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too hard on the strap.
    “So, has he arrived yet?” I said.
    “No, luckily he hasn’t,” he said, going by instinct, I assume.
    “Does he give you a lot of work? I mean, do you often have to intervene, intervene seriously I mean, when it’s dangerous.”
    “Not as much as I’d like, really, it’s very stressful this job, but at the same time, very inactive, you have to be permanently on the alert, you have to anticipate trouble, on a couple of occasions I’ve grabbed hold of really distinguished people who were just going up to my boss to say hello. I’ve pinned their hands behind their backs and overpowered them, for no reason at all, they’ve even been on the receiving end of a few expert blows. I got hauled over the coals for it too. So you have to be very careful and not anticipate too much. You have to guess people’s intentions, that’s what you have to do. Not that anything much ever happens, and it’s difficult to stay alert if you have the feeling that it’s not really necessary.”
    “I suppose you tend to lower your guard a bit.”
    “No, I don’t, but I have a really hard time making sure that I don’t. My colleague, the one who stays with him while I go on ahead, I notice that he lowers his guard much more. I tell him off about it sometimes. He plays portable video games while he’swaiting, he’s a bit of an addict. And you just can’t do that, you see.”
    “Yes, I see. And how does the boss treat you both?”
    “Well, for him we’re invisible, he doesn’t not do anything just because we’re there. I’ve seen him get up to some really disgusting things.”
    “What sort of disgusting things?”
    The bodyguard took my arm and led me over to the betting booths. I felt suddenly embarrassed to be walking along like that with such a tall man. His way of taking my arm was protective, perhaps he didn’t know how to make contact with people in any other way: he was always the protector. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he said:
    “Well, with women, in the car, for example. In fact, he’s a bit of a dirty old man, got a dirty mind, you know?” He tapped his forehead. “Listen, you’re not a journalist, are you?”
    “No, not at all.”
    “Good.”
    I bet on number eight and he bet on number fourteen, he was a stubborn man, or else superstitious, and we went back to the stands. We sat down, waiting for the third race to begin.
    “What shall we do about the binoculars?”
    “What if I watch the start and you watch the finish?” he said. “After all, it was my fault.”
    He again took the binoculars from me without first removing them from around my neck, but now we were sitting very close together and there was no need for him to pull on the strap. He looked at the grandstand for a second and then replaced the binoculars on my knees. I looked at his bootees, they seemed so incongruous, they made his very large feet look childish. He got excited during the race, shouting: “Go on,
Narnia
, move it!” at number fourteen which did not get stuck at the gate, but nevertheless got off to a bad start and only came in fourth. My numbereight was in second place, so we both tore up our slips with an appropriately embittered look on our faces: ah, to hell with it.
    Suddenly, I noticed that he looked depressed, it couldn’t be because of the bet.
    “Are you all right?” I asked.
    He didn’t answer at once. He was looking at the floor, at his torn-up tickets, he had his broad chest thrown forward, his head almost between his spread legs, as if he felt sick and was taking precautions in case he had to throw up, so as not to stain his trousers.
    “No,” he said at last. “It’s just that that was the third race, my boss will be about to arrive with my colleague, if they arrive that is. And if they arrive, then it’ll be up to me.”
    “I suppose you have to stay here and keep watch.”
    “Yes, I do. Do you mind keeping me company? Well, if you want to go down to the paddock