The Story of My Wife (19 page)

But she hid her face from me.

I continued walking. Outside, in the dark, I stopped once more. I had to. I kept stumbling.

And what about the turmoil inside, in my heart? Well, in my heart there was dull silence. But in my ears I heard jabbering, music even. As if they were ringing bells; I had to listen. "Are you leaving, sir?" someone seemed to ask. "So soon? What did you do up there, kill the young lady?" Such things were buzzing in my ear. And there was more: "What
did
you do up there? Undress her? Bravo. Had yourself a little fling, I bet."

I should have started running, to cool my blood, to ease my shame, but I couldn't.

"Am I nailed to this God damned spot or what?" I said to myself and began cursing.

I also thought of going back upstairs and breaking down the door. How dare she send me away when she let me undress her? What nerve. Am I an animal, a pet she can just toss out? And I almost keeled over, I was so hot. That's when I really felt it. For I saw the slivers of light again, dancing around her lips, and felt the fragrances that permeated the room, as if someone knocked over a bucket of honey up there.

It even crossed my mind that she didn't really want me to go. Can one ever know for sure what these creatures want? I was ready to rush back upstairs, for, you see, I also heard my wife's laughter chiming in, that outrageous laughter of hers, with which she used to mock my bumbling ways with women—my own invented stories, which, lo and behold, came true. Is that what you are? her laughter seemed to ask. A bumbler, an oaf? There is a pretty young lady upstairs in bed.

But suddenly I got very tired. And after that it wasn't hard. Clip-clop. I kept listening to my own footsteps. There: all you have to do is begin. By now I was anxious to get back to London; I began to hurry, as though I had urgent business to attend to.

But what was I to do now in London? Go home? No, that was out of the question.

So I went to see Kodor who this time made a big fuss over me. There were two reasons for the ovation.

First, he wanted me to go at once to Bruges; exciting things were happening there, prospects were excellent, not in the rescue service line, to be sure, but he'd just been discussing some very attractive leasing arrangements . . . And the main thing was they paid their men very well. I should therefore be on my way to Bruges as soon as possible. But not just yet, I should wait, he'll tell me when. In other words, I was not to go to Bruges. That was the first urgent matter.

Secondly, I should go with him right now to a "charming little get-together" which otherwise would bore him to tears, since the people who will be there were all bearded sourpusses, and he never knows what to do with such people.

"Come on, Jacob, entertain those bearded fogies for me . . . Besides, a few new contacts cannot hurt you. And who knows, somebody there may quickly fall in love with you." Kodor said all this in Italian; when in expansive mood he always used that language.

Meanwhile I almost had a fit straining to pay attention, and pretending to be overwhelmed by all these offers and the man making them. But I had to pretend. I thought to myself: Come what may, I'll keep pressing him until I squeeze something out. I had no intention of continuing my walking tours of London. I had enough.

"Wait a minute," Kodor said, "first we'll have a little taste of this milk." (Milk stood for wine in his vocabulary.) He spun around and moments later was filling my glass with something dark.

"Well, what is it?" he asked, beaming, and stuck the bottle under his arm. "Go on, tell me if you can . . . Don't keep on smelling it.. . . Ah, you know nothing about these things." He was running me down, as usual, and shaking with laughter as he did.

I didn't have to taste it. It smelled of resin and smoke. That was enough.

"It's from Samos,"I said, like a judge.

"My birthplace," he whispered excitedly. "But the deal, old chap, the deal is marvelous, too." He was on another subject now, and became even more ecstatic.

It seems two Greek companies went brankrupt, and he bought up all their assets. "And there are British interests, too," he enthused. He just went wild over those British interests.

"I am a brilliant man, don't you know?" he roared. "A regular genius." To make certain I did know, he proceeded to tell me just how brilliant he was. These people thought he was doing
them
a favor (who they were I had no idea); what's more, it was going to ruin a Greek named Nikander, which was the nicest part of the venture—he loathed this man.

