Макс Фрай - The Stranger

“Four dozen days?” I moaned. “And what if we get back sooner? What will I do looking like that?”

“You will work, Max! What does it matter what kind of face is hiding under the Mantle of Death?” said Juffin with a shrug. “Just wait, you’ll end up liking it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I will. I can just imagine how Melifaro’s going to enjoy this. He’ll laugh like he’s never laughed before.”

“Why are you so sure that anyone will laugh at you?” Juffin asked. “Is that another pleasant custom from your native land?”

I nodded. “Do you mean to say that in Echo things like that aren’t considered funny?”

“Sir Kofa just reminded you that he often dresses up like a woman. Have you ever heard anyone joke about it? Even Melifaro?”

“No.”

I was forced to admit that nothing of the sort had ever happened in my presence. Only the very unobservant weren’t amused now and then by Sir Kofa’s appetite, but they viewed his dressing up as something he did in the line of duty. Work is, simply, work. I had again been caught out, measuring other people’s looxis by my own yardstick.

“All right, take your clothes off,” Kofa commanded. “There are likely to be some problems with your figure, so let’s start with the most difficult thing. The face won’t need more than a minute.”

“Undress all the way?” I asked in confusion.

“Of course all the way,” Juffin said. “Haven’t you ever gone to the wiseman?”

“Almost never, praise be the Magicians! I’m afraid of them.”

“What is there to be afraid of?” Sir Kofa asked in surprise. “Wisemen help us get to know our own bodies. That’s why their manner is so kind and mild. It’s an absolute pleasure to deal with them!”

“Oh, you don’t know our wisemen. They’ll cut you into tiny pieces, and then figure that it’s easier to bury you than put you back together.”

“A hole in the heavens above you, Sir Max—what kind of place is it, your homeland?” Juffin shook his head in wonder as he had done so many times before. “All right, do as you’re told. And you, Kofa, lock the door, or an ill wind might blow someone else our way.”

“The World will see the severe working methods of the Secret Investigative Force and shudder,” I said under my breath, unwrapping my looxi.

I stood immobile in the center of the room for almost an hour, while Kofa diligently massaged the air around my body. He didn’t touch me; but the sensation was pleasant all the same.

“That should do it, Max. Think about how you want to be addressed, by the way. You’ll need a good woman’s name.”

I looked myself over warily. Everything was just as it was supposed to be—unchanged. My hips were no broader, my bust hadn’t blossomed.

“It’s not a real woman’s body,” Sir Kofa said, smiling. “It’s simply an illusion—but an excellent one! Get dressed and you’ll see what I mean. No, you can’t wear that!”

Confused, I laid my skaba back on the arm of the chair.

“Take a look at what I brought, over there on the table. They’re all the latest style. The fashion victims of the Capital will be green with envy.”

I dug around in the pile of multihued rags, pulled out a dark green skaba, and quickly put it on.

“Wow!”

It was the only thing I could say. The delicate fabric outlined the tender curves of some unfamiliar female body. Juffin looked at Kofa in delight.

“It’s perfect! Far better than I could have imagined. Well, keep going—such a sweet lady, with such an unbecoming stubble. It’s painful to look at. You could shave once in a while, Sir Max!”

“I did shave. Yesterday.” I rubbed my chin. “You call that stubble?”

“Never mind, Max. You won’t have to worry about that anymore,” Sir Kofa said, lathering some black muck on my bewildered face. “There we go! This stuff lasts even longer than you’ll need it to.”

“That’s the best news since the culinary amendments to the Code. Do I rinse it off now or should I wait a while?”

“Why should you wait? There’s nothing to rinse,” Kofa said in surprise as he fitted a light red wig on my head. The long curls instantly started to tickle my shoulders.

“No, it disappeared along with the stubble. I’m a sorcerer, after all, not a barber! And don’t even think of trying to remove the wig. It’ll hurt. Now it’s your own hair—for a while. Sit down in the chair, lady. I’m almost done.”

I had to endure a five-minute facial massage, which was rather unpleasant this time. My nose had an especially hard time of it. I was sure the poor thing would turn red and puffy after such treatment. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I suffered through it bravely.

“Done,” Sir Kofa Yox said, and gave a weary sigh. “Juffin, do we have anything to drink? I haven’t sweated like that in a long time.”

“It’s brilliant, Kofa!” Sir Juffin exclaimed, staring at me. “Who would have thought? Even if this lovely lady goes to the middle of the Victory of King Gurig VII Square and starts shouting at the top of her lungs that her name is Max, they’ll just have a good laugh, and there the matter will end. I’ll have someone bring us all something to drink. And not only drink: it’s a sin not to celebrate on such an occasion! Put on your looxi, Sir Max. Come admire the work of an old pro. You’ll like it, I promise!”

I wrapped myself in a patterned looxi the color of river sand with a feeling of trepidation. Who would be looking back at me from the large mirror in the corridor?

“Not like that, lady,” Kofa warned me. “Women never pin up the hem of their looxi. They just drape it over their shoulder. And they’re quite right to do so—it’s simple and elegant that way. All right now, let’s see you walk.”

I strolled through the office obediently.

“Hm. We’ll have to do something about your gait. It spoils everything,” Kofa said. “Fine, go admire yourself. Get used to it, and then we’ll teach you how to walk.”

“What about the turban?”

“That isn’t absolutely necessary. Girls with such abundant hair prefer not to cover their heads, especially if they’ve come from afar. And you’ve come from afar, lady, judging by your accent. Come on, step up to the mirror. How shall we name our girl, Juffin?”

“Let him choose,” said Juffin. “This poor fellow will have to decide something on his own, at least. What do you say, lady?”

“Marilyn Monroe!” I bellowed, and burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Juffin asked. “It’s a pretty name. Sounds foreign, but that’s good. Wait a minute—is it some kind of rude curse?”

“Well, almost,” I said, deciding not to go into detail on the matter.

I made my way down the corridor, my heart in my throat. I approached the mirror, gathered all my courage, and stared at the revealing surface, darkened by time. There, gazing at me with unfeigned curiosity, was a tall, nicely dressed lady, very much to my taste.

I peered into her pleasant face, hoping to discover even the slightest resemblance to myself. Not even a hint of the old Max remained. I walked back and forth, not taking my eyes off the mirror. Yes, the lady was a bit angular. What’s true is true! It started to seem funny to me; my head began to spin. When the elegant lady in the mirror broke into a loud guffaw, I felt like I might just lose my mind. I returned to the office. My senior colleagues were already setting the table.

“It’s a shame to give such a beauty to Lonli-Lokli,” I objected. “He won’t be able to appreciate her, anyway. You’re a genius, Kofa. I love her! I mean, me.”

“Oh, yes, I completely forgot about the voice,” sir Kofa said. “Drink this down, Lady Marilyn.”