564
PARTISAN REVIEW
turning his small twinkling eyes from Blam to something over Blam's
shoulder.
"Just out for a walk," says Blam, made uncomfortable by Funkenstein's
lack of concentration, which obliges him to keep the conversation going.
"Though now that I have you here, I thought I'd ask you about a house
you sold a while back. Tell me, are you still in real estate?"
"Oh yes. Yes, of course I am." Funkenstein trains his swift, piercing
glance on Blam, but immediately looks over Blam's shoulder again. "Got
something to sell?"
"Not anymore," Blam says with a shrug. Suddenly he feels hurt by
Funkenstein's indifference and decides to end the conversation, which was
going nowhere anyway. "I see you're interested in cars now."
"In one only." Again Funkenstein glances up at Blam, questioningly
this time, as if debating whether to trust him. "It's not mine, though. I'm
watching it for a friend."
Blam, baffled, turns to see a large green car parked alone in the mid–
dle of the square. Suddenly Funkenstein grabs him by the arm and twirls
him
around. "Don't turn again!" he whispers, raising his wild, imperious
eyebrows and pursing his rosy, wrinkled lips, the corners frothy with spit.
" I don't want to call attention to myself."
Blam shifts uneasily, realizing that Funkenstein is using his bulk as a
shield, that he, Blam, has taken the place of the dusty gray Fiat.
"Look! Look!" Funkenstein cries, triumphant. He is jumping up and
down, bending over, peeking out from behind Blam like a child playing
hide-and-seek. "See? They're getting on the bus!" Then, suddenly relaxed,
he straightens his back and explains offhandedly, "It's a favor for an old
friend, a business partner, actually. He's out of town for a while, and I'm
keeping an eye on his wife. I knew she was up to something when I saw
their car in the square. Well, she's gone off with a man on that bus. To his
place, for sure."
From the direction of Funkenstein's gaze Blam can tell he is follow–
ing the bus (with his eyes or in his mind's eye) that runs past the
monument, on to the Danube, and into the part of town filled with new
residential dwellings for newly arrived officials, following the dark, young,
nattily dressed man and the tall blond woman on his arm, her strong thighs
tightly encased in a blue skirt. If Funkenstein's "old friend" is
Funkenstein's age, getting on to seventy, perhaps the couple is not so
young as Blam imagined. Perhaps the whole thing is a sham. He gives
Funkenstein a quizzical look.
But Funkenstein is on his way to the green car in the middle of the
square, bypassing Blam as if he were an object. Blam notices that the bus
waiting at the monument only a moment before has gone.
