“Well,” she said, “I’m hungry, come with me to the kitchen.” She held out her hand and I followed her. Once again we found ourselves in a dark corridor, and then a kitchen, with me again in front of a refrigerator. Life had its still points. Arianna talked, as she stuffed a roll with leftover chicken. “Don’t think you can treat me like that, you know,” she said. “Why didn’t you phone? I had to ask Viola myself to invite you to the theater, how is that possible? No, wait,” she said, raising her free hand, “don’t answer. Let’s go to my room. I hate eating in the kitchen, it makes me feel like a cook.”

She led me into a narrow room, the whole length of it taken up with a bookcase filled with books, fashion magazines, records, and a few items of underwear, which she grabbed and put away in a large chest with a shrug. Apart from that, the room was sparsely furnished—a table, cluttered with rulers and set squares and an architecture book covered in a layer of dust, a bed, and on the walls a Klee reproduction and a blown-up photograph of Picasso at his easel. “It was the maid’s room,” she said, “but since Eva got her divorce, we’ve done without a maid.” A door led to a little bathroom. On the doorpost was pinned a small, handwritten note: 8 a.m. wake and bath, 9 a.m. breakfast, 10 a.m. university till 1 p.m., lunch then sleep till 4 p.m. without cheating, 4:30 p.m. (after cheating) read, write letters home, study especially light subjects, 6 p.m. Eva’s store, 8 p.m. freedom, 12 midnight mandatory BED!

“Don’t take that too seriously,” Eva said, sticking her head around the door. “Arianna spends her days writing schedules.”

“Excuse me, what business is it of yours?” Arianna said.

“It is my business,” Eva said, “and it’s best if you come back out. As long as you live in this apartment, you have duties as a hostess.”

“I have to talk with Leo.”

“Leo will understand,” was the answer.

They eyeballed each other, while I felt an acute desire to be somewhere else, because if there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was family scenes. Arianna took her eyes away from Eva’s face, leaving two red marks on it. “Will you pick me up from the concert tomorrow?” she said.

I asked what concert, and she told me. “If you like,” I said.

“What do you mean, If you like?” In her voice was the sound of hailstones. A cold wind blew over me, and I took the opportunity to get the hell out of there.