Værelse 304 har udsigt

Klokken var over elleve, da Marcos endelig nåede hotellet. Hans fly var landet to timer forsinket, og taxachaufføren havde kørt den lange vej gennem byen. Han satte kufferten ned på gulvet i lobbyen og så på kvinden bag receptionen.

It was past eleven when Marcos finally reached the hotel. His flight had landed two hours late and the taxi driver had taken the long way through the city. He set his suitcase down on the lobby floor and looked at the woman behind the desk.

"Reservation på Marcos Soto," sagde han. Han havde øvet sætningen i flyet. Kvinden tastede et øjeblik, så trak hun en lille grimasse, som han ikke kunne tyde.

"Reservation under Marcos Soto," he said. He had practiced the sentence on the plane. The woman typed for a moment, then made a small face he could not read.

"Jeg beklager," sagde hun. "Dit værelse er ikke længere ledigt. Vi havde problemer med bookingsystemet. Men vi har ét værelse tilbage på tredje sal." Hun holdt pause. "Det har en altan. Samme pris."

"I am sorry," she said. "Your room is no longer available. We had a problem with the booking system. But we have one room left, on the third floor." She paused. "It has a balcony. Same price."

Marcos tog nøglen uden at protestere. Elevatoren var ældre end ham selv. Den stønnede, mens den kravlede opad. Da han åbnede døren til 304 og skubbede gardinerne til side, bredte byen sig ud under ham — hustage, oplyste vinduer, en lille plads med et springvand, der stadig løb.

Marcos took the key without arguing. The elevator was older than he was. It groaned as it climbed. When he opened the door of 304 and pushed back the curtains, the city spread out below him — rooftops, lit windows, a small square with a fountain still running.

Han gik ud på altanen i frakke og så to mennesker dele en cigaret ved springvandet. Vinden var kold. Han rørte sig ikke i lang tid.

He stepped onto the balcony in his coat and watched two people share a cigarette by the fountain. The wind was cold. He did not move for a long time.