The Advocate

We finished eating breakfast, during which he took a gigantic omelet with ham, and me, because I did not like eggs: fresh bread, butter, pate and cheese. And to this not the worst light coffee.

From the beginning a certain gentleman attracted my attention. He came in some ten minutes after us. Big, bulky, dressed richly, but appropriately to the mode obligated for his social class, only that he came in in snow white wool socks. His boots, new, shining officer’s, he carried stately in his left hand, holding them by his breast, and actually at his heart, and in his right hand he held a large black briefcase. He was alone. He took a spot two tables from us, but in full view. 

He took out from his briefcase some newspaper and, as if this had any significance, he meticulously checked the title, after which he pedantically opened it on the floor and solemnly placed his feet on it. Next to the newspaper he neatly placed his shoes. 

He had a very resigned face and, drinking his black coffee, he smoked cigarette after cigarette. He smoked a domestic brand, but the most expensive, packed in a set of twenty five in a horizontal, white-red hard pack. 

Bronco, seeing that the man had intrigued me, explained that he had traveled with him in the same compartment. 

The gentleman had come here for a week or more, on some important business and he had carelessly put on shoes which the local shoemaker had made for him on custom order. He picked them up just before his departure, put them on and soon after had to head for the train. 

Already on the train something happened to the shoes, as if they had shrunk. They began to squeeze him so much, that only with great difficulty and the help of his fellow passengers could he finally get them off. The rest of the trip he tried not to think about it, what would be next, him in his socks. 

An hour before the arrival of his train he decided finally to put the shoes back on. Nothing. 

The entire compartment, and in fact almost the entire wagon, tried to help. Half the compartment held the man, so he would not fall out when he put his feet out the open window for fifteen minutes. Maybe the cold wind would cool his feet and they’d shrink. Nothing. 

Some lady gave him a can of American talc, left over from the UNRRA—still nothing. 

It was suggested to pour into the boots some spiritus or even vodka, but nothing came of this, because the train despite its lateness was already arriving at the station. 

When I paid our check, the guest began to give Bronco some desperate signal. On our way out we went up to him. He pleaded to arrange for him some shoes, that they could even be pepegis, and even the kind of slip-ons which they required you to wear when you were in a museum. 

He was completely heartbroken. In twenty five minutes he had to be in court, where as an advocate he was involved in some important case. He was supposed to be here more than a week. He had a reservation at the best hotel in town, the one where Goering stayed. 

I felt bad for the guy. 

I asked him what size shoes he wore, forty six. It was twenty to nine, the stores opened at eleven. I gave Bronco, with whom I would rather not appear anywhere, because I was being followed, the keys to my house. I told him to take a bath and rest, because before noon we’d begin to work. 

I myself on the other hand quickly went to a relatively nearby theater, with which I collaborated several times. Knowing that the production crews had already been working there since eight in the morning, I asked a friend in costumes whether he had on set any shoes sized forty six. He had two pairs: musketeer’s shoes, used also often by the halabardniks, and Venetian merchant’s shoes. 

I decided on the merchant’s shoes and asked him if it were possible to lend them to me discretely for two days. When I returned to the restaurant, the advocate found himself on the brink of a breakdown. The audience, made up of the numerous customers now here, were going giddy as he desperately, and of course fruitlessly, tried one more time to put on these unfortunate officer’s boots of his. 

When I gave him the theater shoes, he could not believe it. He did not suspect that he would ever in his life put something so comfortable on his poor, hurting feet. The shoes were impressive: violet velour or velvet with a very thin, square tip, a raised heel and a large gold square bracket at the height of the instep. 

The advocate went on and on to impress on me his boundless and sincere gratitude, calling me his do-gooder. He quickly paid for his coffee and hurriedly collected his things. He had time still to take down my phone number. He receded quickly. 

I saw him yet as he went away comically, and actually in a manner trotted in these shoes towards the direction of the taxis. He did not look like a Venetian merchant, he looked quite simply like an old homosexual.