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Eduard hated living there. He spent the day immersed in his studies, trying--but failing--to relate to his classmates, trying--but failing--to work up some interest in cars, the latest sneakers, and designer clothes, the only possible topics of conversation with the other young people.
Now and then, there would be a party, where the boys would get drunk on one side of the room, and the girls would feign indifference on the other. There were always drugs around, and Eduard had already experimented with almost all the possible varieties, not that he could get very excited about any of them; he either got too agitated or too sleepy and immediately lost interest in what was going on around him.
His family was concerned. They had to prepare him to follow in his father's footsteps, and although Eduard had almost all the necessary talents, a desire to study, good artistic taste, a facility with languages, an interest in politics, he lacked one essential quality for a diplomat: He found it difficult to talk to other people.
His parents took him to parties, told him to invite his school friends home and gave him a generous allowance, but Eduard rarely turned up with anyone. One day his mother asked him why he didn't bring his friends to lunch or supper.
"I know every brand of sneakers and I know the names of all the girls who are easy to get into bed. After that there's nothing left to talk to them about."
Then the Brazilian girl appeared on the scene. The ambassador and his wife felt better when their son began going out on dates and coming home late. No one knew exactly where she had come from, but one night, Eduard invited her home to supper. She was a well-brought-up girl, and his parents felt content; the boy had finally started to develop his talent for relating to other people. Moreover, they both thought--though neither actually said anything--that the girl's existence removed one great worry from their minds: Eduard clearly wasn't homosexual.
They treated Maria (that was her name) with all the consideration of future in-laws, even though they knew that in two years' time they would be transferred to another post, and they had not the slightest intention of letting their son marry someone from an exotic country. They had plans for him to meet a girl from a good family in France or Germany, who could be a dignified companion in the brilliant diplomatic career the ambassador was preparing for him.
Eduard, however, seemed more and more in love. Concerned, his mother went to talk to her husband.
"The art of diplomacy consists in keeping your opponent waiting," said the ambassador. "While you may never get over a first love affair, it always ends."
But Eduard seemed to have changed completely. He started bringing strange books home, he built a pyramid in his room, and, together with Maria, burned incense every night and spent hours staring at a strange design pinned to the wall. Eduard's marks at school began to get worse.
The mother didn't understand Portuguese, but she could see the book covers: crosses, bonfires, hanged witches, exotic symbols.
"Our son is reading some dangerous stuff."
"Dangerous? What's happening in the Balkans is dangerous," said the ambassador. "There are rumors that Slovenia wants independence, and that could lead us into war."
The mother, however, didn't care about politics; she wanted to know what was happening to her son.
"What about this mania for burning incense?"
"It's to disguise the smell of marijuana," said the ambassador. "Our son has had an excellent education; he can't possibly believe that those perfumed sticks draw down the spirits."
"My son involved in drugs?"
"It happens. I smoked marijuana too when I was young; people soon get bored with it. I did."
His wife felt proud and reassured. Her husband was an experienced man, he had entered the world of drugs and emerged unscathed. A man with such strength of will could control any situation.
One day Eduard asked if he could have a bicycle.
"We've got a chauffeur and a Mercedes Benz. Why do you want a bicycle?"
"To be more in touch with nature. Maria and I are going on a ten-day trip," he said. "There's a place near here with huge deposits of crystal, and Maria says they give off really positive energy."
His father and mother had been brought up under a Communist regime. To them crystals were merely a mineral product composed of certain atoms, and did not give off any kind of energy, either positive or negative. They did some research and discovered that these ideas about "crystal vibrations" were beginning to be fashionable.
If their son started talking about such things at official parties, he could appear ridiculous in the eyes of others. For the first time the ambassador acknowledged that the situation was becoming serious. Brasilia was a city that lived on rumors, and as soon as his rivals at the embassy learned that Eduard believed in these primitive superstitions, they might think he had picked them up from his parents, and diplomacy, as well as being the art of waiting, was also the art of keeping up a facade of normality whatever the circumstances.
"My boy, this can't go on," said his father. "I have friends in the Foreign Office in Yugoslavia. You have a brilliant career as a diplomat ahead of you, and you've got to learn to face reality."
Eduard left the house and didn't come back that night. His parents phoned Maria's house, as well as all the mortuaries and hospitals in the city, to no avail. The mother lost her confidence in her husband's abilities as head of the family, however good he might be at negotiating with complete strangers.
The following day Eduard turned up, hungry and sleepy. He ate and went to his room, lit his incense sticks, said his mantras, and slept for the rest of that evening and night. When he woke up, a brand new bicycle was waiting for him.
"Go and see your crystals," said his mother. "I'll explain to your father."
And so, on that dry, dusty afternoon, Eduard cycled happily over to Maria's house. The city was so well designed (in the architects' opinion) or so badly designed (in Eduard's opinion), that there were almost no corners; he just kept straight on down a high speed lane, looking up at the sky full of rainless clouds, then he felt himself rising up at a tremendous speed toward the sky, only to plummet down again and land on the asphalt. Crash!
I've had an accident.
