Fine. I now had permission to call her. Only I didn't know her number. I would have to
find out using body language.
I went back to making complicated signs and gestures. Formulating the question wasn't
easy, but she knew perfectly well what I needed to know. Naturally, as women will, she
wanted to have a little fun with me.
She stretched the game out as long as possible. And, at last, she pretended to understand
what had doubtless been clear from the beginning.
Using her forefinger, she drew hieroglyphs in the air. I realized she was drawing the
numbers as she would read them, and that I would have to "decode" what I saw as if seeing
them in a mirror. Thus I obtained the seven numbers that would put me in touch with my
good-looking neighbor from across the way.
I was pleased as punch. I plugged in the phone and dialed. At the first ring, someone
answered:
"Helloooowww!!" a deep male voice thundered in my ear.
Surprised, I hesitated.
"Who's there?" added the booming voice, with a touch of anger and impatience.
"Uh . . . " I mumbled, intimidated. "Is this 771 . . . ?
"Stronger, señor!" he interrupted, unbearably. "I can't hear nothing, señor! Who d'you
want to talk to, señor?"
He said "stronger" instead of "louder," he said "I can't hear nothing" instead of "I can't
hear anything" ; he said señor in the tone you use to call someone an idiot. Terrified, I
stammered:
"Uh . . . With the girl . . ."
"What girl, señor? What girl are you talking about, señor?" The thundrous voice now
carried a note of menace.
How do you explain something to someone who doesn't want to understand?
"Uh . . . With the girl on the balcony." My voice was a tiny sliver of glass.
But this didn't move him. On the contrary, he became more enraged:
"Don't bother us, señor, please! We're working folks, señor!"
An irate click ended the conversation. For a minute there I was speechless. I looked at the
telephone and began cursing it between clenched teeth.