Free The Tenant and The Motive by Javier Cercas Page B

ridiculous. Tina’s right: only a teenager thinks things like that. As for Berkowickz, I’ll tell you one thing: he does appreciate you. As for the rest (and I’m telling you this because I appreciate you as well), you should follow his example, but not just from the academic point of view: Berkowickz is a lively, energetic, enterprising guy who knows how to see the good side of things and get the best out of them. I’m being sincere: I’m delighted that he’s here, it’s as if a breath of fresh air has come into the department. And as for Scanlan, you already know my opinion: he’s only trying to do the job he’s taken on to the best of his abilities. Scanlan’s the boss and he has the right to raise the level of the department; everyone would be harmed if he didn’t. That’s the way things are, Mario,’Branstyne concluded emphatically, ‘and there’s nothing you can do about it.’
    Mario contained the urge to leave. He gulped down the last of his Martini. For a moment he thought he was appearing before a tribunal that couldn’t or didn’t want to tell him what he was accused of. He thought: Just like a nightmare.
    â€˜In any case,’ Branstyne continued, perhaps made impatient by Mario’s silence, ‘I don’t think the situation’s all that serious, at least not yet. What you have to do is buckle down, Mario, get to work. Tell me: how long’s it been since you published something? A year, two, three?’
    â€˜Three years,’ said Mario. ‘Three years and two months, to be precise.’
    â€˜Three years,’ Branstyne repeated, shrugging his shoulders and looking at Tina. He turned back to Mario. ‘Frankly, I don’t understand how you can complain about Scanlan. What you should do instead is get something together and try to publish it somewhere.’
    â€˜I don’t have anything ready,’ Mario admitted.
    â€˜The Association Conference isn’t till January,’ said Branstyne. ‘You’ve still got four months: more than enough time. And whoever gives a paper at the Association Conference can speak anywhere else. It’s just a question of goodwill, Mario, of making a gesture. I’m sure that if you do Scanlan will find a solution; the only thing he’s asking is that you give him a reason to look for one.’
    Tina stood up and went to the kitchen. After a moment she returned and sat back down on the sofa.
    â€˜Mario,’ said Tina to break the silence. ‘We’re all trying to help you.’
    Mario talked very little during dinner; he barely ate, he was a bundle of nerves and his throat felt restricted. Branstyne regarded him with a mixture of compassion and affection. Tina kept the conversation going: she talked about mutual friends, Italy, a grant the biology department had given her, their vacation.
    At the end of the meal Mario complimented Tina on her
fettuccini.
He also promised to come back again another day.
    Branstyne dropped him off in front of his house at ten.
    â€˜I can’t pick you up tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a morning class and I’ve got a few things to do around the house: you know how it is, having a family is like running a small business.’
    Mario nodded. He said, ‘Don’t worry. The bus stops right there.’
    He opened the door to get out, then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around: Branstyne was saying goodbye in a way that said, ‘Come on, we’re all trying to help you.’ Mario held back a violent urge to punch him in the face.
    When Branstyne’s car turned the corner, Mario lit a cigarette and walked down West Oregon with faltering steps, leaning on the crutch. It was hot, humid and clammy; the bulbs of the street lights, filthy with mosquitocorpses, spread a weak, yellowish light over the pavement. He got to Race, turned left and headed towards Lincoln Square. He