The Dud Avocado - Elaine Dundy [38]
“The Agricultural Commission for European Aid, Soil Erosion Division,” John said quickly. He’d been shifting restlessly from one foot to another, but saying the magic words settled him back in his chair again.
“But what a mad coincidence. I mean what on earth were you doing there, Teddy?”
“What do you mean what was he doing there?” John turned to Teddy and laughed. He had no sense of humor but he just couldn’t help laughing at other people’s stupidity. It was such an unpleasant sound I looked over at Dody. She sat on quiet and contented. She seemed to have some invisible knitting in her lap. “My gosh,” John went on, shaking his head at me sadly, “that’s just what I can’t get over. If the recently graduated college alumna can’t turn her trained brain to some intelligent awareness of our responsibilities in World Affairs, we’re going to foul up our leadership like England did, as sure as God made little green apples. Read the papers, gal. Find out what it’s all about.”
“But what on earth were you doing there, Teddy?” I asked him for the third time, ignoring John.
“Braziano as usual,” he shrugged. Braziano, a colleague, was not one of Teddy’s favorites. He was always having to deputize for him. “His stories are getting wilder and wilder. It seems on this particular occasion he was unable to get to the conference on account of being poisoned by a trout at the Relais St. Germain the night before. You know the tank of live fish they have there? Well, there is an expression that you Americans have— ‘to shoot trout in a tank’ …”
“Like shooting trout in a barrel,” I said.
“Yes—quite. Well, it seems the American he was dining with did shoot one—or so Braziano insists—and to quiet the management Braziano ate it. Naturally it poisoned him and naturally he had to stay home the next day.”
I later reflected that this was probably the only amusing thing said that evening, but at the time nobody laughed. Teddy was too exasperated, I was afraid of getting us off the track, and John, of course, saw nothing funny about it. Dody shifted her invisible knitting with a little frown of concentration; she seemed to have dropped a stitch.
I turned to John, dizzy with excitement. We were approaching the crux of the matter now. “You see, at Teddy’s Embassy the various Cultural Attachés are assigned to Special Projects from time to time. Braziano’s, I suppose, is this European Aid thing, so it’s really just a fluke you met Teddy at all. Because it isn’t Teddy’s project. Teddy’s project …” I suddenly found I wasn’t able to say it. I could only pray that John would pick up the cue.
“What is your Special Project, Señor Visconti?” asked John. It came out quite simply with his breath. It was perfect—casual, perfunctory, polite. I marveled above all at the naturalness of the delivery. Now all I had to do was switch off, make myself invisible, convince myself of the absolute unimportance of Teddy’s reply. I turned quietly and smiled at Dody.
“Well,” said Teddy wearily, “for this particular six-month period I’m handling all the Student Conferences.” He sighed, feeling sorry for himself. “We have a rash of them breaking out at the Sorbonne, I can’t think why. Next week I have five——” I felt a slight pause; was he wondering whether to use this as an excuse for turning us out now? “Five. One every day to attend.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Five—it was so much better than I’d dared hope. I turned back to them then. The transformation