Free The Two Hotel Francforts: A Novel by David Leavitt Page B

Bompernasse.”
    “
Bom
what?”
    “Bompernasse. It’s a pun. Montparnasse combined with
bom perna
, which is Portuguese for ‘nice legs.’”
    “Because of all the barelegged Frenchwomen who sit outside in the afternoon, smoking,” Edward said, “which is something no self-respecting Portuguese woman would do. In fact it would be a scandal for a Portuguese woman even to go into a café.”
    “Such a backward country in some ways,” Julia said.
    “But Julia, I thought you wanted to wait out the war here,” I said.
    “That doesn’t mean I consider it the ideal place to live,” Julia said. “I mean, it’s not Paris.”
    “Is Paris your favorite place on earth?” Iris said.
    “Of course. Isn’t it yours?”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t say anywhere was my favorite place. Now, Eddie—he really can feel at home anywhere. Close your eyes, spin the globe, send him wherever your finger lands, and I guarantee you, within a month he’ll be mayor.”
    “But isn’t feeling at home anywhere really the same as feeling at home nowhere?”
    “No, in fact it isn’t,” Edward said, “though that’s a common misperception. In fact, the person who feels at home nowhere is inan entirely different category from the person who feels at home everywhere. Iris is that person.”
    “It’s true,” Iris said. “I don’t even understand what people mean when they say they feel ‘at home.’”
    “Well, isn’t it—I don’t know—a sense of belonging?”
    “So I’m told. But ‘belonging,’ ‘home’—they’re just words to me. And don’t bother trying to explain them—it would be like trying to convey the notion of sight to a blind man.”
    “But surely you must have a feeling for the place you grew up.”
    “You assume that I grew up in a place. I didn’t. I was born in Malaysia. My mother died in childbirth, my father when I was four. I hardly remember him—or the amah who nursed me. I was five when I was sent back to England, and though I had some relations there, they didn’t have much interest in me, so from then on it was just school after school … until I met Eddie.”
    “Little Orphan Iris,” Edward said.
    “I think it’s probably why I have a dog,” Iris said. “A dog is a constant. You can rely on a dog in a way you can’t rely on a place. Of course, when we left Pyla we could have left Daisy behind. Our friends told us we were mad, that getting to New York would be difficult enough without having to worry about an old dog. Well, I put my foot down. I’d have stayed in Pyla myself, brazened out the occupation, rather than abandon Daisy to some French peasant who for all I knew would shoot her the moment we were out of sight.” She was teary-eyed again. “And then in Irun, at the Spanish customs, the officer insisted that Daisy was commercial merchandise and we had to pay duty on her. I said, ‘She’s fifteen years old. How much do you think you could get for her?’ But I had the feeling he’d take his chances rather than lose the argument, so we paid the duty.”
    A waiter cleared away our plates and laid three immense bowls on the table. The first contained a watery custard, the second pearspurpled in wine, the third a thick orange porridge. “Raw egg yolks and sugar,” Edward said, helping himself. “Extremely sweet.”
    “Too sweet for my taste,” Julia said.
    “Do you think we could give some of the egg stuff to Daisy?” Iris asked. “They say eggs are good for dogs. They lend luster to the coat.”
    “If you don’t think it’ll bring on diarrhea,” Edward said. “Diarrhea is the last thing we need.”
    Julia shuddered. I served myself some of the custard and looked across the table.
    For the second time all evening, Edward’s eyes met mine.
    For the second time, he winked.

Chapter 8
    After dinner we walked back to the Rossio. The streets were loud with the plaintive wail of fado singers.
    “Call me a snob, but I just don’t get the appeal of the fado,” Iris