In the morning he put music on a CD player he had imported from the United States and he carried in a tray with freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee and toast. He wore a white dressing gown. We sat up in bed like a married couple and had our breakfast. I knew that he knew that somehow it had not worked; there was a gap between us that would never be filled. We had enjoyed ourselves and we had fallen asleep together without any problem, but there was something wrong, I don’t know what it was. The knowledge we shared made the morning easier. Neither of us was insecure, neither of us was full of hope that things would work out, watching for signs of serious attraction. We relaxed and laughed, we put the tray on the ground and made love again in an awkward, almost half-hearted way, and then we slept for a while. When we woke, we talked until it was time for me to go. I had a shower in the pristine bathroom and borrowed a clean pair of socks, leaving my old ones in the laundry basket, which was neatly placed in the alcove outside the bathroom.

I walked through the city. It was almost noon. There was no one in the streets. I felt a strange happiness, the sort I often felt after a day when I had worked hard and written a report, or organized something. I did not feel any urgent need to see Charles again, as we had both quietly acknowledged before I left the apartment, but I knew that I would see him again, and it was possible that he would become an ally in the future. I had enjoyed waking in the morning beside him, with nothing furtive in the air, no strain. I began to imagine what it would be like to wake beside someone you loved, or someone whose body you could not keep your hands off, to spend all morning in bed, and then wash and dress and have the day together, basking in the afterglow of what had happened in the night.

AS SOON AS I went in the door of my own apartment that Sunday morning I rang Pablo. I told myself on the way up the stairs that if I rang now he would answer. I did not pray now, or it wasn’t really prayer, but I used the words: I asked God to let Pablo answer the phone if I rang the number. I got a drink of water and pulled a chair up and sat down beside the phone. I picked up the receiver and dialed. The man who answered simply said “Sí” in a brusque tone. I could not tell who it was.

“Hola. ¿Puedo hablar con Pablo, por favor?” I tried to sound as businesslike as I could.

“¿Quién es, por favor?” Still, I could not tell who it was.

“Amigo suyo,” I said.