Hotel Iris Read Online Free PDF Page B

English. She had just taken off her hat, so instead of speaking, I guided her hand to the hook on the wall. The ribbon on the hat added a touch of color to the somber room.
    I stood for a moment in front of the hat. The woman’s pale blue eyes had an unearthly beauty, as if they weren’t eyes at all.
    “Why didn’t you put her in 301?” I asked Mother when I got back to the desk. “We have plenty of empty rooms.”
    “Don’t be stupid,” Mother hissed, keeping her voice low as if to remind me that the woman could hear even if she couldn’t see. “What difference does it make if she has an ocean view or not?”
    Miss Iris surveyed the hotel from one end to the other, counting the steps in each staircase, pacing out the length of each hall, memorizing the location of the dining room. With her fingers she took in even the tiniest details—light switches, dusty picture frames, door hinges, curtains and sashes, gashes on the banisters, peeling wallpaper. … All these things we had long since forgotten she gathered up one by one in her hands, caressing and warming them until they came back to life. It was as if she had come in place of the goddess of the rainbow to offer her grace and affection. She was perhaps the only one who ever truly loved the Hotel Iris.
    I had promised the translator that I would have lunch with him, and he had made a reservation at the fanciest restaurant in town, a place I had never been. Thanks to Mother, I didn’t have to worry about my hair. I would have liked to have added a ribbon, but I didn’t want her wondering why I needed to be so dressed up to go see the old woman.
    I decided to wear my yellow dress with the little flowers. It was old, but it was the only good one I had. My purse was cheap and a bit babyish, my straw hat faded. But my shoes were real leather—they had been left behind by a guest. The address she had written in the guest book was fake, so wehad no way to send them on to her. “Just keep them,” Mother had said. Except for being a bit tight in the toes, they were perfect.
    Before slipping out the door, I crept over to Mother’s dressing table. There were several lipsticks scattered about. They all seemed too bright, but I chose one, thinking I could use just a tiny bit. The tip was worn to the exact shape of Mother’s lips. I touched it to my mouth, releasing its forbidden scent. My heart beat faster. I wondered whether the maid felt like this when she was stealing from me. I drew it across my mouth, pressing as lightly as I could, but when I looked in the mirror, I saw that my lips had become an indecent gash in my face. Rubbing them with a tissue only made matters worse, and I was petrified that Mother would walk in and catch me. I had to leave soon if I was going to be on time, so I made another desperate attempt to apply the lipstick, as though the translator’s deepest desire was that I would do this skillfully for him.
    I was afraid to disappoint him. He had approached me so timidly, with such caution, that I feared what would happen if I didn’t turn out to be exactly what he was hoping for.
    I managed at last to get the lipstick right. Then I put on my stockings and my hat and checked one more time to be sure my dress was properly fastened. Someone else was headed for the exact same spot, on the same day, at the same hour. It was an insignificant point, but it made me happy.
    Mother and the maid were cleaning rooms on the third floor. I called good-bye to them, ran across the courtyard tothe kitchen door, and kept running until I reached the flower clock in the plaza.
    “So my letter reached you safely?” the translator asked.
    “Yes, of course.”
    “I was terribly worried that it would be intercepted or go astray before you got a chance to read it.” He reached over and tilted back the brim of my hat just a bit, as if to get a better look at my face, and the bright summer sun made me squint. Behind us, the boy was playing his accordion.
    “Are