Re: The Diplomat / The Waiter - end? ?
The waiter was a man out of time and out of touch, and in this conversation he barely spoke his native tongue. Yet he noticed the play with words, and his roving eye seemed to take in all the detail he was not entitled to see. The silver platter flashed a white inquisitive beam across the ceiling and through the window, cutting through the soft bronze light. The waiter was this way, too bright and too inquisitive. You would expect such a man to be more bored with his job, the endless pacing up and down the rail car fetching drinks all of five feet; but no.
He was at the next table, trying to judge whether a similar conversation was worth his while with the next fussy patron, when Duke’s mind went roving.
The waiter’s mind, as it turned out, was not armed against such intrusion, and offered peculiar sights like an open oyster on a bed of crystal ice. The duality of two men was there, the Austrian immigrant with the big smile and the surly admirer of poets. Underneath they were much the same, however, questing for items of interest like a housefrau in an antique shop. Curiosity incarnate. Born from different personalities, though. The surly one was a darker shadow. It had teeth. Teeth so sharp they could be lazy.