'Guns are supposed to look loaded,' says Zahn. 'But that one just looks heavy.'

'Student,' the waiter says. 'Why don't you charge the guard, and see?'

'I can't hear your radio,' says Zahn, uneasy to be here - a new place with an untested volume, but the nearest warmth to the Rathaus Park.

The radio goes loud enough; it catches the guard's attention, and his boots start to waltz.

A taxi stops outside, and whoever is the taxi's fare dashes into the Chancellery, giving a hand signal to the guard. The driver comes and mashes his face against the Kaffeehaus window, fish-nostriled, appearing to have swum a snowy ocean to the farthest, glass end of his aquarium-world; he comes inside.

'Well, something's happening,' he says.

But the waiter only asks, 'A cognac? A tea with rum?'

'I've got a fare,' the driver says, and comes to Zahn's table. He rubs himself a peep sight on the window above my mother's head.

'A cognac's quicker,' the waiter says.

And the driver nods to Zahn, compliments him on the elegance of my mother's neck.

'It's not every day I get a fare like this,' he says.

Zahn and Hilke make peep sights for themselves. The taxi stands chugging in its own exhaust; the windshield is icing and the wipers slip and rasp.

'Lennhoff,' says the driver. 'And he was in a hurry.'

'You could have finished a cognac by now,' the waiter says.

'Editor Lennhoff?' says Zahn.

'Of the Telegraph,' the driver says, and wipes his own breath from the window - peers down Hilke's neckline.

'Lennhoff's the best there is,' says Zahn.

'He puts it straight,' the driver says.

'He sticks his neck out,' says the waiter.

The driver breathes like his standing taxi, short huffs and a long gust. 'I'll have a cognac,' he says.

'You won't have time,' says the waiter, who's already got it poured.

And Hilke asks the driver, 'Do you get a lot of important fares?'

'Well,' he says, 'important people like the taxi all right. And you get used to it after a while. You learn how to put them at their ease.'

'How?' the waiter asks, and sets the driver's cognac on Zahn's table.

But the driver's eyes and mind are far down my mother's neckline; he takes a while to get back. He reaches over Hilke's shoulder for his cognac, tilts the glass and twirls to coat the rim around. 'Well,' he says, 'you've got to be at ease yourself. You've got to be relaxed with them. Let them know you've seen something of the world too. Now, for example, Lennhoff there - you wouldn't want to say to him, "Oh, I cut out all your editorials and save them!" But you want to let him know you're bright enough to recognize him; for example, I said just now, "Good afternoon, Herr Lennhoff, but it's a cold one, isn't it?" Called him by name, you see, and he said, "It's a cold one, all right, but it's nice and warm in here." And right away he's at home with you.'

'Well, they're just like anyone else,' says the waiter.

And just like anyone else, Lennhoff stoops in the cold; his scarf flourishes and drags him off balance; he's flurried out of the Chancellery and swept into the surprised guard of honor, who's been scratching his back with his bayonet and has his rifle upside down above his head. The guard avoids stabbing himself by a batonlike brandish of his weapon. Lennhoff cringes before the spinning rifle; the guard begins a slow salute, stops it midway - remembering that newspaper editors aren't saluted - and offers a handshake instead. Lennhoff moves to accept the hand, then remembers that this isn't part of his own protocol. The two scuff their feet, and Lennhoff allows himself to be buffeted out to the curb; he crosses the Ballhausplatz to the shuddering taxi.

The driver fires his cognac down, swallowing most of it through his nose; his eyes blear. He swims his way up Hilke's neckline, clears his head, and steadies himself with a touch to Hilke's shoulder. 'Oh, excuse me,' he says, and gives another complimentary nod to Zahn. Zahn rubs the window.

Lennhoff pounds on the taxi top; he opens the driver's-side door and blares on the horn.

Tags: John Irving Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net