At about nine thirty, some officials began to arrive. They waved at the porter, who was now sitting at his desk drinking a cup of coffee, and passed by. I could feel the American’s rage rising as he announced that he was going to take a walk around the block and would be back in five minutes. His colleague went with him. As soon as they left, the phone rang again, and the porter lifted it and quickly hung up without even putting the receiver to his ear. I walked over and stood in front of him. He managed to pretend that I was not there until I told him that we were waiting for the officials whose names I had given him and we wanted to see them now. If they were not yet in their offices I wanted him to phone them at home, or I wanted the most senior official in the building to be consulted. But I wanted something done now. He looked at me and shrugged and then pointed to the bench where we had been sitting. Your Yankee friends, he said, have left. The phone rang once more; this time he lifted the receiver and put it face down on his desk. I could hear a voice babbling but the porter paid no attention to it. You’ll have to wait like everybody else, he said. I looked down at the receiver and I could still hear a voice coming through the wires. Why don’t you answer the phone, I asked him, is that not what you’re paid for? He picked up the receiver and defiantly hung up. He shrugged as it rang again and he let it ring while staring off into the distance.

I went back and sat on the bench. Soon, the American and his colleague returned. I noticed how uncomfortable they seemed, as if their shoes did not fit them or someone were squeezing their balls. We’ll wait ten more minutes, the American said, and then we’ll go sightseeing. I went over to the porter again. We need to see someone now, I said. Now, do you understand? This minute. There’s no one here, he said sullenly. I want you to find someone now, I said. He picked up the phone and dialed a number while I went back to the bench and joined the two economists. He shrugged and sighed and muttered to himself and then put the receiver down. He had got no answer.

I could feel the breakfast in my stomach still; I felt queasy and tired. The phone on the porter’s desk began to ring once more. He ignored it. Suddenly, the American rushed over to the desk, picked up the receiver and brandished it in front of the porter’s face. Tell him to answer it, he bellowed at me, his voice echoing against the high ceiling. The porter held the receiver out from him as though it were something live and poisonous. I stood and watched. I said nothing. The American’s face had become red. I realized that we should leave. I spoke quietly to the Irishman, suggesting that we go back to the hotel. The American was pointing his finger at the porter, who was standing up now, looking shocked, the receiver still in his hand.