The Spy

"A chamomile tea, please," I said to the waiter.

The man's French had a thick accent that could have been from Holland or Germany.

He smiled and touched the brim of his hat as if bidding farewell even though he was greeting me. He asked if I would mind if he sat there for a few minutes. I said yes, in fact I would mind. I would rather be alone.

"A woman like Mata Hari is never alone," said the newcomer. The fact that he recognized me struck a chord that can resonate very loudly in any human being: vanity. Still, I did not invite him to sit.

"Maybe you are looking for things you haven't yet found," he continued. "Because after being named the best dressed in the whole city--I read that in a magazine recently--very little remains for you to conquer, isn't that right? And suddenly, life turns into utter boredom."

By the looks of it, he was a devoted fan; how else would he know about things that appeared only in women's magazines? Should I give him a chance? After all, it was still far too early to go to Neuilly for my dinner with the banker.

"Are you having any luck finding something new?" he persisted.

"Of course. I rediscover myself at every turn. And that is what's most interesting in life."

This time, he did not ask again; he simply pulled up a chair and sat down at my table. When the waiter arrived with my tea, he ordered a large cup of coffee for himself, making a gesture that indicated: I'll get the bill.

"France is heading for a crisis," he continued. "And it will be very difficult to come out of this one."

Just that afternoon, I had heard exactly the opposite. But it seems every man has an opinion on the economy, a subject that did not interest me in the least.

I decided to play his game for a bit. I parroted everything Messimy had told me about what he called la belle epoque. He showed no surprise.

"I am not just talking about an economic crisis; I am speaking of a personal crisis, a crisis of values. Do you think people have already grown accustomed to the possibility of having long-distance conversations on that invention brought over by the Americans for the Paris World's Fair? It's now on every corner in Europe.

"For millions of years, man spoke only to what he could see. Suddenly, in just one decade, 'seeing' and 'speaking' have been separated. We think we're used to it, yet we don't realize the immense impact it's had on our reflexes. Our bodies are simply not used to it.

"Frankly, the result is that, when we talk on the telephone, we enter a state that is similar to certain magical trances; we can discover other things about ourselves."

The waiter returned with the bill. The man stopped talking until he had moved away.

"I know you must be tired of seeing these vulgar strip-tease dancers on every corner, each saying she's the successor of the great Mata Hari. But life is like that: No one learns. The Greek philosophers...Am I boring you, Mademoiselle?"

I shook my head and he continued.

"Forget about the Greek philosophers. What they said thousands of years ago still applies today. So it's nothing new. Actually, I would like to make you a proposition."

Another one, I thought.

"Here they no longer treat you with the respect you deserve, so maybe you would like to perform in a place where they know you as the greatest dancer of the century? I am talking about Berlin, the city where I'm from."

It was a tempting proposition.

"I can put you in touch with my manager--"

But the newcomer cut me off. "I'd prefer to deal directly with you. Your agent is of a race we--neither the French nor the Germans--don't like very much."

It was a strange business, this hatred for people just b

ecause of their religion. I saw it with the Jews, but even earlier, when I was in Java, I heard about the army massacring people just because they worshipped a faceless god and swore that their holy book had been dictated by an angel to some prophet whose name I also can't remember. Someone had given me a copy of this book once, called the Koran. It was just to appreciate the Arabic calligraphy, but still, when my husband arrived home, he took away the gift and had me burn it.

"My partners and I will pay you a handsome sum," the man added, revealing an intriguing amount of money. I asked how much it was in francs and was stunned by his reply. I desired to say yes immediately, but a lady of class does not act on impulse.

"There you will be recognized as you deserve. Paris is always unjust with its children, especially when they cease to be a novelty."

He did not realize he was insulting me, even though I had been thinking that same thing while I was walking. I remembered the day on the beach with Astruc, who would not be able to participate in the agreement. However, I could do nothing that would scare off the prey.

"I'll think about it," I said drily.