"A little subtraction, a little addition, and I end up with a tidy profit," he explained triumphantly. "By Jupiter ... or by Jove, I should say." For he now switched to English. Still, I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. To this day I can not understand why people do this. Say a young man wants to learn a trade. Why can't he be taught everything from the beginning? For that's not how it's done, oh no. He is thrust in the middle, and left to figure out the beginning by himself. And that's how these geniuses operate, too. They wouldn't dream of starting at the beginning and allowing people to catch their meaning.

I did finally gather from all the mish-mash that the deal involved oil, vast quantities of cooking oil, enough oil to make the entire United Kingdom sizzle. And top quality oil, too! When you looked through it, it sparkled like crystal, its lovely amber captured the sun.

"Show me a sample of that precious oil," I said.

But he didn't have an ounce to show me. That's how these people are. They do big business, but the stuff they buy and sell is never seen. There are transactions but no tangible commodities. I never did conduct business on such a grand scale. When I struck my deals, I sat on those barrels and crates myself, by God . . . But why go into that. . . ?

Anyway, the upshot was the following: he formed a veritable oil ring, bought up everything "for a tune," (he meant a song). In a month or two the oil would start pouring into London. (What for? I would have liked to ask but didn't. Let it pour.) For the time being the oil was stored in one of his native country's "great" ports, which one he was not in a position to tell me. (To this day I don't know any more about the whole arrangement.)

"And that's why we're meeting tonight," Kodor informed me. "To celebrate. With the major stockholders, I mean. I'll let you in on it, too, don't worry. Do you think I'd pass over an imposing man like you?"

Well, my befuddlement at all this was total. I still don't know what happened to me, Did I fall into a deep sleep? Did my senses grow numb? I felt as if I was in some brown fog. I sat there nodding, pretending to be intensely interested in these wonderful developments, until I realized I wasn't even listening.

I watched Kodor open a cabinet door, and saw him walk right in. The cabinet, I discovered with some amazement, led to a whole other wing, complete with dressing room, washroom, etc. How odd it all was, like everything else around Kodor. He undressed, changed into fresh clothes, and all the while kept on talking. At one point I interrupted him:

"Listen, Kodor, could you get me some coins from your bank? Brand new ones, of course."

"What's that?" he inquired cheerfully. Only then did I come to my senses. (Actually, I thought of getting hold of a few coins and sending it to the girl, without any letter or anything, simply a terse note—"In rememberance, from Captain J. S.")

"I am working on a coin-tester," I told Kodor very quickly. "A little device that would identify counterfeit coins used in vending machines. That's what I need brand new coins for." I couldn't come up with anything better on the spur of the moment.

"You don't say." Kodor eyed me suspiciously. "I had no idea you were so clever." But he looked at me as though he wanted to say: You are a shrewd one. Hope you are not trying to trick me.

In a red, silk-lined private room of the Hotel Brighton, I took out my fountain pen and wrote the following letter to my wife:

"Tiny
tresor,
I am with Kodor and will have to stay with him tonight. Business. Then I am off to the home of the wild pigeons: Brazil, possibly for as long as six months. (I underlined the word six.) But before that, next week, that is, I must go to Bruges. But right now I have to get drunk—good manners demand it. And so does life. I must spur this rascal into action, for everything now depends on him, alas. Things may still turn out all right if he is on our side. One more thing: try not to read all night tonight; I don't want you to be in bad spirits when I walk in, bringing you the rays of the morning sun . . . Your Apollo."

When I was finished I turned to Kodor:

"Do you want to send greetings to my wife?"

"I sure do," he said, and on the back of the paper he wrote: "I am busy inciting your dear husband against women. An old devil: Sir Alexander Kodor."

"Sir?" I asked, horrified, "Didn't you know? As of last week."

The lucky bastard.

So I sent the letter, along with a bouquet of roses which I bought in the hotel lobby. Then I sat down and gave myself over to pure pleasure.

