Still the Same Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

woman, wearing a straw hat, hadn’t changed her stance at all, her body was hunched and her head bent.
    But all of Joanes’s attention was fixed on him. On the elderly gentleman.
    He was wearing slacks and a short-sleeved, white, button-down shirt. He’d put on a good number of pounds. What had once been a stout stomach was now a serious belly hanging over his belt. The man’s double chin was now a triple. And the large, square-framed, black-rimmed glasses reminiscent of old TV sets had now been replaced by a more modern pair. But his imperious air was the same as ever.
    The elderly man moved guardedly toward the car. Joanes got out.
    “Hello,” he said.
    “A compatriot!” responded the man with great satisfaction, holding out his hand.
    As he took it, Joanes scrutinized his face, but there was nothing in it to suggest that the other man recognized him.
    “Hello, professor.”
    The old man’s smile immediately vanished.
    “I don’t think you remember me. I was your student. At the School of Engineering.
    He added his name and the year it had been.
    The professor looked at him, creasing his forehead, and shook his head.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t remember you. But in any case, I’m incredibly pleased to see you.”
    “What’s happened?”
    The professor pursed his lips.
    “We’ve been the victims of a mutiny,” he said, containing his rage. “We were on the bus, on our way to one of those shelters, when the other passengers ganged up against me and my wife, forcing us to get off. They threw us out. Kicked us to the curb and then just went on their way. We should be thankful they didn’t hurt us.”
    Joanes shook his head, confused.
    “But, why?”
    “Intolerance, my friend. Because they gave in to the irritation produced by a minor inconvenience and let their nerves get the better of them. Because of her condition, my wife requires a little more space than other people. A hard, narrow, straight-backed seat is terribly tiring for her. This fact, in a bus with more passengers than seats and a faulty air-conditioning system, was enough to incite the uprising.”
    “And there was no one to defend you? A hotel rep, the driver . . . ?”
    The professor gave an emphatic shake of the head.
    “Only the driver, but the last thing he wanted was to get involved. He obeyed those savages without so much as a word when they ordered him to stop. Just imagine the scene. They lifted my wife up in midair and set her on the curb! As if she were a piece of luggage!”
    “Is that your wife over there?” Joanes asked, pointing to the woman in the wheelchair.
    “Forgive me. I should have introduced you. My manners are melting in this heat.”
    Joanes followed him to where his wife was sitting.
    “Darling, you won’t believe the stroke of luck we’ve had!”
    When her husband introduced her to Joanes, she simply looked at him meekly. She barely shifted the pained look on her face, as if smiling took an unbearable effort. Her eyebrows were plucked bald, and her dress—white, no belt or frills—looked like a hospital gown. When the professor added that Joanes had been a student of his, her response was, “In that case, I’m not sure we are so lucky.”
    A trailer whizzed past, and she shut her eyes tight to protect them from the dust.
    “Where was the bus supposed to be taking you?” asked Joanes.
    “I don’t know,” answered the professor. “I heard someone say the name of the city, but . . .”
    “I’m going to Valladolid.”
    “That could be the place. I think it might have been, yes.”
    “Would you like me to take you?”
    The professor replied with an enormous smile and shook his hand again, now more firmly than before.
    “You can’t imagine how grateful we’d be if you would. I didn’t dare ask you myself.”
    “It’s not a problem. But we ought to get going. It’s already a little late.”
    Joanes watched as the professor threw his travel bag over his shoulder and pushed his wife