The Zurich Conspiracy

brought her.
    “Sali doesn’t see very well, his eyes are too weak,” she explained.
    “Who pay glasses?” Sali’s father was now more annoyed than concerned. “School?”
    Herr Emini had a job, Josefa knew that but not where it was. She sometimes saw him parking an old delivery truck in front of the apartment building.
    “I no buy glasses,” he said stubbornly. “Glasses cost much money, much money. I no have glasses.”
    Josefa’s biggest question was whether kids in his homeland wore glasses; she knew absolutely nothing about how they lived in Kosovo—no Loyn products for sale there! All she knew was that the people apparently ate salty pita with yogurt, because Sali had made her a present of it yesterday. Embarrassed, she had reciprocated by pressing a chocolate bar into his hand.
    “Glasses are important for Sali.” She was insistent now. “He can’t see words without them. He can’t read without glasses.”
    The drill blared away in the kitchen. Herr Emini was getting on her nerves. She would talk the matter over with Frau Yilmaz.
    “I’ll talk to them at the school,” she relented. That calmed him down, as if she’d promised to pay for the glasses.
    “Good, good,” he said with an inquisitive glance into the kitchen. “Washing machine,” he muttered. Josefa was at the point of throwing him out when the phone rang. She picked it up.
    “Just a minute,” she shouted. Sali’s father moved toward the door.
    “Good, good, good,” he murmured again and left without another word. Josefa couldn’t understand whoever it was on the line. She shut herself up in the bedroom.
    “Hello?”
    “OH WHY was Joan’s date POST-PONED?” Joan Caroll’s agent.
    “Kelly, didn’t they tell you? The new marketing head, Werner Schulmann, arranged it and—”
    “OH WHY was I not IN-FORMED A-BOUT THIS?”
    “I e-mailed and faxed you and—”
    “OH WHY do you people not stick to our A-GREE-MENTS?”
    “Kelly, you have to talk to Werner Schulmann, he approved it. He authorized it. He—”
    “Werner WHO? We do not wish to speak to Werner. We shall speak to Francis Bourdin, CHEEO-SE-PHEEEN!” Click. That was that.
    When she opened the door, the workman was standing in front of her.
    “Name’s Japp. I’m taking a lunch break,” he announced.
    Josefa didn’t believe her ears. She stared at the man in utter bewilderment. “You are taking a lunch break?” she asked slowly, stressing each word.
    “Yep,” the workman replied. “Back around one-thirty.”
    Josefa shook her head. Then she let him have it. “No siree, you are definitely not taking a lunch break. I took this morning off just for your sake. You didn’t get here until eleven , and you already want to take a break! That’s outrageous! I have to go to the office this afternoon, and you’re still not finished!”
    Then her voice got louder and shriller. “Can you imagine the things I had to do so I could be here this morning? Do you think I can simply saunter into the office at eleven? Do you believe you can earn your money that easily? And make life difficult for other people on top of that?” She was practically shouting now. She was red in the face and there were beads of sweat on her forehead.
    “I shall complain to your boss, you can bet on it! I don’t have to take this lying down. You probably think you can get away with this with a woman, right? But not with me, my good man, NOT WITH ME!”
    Quaking with rage, she threw the receiver that was still in her hand onto the floor. The plastic casing broke with a crunch, exposing the inmost secrets of modern technology. Josefa tore into the bedroom and slammed the door. She whimpered as she beat her fists on the bed. She grabbed the steel cable. The heavy ball began to swing, slowly at first, then faster and faster, more and more powerfully, unstoppable. Better get out of the way, you blockheads, you ass-kissers, you backstabbers! Nothing can stop the ball, it is stronger than anything, it circles and circles, wiping out everything in its path of destruction. Bashing, breaking, sparing nothing. How it turns and turns, blasting everything in its way! Bam! Bam! Bam!
    It’s over. Finished. Release.
    Some light slowly made it through. The armoire. The oil painting. Josefa looked around in confusion. How much time had passed? How light she felt all of a sudden. What had happened? The man and the washing machine. Oh, my God! The phone on the floor. She opened the bedroom door.
    The