“I know,” he said, “so did you just there, but have you seen Pablo? He’s walking around like he really means business.”

I stood close to Jack and we watched Pablo move up the corridor, walking slowly, his gaze tense and concentrated. I realized that if I had not known him I would have wanted him immediately. He stopped and spoke to us. He smiled and laughed. I wanted to suggest that we get the hell out of here, but I said nothing. I said that I was going to return to the bar. But when I went back there Mart had gone. I ordered a coffee.

Earlier, I had noticed a guy watching me. He had his hair cut really short as if he was doing his military service; he was white-skinned and fleshy. He came to the bar and ordered a coffee. I knew—I remembered the rules—how important it was to say nothing, to remain cool. I had not much time. If any of the others came back, I would have to forget about him. As soon as he sat down, I brushed my leg against his and noticed that he did not recoil. Slowly, he moved his ankle so that it touched my leg. I looked at him again and felt definite stirrings of desire for him. I did not move or make any gesture. I drank my coffee and he drank his. And then I stood up, and looked at him as though I were waiting for him to stand up too and follow me. When I looked back he was already on his feet.

It was so long since I had been with anybody else that I enjoyed this stranger’s body. I felt relieved to be with him, somehow glad that I did not have to worry about his moods or his parents. We did not talk much: once, he asked me if I was well, and I said I was fine. I liked his body, and I liked the idea even more that I needed nothing from him except this, and that Pablo would be waiting for me when I had finished.

Pablo was in the bar with Jack and Mart and a thin boy called Jesús. I could not work out whether Jesús had just been with Mart or Jack. Mart was trying to talk Spanish to Jesús and we were all laughing. Jesús was sporting a soft downy mustache.

“Do you want to go?” I asked Pablo.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s all over.”

“What about Jesús? Does he want to come?”

“All the way to California,” Mart said.

In the dressing room Mart wrote Jesús his phone number on a piece of paper, and Jesús gave Mart his address. He said that he did not have a phone. We showered and put on our clothes, except for Mart, who had to dress without having a shower because he could not get his line wet. We walked back out into the city. Cars were still parading up and down the boulevards, bars and cinemas were still open, and the streets were full of people.