Maatstaf. Jaargang 27

[p. 30]

Estelle Debrot A Triangular Lunch

Small vases with tufts of sweet william were being exchanged for small vases of pink roses. These had not yet wilted but their heads were hanging. The waiter remarked as much as he made the exchange and smoothed the white table cloth. No doubt laundered with one of those whiter than white detergents that, according to scientists, not on the payroll of the industries, were dangerous to the health. As, what is not? Even nature's own process might be included. Three tables were occupied. Two by couples and the third by a woman alone. The two couples were Americans. The woman alone was too, though she looked more European. It was many years since she had left the land of the free. In the twenties and thirties, she would have been called an expatriate. A term which then had glamour for some, though its significance was looked upon by others as being déclassé. Now, in the seventies, it had no meaning at all. Probably it could be found somewhere in the pages of Hemingway or Fitzgerald. The restaurant was spacious. Spaciousness sparsely filled tends to make the few occupants more aware of one another. Accordingly, each of the occupied tables was being scrutinized by the others. They formed a triangle. The two couples were sitting near the large windows that looked out on a canal, with three empty tables between them. The woman alone was sitting against the wall opposite the empty middle table. The couple forming the point of the angle to the left of the woman sitting alone did not try to hide their curiosity. It was easy for the wife as she was facing ahead, but the husband had to turn. He was of that age, or build, which prevented him from turning his head without also turning his torso half way around which he did not mind doing, though he upset the vase of flowers in the act. The waiter was there immediately to mop up the water and change the tablecloth. The husband and wife were quite gleeful about it and enjoyed their own laughter. While the waiter was rearranging their table the husband asked him what kind of church that was, across the canal with the tower clock showing a late hour for lunch. The waiter explained to him that it was not a church, but the tower of the building which used to be the town's mint.

‘What!’ replied the man, ‘you mean to say that you had such a small mint? I thought you Dutch were wealthy!’

The waiter smiled courteously, thinking of the decreased value of the dollar. The wife thought of it too. She said: ‘Henry, after lunch we have to go to the American Express and see how much we can get for the dollar today.’ Henry became thoughtful. They ordered a steak with french fried potatoes, she with a coca-cola, he with coffee. The couple forming the right point of the angle from the woman alone had been listening and wincing. He said: ‘They are the kind that give us such a bad name in Europe.’ She said: ‘Yes, and imagine coca-cola with a steak.’

The waiter was now standing in front of them. After studying the menu and speaking together in low voices, the husband finally looked up

[p. 31]

and said to the waiter: ‘The lady will have...’ How inconsequent customs are: ‘The lady will have...’ When a lady is having a meal with an escort, she tells him what she will have and he relays it to the waiter. Bad form for her to address the waiter directly. Would it not be more consistent then, when a lady dines alone for her to write down what she wishes and hand it to the waiter? The husband gave the order and looked pleased with himself as he ordered two glasses of white wine. No coca-cola for them. It amused the woman alone to try to place these two. Even if she had never read John Updike, she thought she could do it: substantial suburbanites, tending towards sophistication - doctor, lawyer, corporation chief?

Now the waiter was coming along the angle towards her table, which formed the third point of the triangle. The woman gave her order and asked for the wine list. While the waiter was getting it she looked quickly into her bag to see how much money she had withher. She chose a half bottle of expensive wine. Why not ‘carpe vinum’, she thought, pleased with her paraphrase...

‘Look,’ said the wife at the left point of the triangle, ‘that woman is drinking wine from one of those basket things.’

‘Well,’ answered her husband, ‘these Europeans have funny habits. But what interests me, are those two sitting ahead of us there. One look at him and I could tell just what he is. One of our c.i.a.-agents, that's what. You can tell them every time. Sleek... and I'll bet that's not his wife with him.’

‘Yes,’ said his own wife, ‘just like that one fellow on the tube.’ She stared harder at the other couple, who had not missed the woman alone with her wine. The man looked annoyed. After having watched her nod approval of the first swallow of red wine that the waiter had poured into her glass, he said to his partner: ‘That woman is quite sophisticated. She looks to me like some kind of foreign agent. On the other hand, she might be one of our own c.i.a. people. They go in for all kinds of types of course.’

The woman alone sipped her wine as she watched the young waiter, under the eyes of an older one, struggling to pick up her tournedos between the serving fork and spoon with one hand. He succeeded. The woman finished her meal first. While waiting for the check, she looked at her upside down image in a spoon: ‘Cordon bleu’ restaurant, with silver-plated cutlery. She felt light-headed from the wine.

The waiter returned and she put her money on the plate with the check. As she rose to leave and break the triangle, the thought crossed her mind that the rather gruff-seeming man to the left might belong to the c.i.a. After all, what did anyone know about anyone else? Half way to the door she dropped her bag. As the waiter was out of the room, both male occupants of the other tables jumped up and went towards it. The broad ‘a’ sound in her ‘Thank you’ did it. ‘O, are you American too?’ asked the one as the other said: ‘So are we.’

‘Well, isn't that a coincidence! May we invite you to have a liqueur with us?’

‘Yes,’ said the other, ‘let's all have a drink together.’

The lone luncher felt a pleasant warmth pervade her as chairs were drawn up, the waiter called and the triangle was becoming a circle.

The storyteller's eye left them with their introductions and ‘where are you Prom's’ as it went out of the door, opened by the porter, turned down the narrow street to the right and into the indefinable design of the old, modern, city.