The Tenant and The Motive Read Online Free PDF Page A

turned towards him and said hello. Mario thought they’d been talking about him.
    Branstyne was younger than Mario, short with a fragile complexion, receding hairline, indistinct features. He had very intense blue eyes, which revealed a vigorous intelligence: he was without doubt, despite his youth, the most brilliant member of the department. To all that, Branstyne added an unfailing congeniality and an Italian wife, Tina, young and lovely, who made absolutely divine
fettuccini al pesto.
Tina had managed to turn the friendliness they felt towards one another into a closer bond. As for Swinczyc, Mario barely had anything more to do with him than the routines of work imposed, but at the same time had little enthusiasm for his sidelong glances, at once servile and haughty, his nervous little laughs and the annoying jokes he frequently enjoyed. He knew, however, that Branstyne had a link with Swinczyc,though he was unaware how strong it was, and this caused him to treat the latter with a certain deference, which could at times be mistaken for affection.
    Branstyne and Swinczyc asked about Mario’s ankle. He tried to play down the importance of the mishap, joking about the benefits of exercise. While he was talking, strangely, he felt an excessive awareness of the smiles of the two professors, as if someone was focusing a spotlight on their faces. He thought: I’ve experienced this before.
    Branstyne said, ‘See you this evening at the boss’s house.’
    â€˜Of course,’ said Mario. ‘See you there.’

VIII
    â€˜What is professor Berkowickz doing in my office?’ Mario asked brusquely.
    Without knocking, he’d barged into the office of the secretary, who never closed her door.
    â€˜You don’t know how glad I am to see you, Professor Rota,’ exclaimed Joyce, smiling behind her desk and standing up from the chair on which she’d spread her flesh. She immediately asked, remorsefully, ‘But what’s happened to your ankle?’
    â€˜It’s nothing,’ answered Mario.
    â€˜What do you mean nothing? Is anything broken? Is it a sprain? Oh, my goodness! You have to be so careful! Just this summer, as a matter of fact,’ Joyce went on, her eyes bright, ‘a friend of my Winnie’s . . . incidentally, I suppose you’ve heard that Winnie got into the University of Iowa. I’m so proud of her, imagine: already in university, and she’s really just a little girl . . . Anyway, as I was saying, this summer a friend of Winnie’s . . .’
    Joyce was the secretary to the head of the department. A mature woman, with hair so blonde it looked bleached,eyes without brows, she was at least six foot two and easily weighed over 250 pounds: all this combined to give her a notorious cetacean air. The childish clothing she tended to wear (flowery dresses with flounces, silk ribbons in her hair and around her waist, flared or pleated skirts, kilts) and her innocent ponytails, as well as her habit of swaying down the corridors of the department like a subway car, humming charming popular children’s songs, contrasted starkly with her age and the boundless dimensions of her body. She was a widow and had but one passion: her daughter Winnie, the ups and downs of whose life each and every member of the department could expect to be punctually and personally informed of. At the end of the previous year, however, she made an exception: the day that Winnie received her acceptance from the University of Iowa, Joyce stood in front of the elevator door, on the fourth floor, shouting the news in a tone sounding vaguely like a radio announcer. Later, when the university police – alerted by someone who’d told them a fundamentalist preacher was causing trouble in the building – came to arrest her, Scanlan had to intervene to clear up the misunderstanding.
    â€˜Excuse me for interrupting, Joyce,’ Mario cut expeditiously into the