Web of Everywhere by John Brunner

here on the patio for some time; within the past few minutes the volume had been turned up, and several couples were dancing. Moreover bright lights had been switched on, hidden among the trees or mounted on opposite, when it opened a few centimeters and light fell
    He wandered indoors, possessed himself of a plate and allowed a servant to load it with smoked reindeer venison, fresh-cooked fish dressed with mayonnaise, and a crisp oriental salad, a typical contemporary combination. Hunger had smashed most of the barriers of prejudice that used to keep national cuisines apart. He ate with relish, wishing that at home he could afford to combine foodstuffs from three different parts of the world at every meal.
    Having finished, and taken yet another glass of wine from a circulating tray, he leaned back in his chair. It looked as though it was about time for him to quit at long last. He was midway along the reception hall, between the skelter and the windows that stood ajar to the patio. For perhaps half an hour past no new arrivals had caused the soft bell to chime, and the privateer had been re-activated. It would make good sense not to stretch his luck.
    Then, suddenly, all his resolutions dissolved in the blink of an eye.
    He happened to be looking toward a door set in the wall opposite, when it opened a few centimeters and light fell on the face of a girl: large-eyed, shy as a fawn. She peered in, caught sight of him, and at once began to shut the door again.
    Without conscious volition he found he had closed thegap between them and was smiling at her from less than arm’s length.
    He heard his voice say, ‘Hello!’
    She answered in a language he hadn’t heard for years – or rather, a dialect so close to it he understood perfectly. She muttered an excuse and tried to shut the door a second time.
    He checked her by thrusting out his arm, and demanded fiercely, ‘Are you Dutch? Or Flemish?’
    Astonished, she let go the edge of the door and jerked her head back a trifle, those wide dark eyes fixed on his face.
    ‘No – no, I’m from Brazil, but … ’
    Brazil?
    It was too much for him to figure out. All he could concentrate on was her simple presence. She was short, slim, but well-shaped insofar as one could tell through the drab long dress she was wearing, a tremendous contrast to the gaudy finery of the other guests. Her face was oval, her mouth generous, her hair sleek and black, her hands delicate – in sum, she was beautiful. And young with it. She could have been any age from fourteen to twenty.
    ‘Why are you hiding?’ he rapped in his mother tongue. He reached for her hand, amazed at his own boldness. ‘A girl as pretty as you should be the star of the party – come on!’
    For a second she seemed inclined to resist. Then she yielded, and came out into the hall with the air of a wild animal, casting timid glances to every side. Hans was aware that he was the focus of attention: how did that man in the shabby work-clothes manage to conjure up
her?
He relished the sensation.
    ‘You must have something to eat, and perhaps a glass of wine, and … ’ Words he hadn’t spoken for years came promptly to consciousness, and he was rewarded to hear her answer yes, yes please!
    But it wasn’t Dutch. It was the first cousin of Dutch,
Plattdütsh.
How in the world did she come to speak a dialect like that in Brazil?
    From behind him, suddenly, Chaim Aleuker’s voice: ‘Hah! Hans, I see you found Barbara! Good luck to you, see if you can make her bloom a bit!’
    Hans started so violently he nearly spilled the plate offood he was loading for the girl, and swung around. But already Aleuker was past and vanishing in the direction of the patio.
    ‘So you’re called Barbara!’ he exclaimed, having recovered his poise.
    The girl shook her head vigorously. ‘No, my name is Anneliese Schenker.’
    ‘But I’m sure Chaim called you – ’
    ‘It is a joke for him. He says that “Barbara” means “a wild girl”