apart
for
two
and
a
half
hours
.
"
He
’
s
at
lunch
,
"
she
says
.
He
’
d
ad
dudge
.
Salim
knows
,
knows
deep
down
in
his
gut
,
that
Blanding
was
the
man
with
the
unlit
cigar
.
"
When
will
he
be
back
?
"
She
shrugs
,
takes
a
bite
of
her
sandwich
.
"
He
’
s
busy
with
appointments
for
the
rest
of
the
day
,
"
she
says
.
He
’
d
biddy
wid
abboidmeds
for
the
red
ob
the
day
.
"
Will
he
see
me
,
then
,
when
he
comes
back
?
"
asks
Salim
.