"Meat, bread and wine, I am content with these three," I informed the guests at the party. I can tell you, it's not hard to win people over, especially if you have some feeling for it. It doesn't take much. Just being fat may do the trick. Or if you knew, say, how to neigh, if you could imitate animal sounds. Now Kodor was famous for his roguish smile but also for a crinkle around his eyes that gave him a sweet, raisiny look, a look that promised profits galore; they all fell for it.

I decided I was going to turn on the charm, too. And why not? There were two little angels among the invited guests. So I showed them how much I could eat and drink. Sure enough, Kodor introduced me by saying:

"A well-known devourer of oysters." And to others he said:

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is Morbidani, the courageous sea captain." Everyone laughed. There was a morose old codger there, even he laughed. (He was some sort of doctor, actually, a retired physician, as I later found out.)

What was more important, however, was that these two sweethearts for some reason took a liking to me and urged me to eat. They put the mustard, the dressings and other necessary items in front of me and were shaking with laughter. It seems they were in a mischievous mood, or had been waiting for just such an opportunity. They marveled at my appetite and were outdoing each other in trying to pamper me and mock me. In minutes the party was in full swing, and this made Kodor beam even more.

"A wonderful fellow," he said, pointing to me. "Now I see at last what he does to bowl over women."

"Does he bowl them over, really?" asked one of the little darlings.

"Does he ever? They just have to spot him and they're ready to jump off trains. He is some charmer," concluded my friend.

The two ladies laughed even harder.

"And what a giant," one of them said with a shudder, though not of course without interest. I didn't even raise my head, I just cast a few intimidating sidelong glances in her direction, and continued eating.

"He is an enchanter, I tell you," Kodor went on, "a real spellbinder."

"What are some of your feats again?" he asked. "To begin with, his net weight is around three hundred pounds. Honest. And he can polish off four geese and twenty knockwursts in one sitting, isn't that right?" I nodded gravely.

"A monster, in other words," said one of the ladies. I don't mind such comments, really. It gives them a little thrill, and that's all right. So they were having fun at my expense, so what? Why make a fuss? The world is a patchwork, just a flimsy patchwork, it doesn't pay to get touchy. For how is one ever to get satisfaction?

I looked around the room. Actually, a rather interesting group of investors had gathered together: six men including us two, and the two women. Needless to say, nobody had a beard. What's more, you could tell they had very little to do with one another; they were all after big profits, that's about the only thing they had in common—that and the fact that they seemed to know very little about business (the other four, I mean), especially the doctor, the old man with the disagreeable look, whom I already mentioned. And what can I say about the stocking and undershirt merchant, who already had a play of his produced in Vienna? He didn't seem to have a nose for big business, either. And the two others: a shipowner and a major stockholder in a glass factory were likewise small potatoes compared to Kodor. In my younger days I would not have believed that one could encounter such naivete in the heart of London. But for all their childish notions, they seemed to be doing all right. It was quite odd, I must say, yet where but in England should one find such eccentrics. And Kodor treated them accordingly—gently, that is, like a mother. But that he was out to bambozzle them, I had no doubt whatsoever. What's more, I was sure that the reason I was there, and the two lovely chippies, was to provide the entertainment. Large sums of money must have been at stake, or else that charlatan would not have invited all these people to a plush hotel room.

But a lot I cared. I was eating leg of veal, an excellent cut, and quite a chunk, too. ("Make it at least two pounds," I had told the waiter, knowing well that veal was best when roasted in one piece and served piping hot; it's tender and light then, like a pale pink cloud.) I could shout for joy, I was so pleased. No one can imagine what goes on inside me when my juices start flowing.

"My stomach is quite healthy." I said quietly. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am in fine health. Why should I bother my head about all these complications?" But it made no sense trying to explain. Those who were never afflicted with stomach ailment cannot imagine the joy good eating can bring.

"And now I will bust the old gut," I said to myself playfully, and kept pouring all that fine wine down my throat. Kodor didn't miss a chance to make a big production of this, too.

"Just look at him," he cried. "He is not even gulping it, he is pouring it down, as if his belly was a big tub."

"I want to see, I want to see," clamored my nosy fans. So I demonstrated again how to do this, how to lap up a quartful without gulping.