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She saw Milan nod, and so invited the man to sit down at her table. She ordered a fruit juice cocktail and waited for him to ask her to dance. Then the man introduced himself:
"My name is Terence, and I work for a record company in England. Since I assume I'm in a place where I can trust the personnel, I take it this will remain entirely between you and me."
Maria was about to start talking about Brazil, but he interrupted her:
"Milan says you understand what I want."
"I've no idea what you want, but I know my job."
They did not follow the usual ritual; he paid the bill, took her arm and they got into a taxi, where he gave her a thousand francs. For a moment, she remembered the Arab man with whom she had gone to the restaurant full of famous paintings; it was the first time she had received the same amount of money, and instead of making her feel glad, it made her feel nervous.
The taxi stopped outside one of the most expensive hotels in the city. The man greeted the porter and seemed totally at ease in the place. They went straight up to his room, a suite with a view over the river. He opened a bottle of wine--possibly a rare vintage--and offered her a glass.
Maria watched him while he drank; what did a rich, good-looking man like him want with a prostitute? Since he barely spoke, she too remained largely silent, trying to work out what would make a special client happy. She knew that she should not take the initiative, but once the process had begun, she needed to be able to follow his lead as quickly as possible; after all, it wasn't every night that she earned a thousand francs.
"We've got plenty of time," Terence said. "All the time in the world. You can sleep here if you like."
Her feelings of insecurity returned. The man did not seem in the least intimidated, and, unlike her other customers, he spoke very calmly. He knew what he wanted; he put on the perfect piece of music, at the perfect volume, in the perfect room, with the perfect window, which looked out onto the lake of a perfect city. His suit was well-tailored, his suitcase was there in the corner, very small, as if he always travelled light, or as if he had come to Geneva just for that one night.
"I'll sleep at home," Maria said.
The man opposite her changed completely. An icy glint came into his hitherto gentlemanly eyes.
"Sit there," he said, indicating a chair by the desk.
It was an order! A real order. Maria obeyed and, oddly enough, she felt excited.
"Sit properly. Back straight, like a lady. If you don't, I'll punish you."
Punish her! Special client! In a flash, she understood everything, took the thousand francs out of her bag and put it down on the desk.
"I know what you want," she said, looking deep into those cold, blue eyes. "And I won't do it."
The man seemed to return to his normal self and he could see that she was telling the truth.
"Have a drink of wine," he said. "I won't force you to do anything. You can either stay a little longer, if you like, or you can leave."
That made her feel better.
"I have a job. I have a boss who protects and trusts me. I'd be grateful if you didn't say anything to him."
Maria said this without a hint of pleading or self-pity in her voice; it was simply how things were.
Terence was once again the man she had first met--neither gentle nor harsh, just someone who, unlike her other clients, gave the impression that he knew what he wanted. He seemed to emerge from a trance, from a play that had scarcely begun.
Was it worth leaving now and never finding out the truth about this "special client"?
"What exactly did you want?"
"You know what I want. Pain. Suffering. And a great deal of pleasure."
"Pain and suffering don't normally go with pleasure," Maria thought. And yet she desperately wanted to believe that they did, and thus make a positive out of her many negative experiences.
He took her by the hand and led her over to the window: on the other side of the lake they could see a cathedral spire. Maria remembered passing it when she had walked the road to Santiago with Ralf Hart.
"You see the river, the lake, the houses and the church? Well, it was all pretty much the same five hundred years ago, except that the city was deserted. A strange disease had spread throughout Europe, and no one knew why so many people were dying. They began to call the disease the Black Death--sent by God because of mankind's sins.
"Then a group of people decided to sacrifice themselves for the sake of humanity. They offered the thing they most feared: physical pain. They began to spend days and nights walking across these bridges, along these streets, beating their own bodies with whips and chains. They were suffering in the name of God and praising God with their pain. They soon realized that they were happier doing this than baking bread, working in the fields or feeding their animals. Pain was no longer a cause of suffering, but a source of pleasure because they were redeeming humanity from its sins. Pain became joy, the meaning of life, pleasure."
