He stood alone with his glass in the dimly lit corridor connecting the candy counter outside and the ballroom inside at the Petit Trianon. A big band was playing dance tunes, and couples clung to each other as they danced with light and elegant movements; in that way they could shrug off the discomforts of the sunlight. All these beautiful women belonged to houses now, not to the streets, as had been the case before and during the war. He’d begun to appreciate what was happening during his adolescence and early manhood. They’d made a lot of money during the war years and wouldn’t stoop now to displaying themselves on the cheap any longer. They’ve disappeared from the square, leaving it vacant, Isa told himself, for people who wanted the job of making a quick profit from political outcasts! One tune made him sway and he longed to dance—something he did fairly well—but where was the beautiful partner? He took a drink of cognac, which he liked in moderation. He felt sheltered and that made him more relaxed. His little cache of money from the umdas would provide him with funds to indulge in some delightful escapades, he told himself. If it weren’t for our morbid feelings about the future, nothing would ever bother us!

He did not enjoy his shelter alone for long. A voice caught him by surprise. “What do you think of the world?” it asked.

The shock made him shudder. He looked along the bending corridor but could not see anyone. The voice belonged to an old drunk, obviously spouting his quota of drivel. But where was he? The voice spoke again. “Do you want to know where I am?” it asked with a laugh. “Fine! I’m behind the tree.”

At the bottom of the bend in the corridor that led to the candy counter was a half-grown tree—natural or artificial—in a huge pot; everything beyond the tree was total darkness, the candy counter having closed at eight in the evening. Isa deduced that the man had been sitting in the corridor and that for some reason he’d decided to move his seat into the dark to play his stupid game. He cursed the man under his breath and ignored him, but the latter began asking questions again without coming out into the dim light. “Have you ever tried drinking in the dark?” he inquired.

Isa said nothing, hoping he’d shut up.

“Drinking in the dark allows you to concentrate,” the man went on. “That’s why I’m thinking about the state of the world. Is it really going to ruin?”

Isa watched the dancing, half attentive, and took pleasure in the faces, breasts, and rosy complexions.