Boris Akunin - He Lover of Death

At first Senka thought he was joking. But Senka was the first to make use of the facilities.

The day after the deduction and projection, Erast Petrovich sat Senka down in front of the mirror and started mocking the poor orphan something terrible. First he rubbed some nasty kind of muck into his hair, and that ruined the coiffure Senka had paid three roubles for. His hair was a nice golden colour, but that rotten grease turned it into a sticky, mousy-grey tangle.

Masa was watching this cruel abuse. He clicked his tongue in approval and said: ‘He need rice.’

‘You don’t need to t-tell me that,’ the engineer replied, concentrating on what he was doing. He took a pinch of something out of a little box and rubbed some little grains or pellets into the back of Senka’s neck.

‘What’s that?’

‘Dried lice. Fauna that every b-beggar has to have. Don’t worry, we’ll wash your hair with p-paraffin afterwards.’

Senka’s jaw dropped open and the dastardly Mr Nameless immediately took advantage of this to paint his golden crown a rotten colour, then stuck some thingamajig wrapped in gauze into Senka’s open mouth and arranged it between his gum and his cheek. It twisted Senka’s entire mug – his face, that is – over to one side. Meanwhile Erast Petrovich was already rubbing his victim’s forehead, nose and neck with oil that turned his skin a muddy colour, with wide-open pores.

‘The ears,’ the sensei suggested.

‘Won’t that b-be too much?’ the engineer asked doubtfully, but he rubbed his little stick inside Senka’s ears anyway.

That tickles!’

‘Yes, I think it really is b-better with suppurating ears,’ Erast Petrovich said thoughtfully. ‘Now, let us m-move on to the wardrobe.’

He took some tattered rags out of the cupboard, far tattier than anything Senka had ever worn in his life, even during the very worst times with Uncle Zot.

Senka looked at himself in the triple mirror and twirled this way and that. No doubt about it, he certainly made a fine beggar. And the important thing was, no one would ever recognise him. One thing was still niggling him, though.

‘The beggars have all the places divvied up between themselves,’ he started explaining to Erast Petrovich. ‘You have to deal with their head man. If I just turn up on the porch out of nowhere, they’ll send me packing, and they’ll give me a good thrashing too.’

‘If they try to d-drive you away, chew on this,’ said the engineer, handing him a smooth little ball. ‘It’s ordinary children’s s-soap, strawberry flavoured. A simple trick, but effective, I b-borrowed it from a certain remarkable t-trickster. Only when the foam starts p-pouring out of your mouth, don’t f-forget to roll your eyes up.’

But Senka still had his worries. He walked to the church of St Nicholas the Wonder-Worker on Podkopaevsky Lane, sat down on the very edge of the porch and rolled his eyes right up under his forehead straight off, just to be on the safe side. The hysterical old grandma and noseless old grandad who were begging near by started grumbling and grousing. Clear out, they said, we don’t know you, the takings is poor enough already, wait till Boxman comes, he’ll soon show you what’s what – and all sorts of other stuff like that.

But when Boxman did come and the beggars snitched on the new boy to him, Senka started forcing foam out through his lips and shaking his shoulders and whining in a thin little voice. Boxman looked at him, then looked again and said: ‘Can’t you bastards see he’s a genuine epileptical? Leave him alone, let him eat, and I won’t take any remunerations from you for him.’ That was Boxman for you – always fair. That was why he’d lasted twenty years in Khitrovka.

So the beggars stopped pestering Senka. He relaxed a bit, rolled his eyes back down from under his forehead and started flashing them this way and that. People really didn’t give very much, mostly kopecks and half-kopecks. Once Mikheika the Night-Owl walked past and out of sheer boredom (and to check how good his disguise was as well), Senka grabbed him by the flap of his coat and started whining: Give a poor cripple a coin or two. Night-Owl didn’t give him anything, and he called him foul names, but he didn’t recognise him. After that Senka stopped worrying altogether.

When the bells rang for mass and the women started walking into the church, Death appeared round the corner of Podkolokolny Street. She was dressed plainly, in a white shawl and a grey dress, but even so she lit up the lane like the sun peeping out from behind a cloud.

She glanced at all the beggars, but her eyes didn’t linger on Senka. Then she walked in the door.

Oh-oh, he thought. Has Erast Petrovich overdone it? How would Death know who to give the note to?

So when the worshippers started coming out after the service, Senka deliberately started whining through his nose and stammering – so that Death would realise who he was hinting at: ‘Good k-kind people! Don’t be angry with a c-crippled orphan for b-begging! Help m-me if you can! I’m not from these p-parts, I don’t kn-know anyone round here. Give me a c-crust of bread and a c-coin or two!’

She looked a bit more closely at Senka and started tittering. So she’d guessed all right. She put a coin in every beggar’s hand, and gave Senka a five-kopeck piece too, and a folded piece of paper to go with it.

Then she went off, covering her mouth with the edge of her shawl, because she found Senka’s disguise so amusing.

As soon as he’d hobbled his way out of Khitrovka, Senka squatted down by an advertisement column, unfolded the sheet of paper and started reading it. Death’s handwriting was regular and easy to read, even though the letters were really tiny:

‘Hello, Erast Petrovich. I’ve done everything you told me to. I hung the petal round my neck and he noticed it straight away . [What petal’s that, then, thought Senka, scratching his head. And who’s ‘he’? Never mind. Maybe that’ll get cleared up later.] He pulled a face and said you’re barmy. Hanging that rubbish round your neck and not wearing the presents I give you. He tried to find out if it was a present from someone. As we agreed I said it was from Speedy Senka. He started shouting. That snot-nosed little pup he said. When I get my handson him I’ll tear him apart. [So it was the Prince she meant! The crumpled piece of paper trembled in Senka’s hands. What was she up to? Why was she setting him up like that? Did she want to make sure the Prince did him in? He didn’t know anything about any petal! He’d never even seen it, let alone given it to her! After that he skimmed the lines more quickly.] It’s hard being with him. He’s drunk and gloomy all the time and keeps making threats. He’s very jealous of me. It’s a good thing he only knows about Speedy. [Oh, yeah, what could be better, thought Senka, cringing pitifully.] If he found out about the others blood would be spilled. I’ve tried asking him in all sorts of ways. He denies everything. He says I don’t know anything about who’s doing these shameless things, I only wish I did. When I find out I’ll tell you if you’re so interested. But I can’t work out if he’s telling the truth because he’s not the same man he was before. He’s more like a wild beast than a man. He’s always snarling and baring his teeth. And I wanted to say something about our last conversation too. Don’t reproach me for being immoral, Erast Petrovich. Some things are written into people when they are born and they are not free to change them. What is written from above can only be used for evil or for good. Do not talk to me like that again and do not write about this because there is no point.Death’