Status Updates From Polonezul

She can imagine all too well what a week in Brazil in the company of the Pole would be like. In particular she can imagine what it would be like if they slept together. She would have to pretend to be in ecstasies and he would have to pretend to believe her.

Why her? What happened, during the evening they spent over dinner . . ., that made him think, ‘This is my destiny! This is a woman on whom I must spend my last love?’

Something to do with touch. She recalls the touch of his hand in the taxi on the evening they met; she recalls the touch of his lips to her cheek when he greeted her in Girona.

Of course it is about sex. Why else do you think he has invited you to Brazil? To sit by his side and turn the pages of his piano score?

. . . a weaver of elegant sonic fabrics?

They have grown apart, she and her husband. They were students together; he was her first love. In those early days they had a great passion for each other, insatiable. That passion persisted even after the birth of the children. Then one day it was no longer there. He had had enough. She too. Nonetheless she remained a faithful wife.

If one can conceive of virtue as a quantity, then the greater part of the Pole’s virtue is spent on his music, leaving hardly any behind for his dealings with the world; whereas Beatriz’s virtue is expended evenly in all directions.

Now she must take her place. What will it entail, entertaining a man on a fleeting visit to a strange city? Surely, at his age, he will not expect sex. But he will certainly expect to be flattered, even flirted with. Flirting is not an art she had ever cared to master. Margarita is different. Margarita has a little touch with men.

1. The woman is the first to give him trouble, followed soon afterwards by the man.