Lawrence Block - Enough Rope

“But since it is brandy—”

“It is presumably in excellent condition. Still, if one attempts to remove this cork it will at once crumble into dust.”

“Then—”

“Then we must be inventive,” said the doctor. He brought forth an oversized hypodermic needle and plunged it in a single motion through the cork. As he drew back its plunger the syringe filled with the amber liquid.

“Brilliant,” the trader said.

The doctor drew the syringe from the bottle, squirted its contents into a beaker, and repeated the process until the bottle was empty. Then he took the bottle that Rolf had brought — an excellent flask of twenty-year-old Napoleon brandy — and transferred its contents via the syringe into the ancient bottle. It was the work of another hour to replace the various sealing materials, and when he was done the bottle looked exactly as it had when the trader first obtained it from the Chinese seaman who’d been its previous owner.

“And now we’ll employ a funnel,” Dr. Turnquist said, “and pour your very old cognac into a much newer bottle, and let’s not spill one precious drop, eh?” He sniffed appreciatively at the now empty beaker. “A rich bouquet. You’ll postpone your enjoyment until the return of Halley’s Comet?”

“Perhaps I’ll have one glass ahead of schedule,” Rolf Einhoorn said, grinning lewdly. “To toast Freya’s sixteenth birthday.”

The conversation tooka similar turn when Piet collected his ward after the surgical restoration of her physical virginity. “I have had my cake,” the planter said, smacking his lips like an animal. “And in less than a month’s time I shall eat it, too. Or drink it, more precisely. I will be sipping cognac of the comet year while my fool of a brother makes do with—” And here he employed a Dutch phrase with which the doctor was not familiar, but which he later was able to translate loosely as sloppy seconds .

Piet left, taking Freya with him. The doctor stood for a moment at the front door, watching the car drive out of sight. Then he went looking for his volume of Wordsworth.

“It’s a beautifulstory,” I told him. “A classic, really. I assume the exchange went according to plan? Freya spent the night of her sixteenth birthday with Rolf? And Piet had the brandy in exchange?”

“All went smoothly. As smooth as old cognac, as smooth as Freya’s skin.”

“Each had his cake,” I said, “and each ate it, too. Or thought he did, which amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

“I should think so. If you think you’re drinking a legendary cognac, isn’t that the same as drinking it? And if you think you’re a woman’s first lover, isn’t that the same as actually being the first?”

“I would say it is almost the same.” He smiled. “In addition, these brothers each enjoyed a third pleasure, and perhaps it was the most exquisite of all. Each had the satisfaction of having pulled something over on the other. So the whole arrangement could hardly have been more satisfactory.”

“A beautiful story,” I said again.

He leaned forward to pour a little more cognac into my glass. “I thought you would appreciate its subtleties,” he said. “I sensed that about you. Of course, there’s an element you haven’t considered.”

“Oh?”

“You raised a point. Is the illusion quite the same as the reality? Was Piet’s experience in drinking the cognac identical to Rolf’s?”

“Except insofar as one cognac was actually better or worse than the other.”

“Ah,” the doctor said. “Of course in this instance both drank the same cognac.”

“Because they believed it to be the same?”

He shook his head impatiently. “Because it was the same,” he said. “The identical brand of twenty-year-old Napoleon, and that’s not as great a coincidence as it might appear, since it’s the best brandy available on this island. It’s the very same elixir you and I have been drinking this very evening.”

“Piet and Rolf were both drinking it?”

“Of course.”

“Then what happened to the real stuff?”

“I got it, of course,” said the doctor. “It was easy to jab the hypodermic needle straight through the cork, since I’d already performed the procedure a matter of hours earlier. That part was easy enough. It was softening the wax without melting it altogether, and removing the lead foil without destroying it, that made open-heart surgery child’s play by comparison.”

“So you wound up with the Comet Year cognac.”

“Quite,” he said, smiling. And, as an afterthought, “And with the girl, needless to say.”

“The girl?”

“Freya.” He looked down into his glass. “A charming, marvelously exciting creature. Genetics can no more explain her perfection than can Darwin account for the gecko’s fingertips. A benevolent Creator was at work there. I detached her hymen, had her during the night she spent here, then let her go off to lose her already-lost virginity to Piet. And then he brought her back for hymenal restoration, had me lock up the barn door, if you will, after I’d galloped off on the horse. And now Rolf has had her, gathering the dear thing’s first fruits for the third time.”

“Good Lord.”

“Quite. Now if the illusion is identical to the reality, then Piet and Rolf have both gained everything and lost nothing. Whereas I have gained everything and lost nothing whether the illusion is equal to the reality or not. There are points here, I suspect, that a philosopher might profitably ponder. Philosophical implications aside, I thought you might enjoy the story.”

“I love the story.”

He smiled, enjoying my enjoyment. “It’s getting late. A pity you can’t meet Freya. I’m afraid my description has been woefully inadequate. But she’s with Piet and he’s never welcomed visitors. Still, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll send Leota to your room. I know you fancy her, and I saw the look she was giving you. She’s not Freya, but I think you’ll enjoy her acquaintance.”

I muttered something appreciative.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I wish, too, that I could let you have a taste of the Comet Year cognac. From the bouquet, it should turn out to be quite nice. It may not be all that superior to what we’ve been drinking, but think of the glamor that accompanies it.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet?”

He shook his head. “Those two brothers have probably finished their bottles by now. I shouldn’t doubt it. But I think I’d rather hold out until the comet comes up again. If you’re in this part of the world in a couple of years, you might want to stop in and watch the comet with me. I suppose one ought to be able to turn up a telescope somewhere, and we could raise a glass or two, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure we could.”

“Quite.” He winked slowly, looking more than ever like an old gecko waiting for a fly. He lifted the crystal bell, rang. “Ah, Leota,” he said, when the Tamil woman appeared. “My guest’s the least bit tired. Perhaps you could show him to his room.”

When the bulletsstruck, my first thought was that someone had raced up behind me to give me an abrupt shove. An instant later I registered the sound of the gunshots, and then there was fire in my side, burning pain, and the impact had lifted me off my feet and sent me sprawling at the edge of the lawn in front of my house.

I noticed the smell of the grass. Fresh, cut the night before and with the dew still on it.

I can recall fragments of the ambulance ride as if it took place in some dim dream. I worried at the impropriety of running the siren so early in the morning.