The Origin of Species by Nino Ricci

Author:Nino Ricci [Ricci, Nino]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-59051-371-2
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2010-04-05T22:00:00+00:00

Alex emerged from his room the next morning girding himself to wrestle Mara for his breakfast only to find her busy at the front desk with a new arrival. Someone from the research center, Alex figured, because he was wearing a rumpled blazer and had actual luggage, a duffel bag, a battered valise, a funny black case that was almost a perfect square. A local boy trailed him hauling more luggage still.

“Careful with those!”

A fucking Brit. Alex knew the type. Probably some low-level bureaucrat back home but the last bastion against the wogs in the colonies.

He handed the boy a coin.

“Go on, then.”

He must have come in on a cargo ship, to judge from the look of him. His hair had the matted sheen of having gone unwashed for many days; the tail of his shirt was poking out beneath his blazer. There was a general air of unwholesomeness to him that made Alex think of damp, chilly rooms and of fish and chips that tasted like they’d been cooked in petroleum.

He was relishing the thought of how Mara would deal with this man.

“One night,” he said loudly, and then added, in an execrable accent, “Una noche.”

“Sí, sí,” Mara said irritably, but turning from him as if not to look him in the eye.

She picked out a key and started toward the rooms.

“You can bring the bags in after,” the man said, taking only his valise and the funny black case.

Alex had already vowed to himself to have nothing to do with this ass, though he sat waiting there on the patio taken with the spectacle of those abandoned bags, which Mara proceeded to collect one by one and carry off in the direction of the rooms. Then before Alex had even had a chance to order his breakfast the Brit had come out and plopped himself at his table, still in his blazer and untucked shirt.

He actually snapped his fingers to get Mara’s attention.

“Would you get me some eggs or something? And coffee. And don’t break the yolks.”

In a matter of minutes he’d got more service from Mara than Alex had managed since he’d arrived.

“I suppose you’re going out to the islands,” the Brit said grudgingly, as if this were a question Alex had forced him into.

“I dunno.” He ought at least to be civil. “I was going to. I can’t afford a boat.”

“You should come out with me.”

He threw this out with such an obvious absence of anything like real intent that it was clear he was merely trying to switch the topic of conversation to himself.

“You’ve got a boat?”

“I’ll get one. Soon enough.”

“Oh.”

“Research trip. A little project I’m working on.”

So Alex had been right. And yet he didn’t want to satisfy the man by pursuing the matter.

“American?”

For some reason Alex flushed. “Canadian, actually.”

“Ah. The last dominion.”

Their breakfasts arrived. Mara set the Brit’s eggs before him, perfect, intact, then lingered beside him an instant as if for further instruction. He ignored her.

“It’s Desmond, by the way. Desmond Clarke. University of London.

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