Sister Europe by Zink Nell

Author:Zink,Nell [Zink, Nell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf
Published: 2025-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

XIII

The professor had begun his lauding of Masud, in Arabic, while the translator could be seen checking his printout for errors and deviations, preparatory to reading it aloud. Whispering that he was thirsty, Toto looked around for an escape. To his amazement, he discovered that a buffet was open at the back of the room. Two tables were encased on every side in white linen, and presumably from underneath them, drinks and snacks had been produced. Two women in white tunics with black pants and headscarves stood behind them, hands clasped behind their backs, facing punch bowls half-full of liquid—one yellow, one red—and trays of pastries and canapés.

Toto stood, tiptoed back to them, and whispered (consciously taking a chance, aware of his own optimism) an order for two glasses of white wine. One of the women explained—at normal volume, as though there were no event going on—that they were offering mango-lime-papaya and raspberry-pomegranate.

Of course, he thought. Muslims. He glanced at Demian, who sat mournfully staring at his program while the professor droned on. While she spoke, many continued looking down at their phones, but a few stood to join Toto at the table, while others took the opportunity to walk past him out the door. As Masud’s friend, herdsman to a cohort of more or less uninvited guests, Demian could not easily flee. Toto felt for him. He debated with himself whether he could leave long enough to fetch them both real drinks from the bar. But would a Muslim event allow him to bring alcohol in? He had no idea whether, for devotees of a culture he knew almost nothing about, the presence of alcohol in a conference room was enough to render it somehow impure. Or were their hosts offering juice instead of wine to save money? It seemed unlikely.

He accepted two goblets of yellow punch on cream-colored cocktail napkins and stood surveying the crowd. Instead of heading straight back to his seat, he set them down, took an extra napkin, and bolted down three petits fours and an eclair, speeding them on their way with gulps of punch. He accepted a ladled yellow refill and turned to rejoin Demian with their drinks. But slowly. He was in no rush to recommit to watching the proceedings motionless in his seat.

He noticed that the guy from the German culture ministry, seated ahead of them in a row that was otherwise empty, was suffering from tremors. As he watched, the man shifted his weight to the left and then to the rear with a ticlike, jerking motion. He was chubby and older, his three-piece flannel suit much too hot for such a man indoors. While Toto continued to observe him, he reached into his pants pocket, dug out a cloth handkerchief, and wiped his face and neck. He seemed desperately uncomfortable, ready to collapse to the floor in delirium tremens if he had to go another minute without a drink.

Toto returned to his seat, handing Demian his ungainly chalice of sticky-sweet juice.

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