The Two Hotel Francforts: A Novel by David Leavitt

said.
    “They’re such sad songs,” Julia said.
    “The fado is meant to be sad,” Edward said. “It is the ultimate expression of that most Portuguese of emotions,
saudade
, which might best be defined as the perpetual longing for a perpetually elusive … no, not satiation. Rather, that which will never be.”
    “Perhaps, what will never be on the menu at Farta Brutos?” I suggested.
    “Yes!” Edward said.
    “If you ask me, it’s just caterwauling,” Iris said. “Daisy can’t bear it, can you?”
    Daisy was busy smelling some pigeon droppings on the pavement.
    “Not here, Daisy,” Edward said, tugging at her leash. “We don’t want to stop here.”
    I looked at him questioningly. With his shoulder he indicated the window display we had stopped in front of. Castles, Meistersingers, elves. Friendly old Munich, hearty old Heidelberg. Gay, carefree waltzing in Vienna.
    “The German Reich Railway Office,” he said.
    “As recently as December, they were advertising in
Vogue
,” Julia said. “Sixty percent off with special travel marks.”
    A young man wearing a homburg stepped up to us. “You are planning a trip, Madame?” he asked Julia.
    “What?” Julia said. “Oh, no. I mean, not to Germany.”
    “But you are Americans. Why not go on holiday in Germany?”
    “Actually, we’re not American,” Iris said. “We’re Tasmanian.”
    “Tasmanian?”
    She nodded. “Have you been to Tasmania? It’s lovely. Famous for its animals, most notably the Tasmanian devil.” She pointed to Daisy. “Of course, this one’s tame—more or less. Still, I wouldn’t get too close.”
    The young man tipped his hat and fled. Edward burst out laughing.
    “What was that all about?” I said.
    “A German informer,” Edward said. “They’re all over the city. Usually they pretend to be English, hoping to pick up some information.”
    “You could tell because he had a big behind,” Iris said.
    “What?” Julia covered her mouth with her hand.
    “It’s my wife’s theory,” Edward said, “that informers can always be recognized by their big behinds.”
    “It’s not a theory. It’s something I was told. By someone who knows.”
    “But why should they have big behinds?” Julia asked.
    “Maybe it’s all the sitting they do,” I said.
    “Or the double life,” Edward said. “It could be the double life,the double life itself, that brings on the big behind. Pete here, for instance—he doesn’t have a big behind. And I’ll bet he’s never led a double life. Am I right, Pete?”
    “About the behind or the life?”
    “Let me have a look,” Iris said, stepping behind me. “My God, it’s true! There’s just this … flat plane. You’d think he had no buttocks at all.”
    “Of course I have buttocks. Only these trousers—”
    “But Pete, you don’t.” Almost in spite of herself, Julia burst into laughter. “I mean, you do, only there’s just … not much to them.”
    “Reductio ad absurdum,” Edward said, “a man with a clear conscience.”
    “Whereas you, my darling,” Iris said, “have a distinctly protuberant behind. Not fat, just … protuberant. You could bounce a dime off it,” she added to Julia.
    “With all that implies,” Edward said.
    By now we had passed under the bridge we had crossed earlier, the one that connected the Elevator to the Bairro Alto. Above the Rossio, a neon stopwatch told the time, the words OMEGA O MELHOR pulsing beneath it.
    “For a poor country, they certainly seem to have plenty of money for electricity,” Julia said.
    “It’s too much,” I said. “It gives me a headache.”
    “Would you rather go back to the blackout?”
    “In some ways.” The truth is, I have always preferred darkness to light, silence to noise.
    Outside the Francfort Hotel, I reached to shake Edward’s hand, but he didn’t take it. “Anyone care for a nightcap?” he said.
    “Count me out,” Iris said. “I’ve hardly slept since we got here, and I have a feeling that