Макс Фрай - The Stranger

With a piercing yelp, he leapt on the stomach of the hapless maniac, after which he rolled head over heels out of the way.

“It’s been some time since I had to amuse myself that way,” Juffin remarked, getting up to his feet. “Well, now he’ll talk.”

And my countryman did begin to stir.

“Kela!” he called out. “Is that you, Kela? I knew you’d find me! Way to go, mate!”

As though in a dream I moved closer to this unsightly creature.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Dumb, of course. Why could I possibly have wanted to know his name? But it was the first thing that came into my head.

“I don’t know. No one calls me by my name anymore. Is there any more of that soup left? It really does help with the pain.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say so.” I stuck to my guns on that point. “Besides, you could die from eating it.”

“No matter. I already did, but they woke me up again. Who woke me up?”

“I did,” Sir Juffin Hullly answered. “Don’t bother to thank me.”

“Can someone explain to me where I am?” the unhappy specimen asked. “A person has a right to know where he died.”

“You’re too far away from home for the name of this city to mean anything to you,” I replied.

“All the same, I want to know.”

“You’re in Echo.”

“Is that in Japan? But none of you looks like Japs around here. You’re fooling me, right? Everyone here laughs . . . It took so long to get here. I don’t remember why. And those whores, they didn’t want to tell me where I was, either. They were probably glad that I got stuck here! Never mind. In the place I sent them, they won’t think it’s funny anymore.”

I noted with astonishment that no amount of violent upheaval could inspire this single-minded man to doubt the rightness of his own actions. A lunatic, Sir Maba had called him, and he was right. He was possessed.

“Kela promised me that they’d help me die here,” the tormented soul suddenly informed us. “Are you the ones who will help me?”

“Who is this Kela?” I asked.

“A streetcar driver. I don’t know who he is. He promised me that everything would be over soon. So I felt calmer. He was going to kill me, but then he changed his mind. He said that other people would do it. Kela’s my friend. I used to have another friend, when I was a kid. I killed his dog because she was in heat. It was disgusting. Kela’s also my friend. The best one of all. I don’t know—” He made an effort to raise himself up, and stared at me with something like horror, or maybe with love. “Oh, a familiar face. I’ve seen you somewhere before, friend. Only without that cape. In a dream . . . I saw . . . yes.”

He started to grow weaker. Then he closed his eyes and was silent.

“Where could he have seen me?” I asked in surprise.

“What do you mean ‘where’? In the Great Battle of Horse Dung, when you were the brave commander of a mighty horde of five men!” Melifaro prompted.

“Shut up,” Sir Kofa muttered. “Can’t you see? Something is happening here that neither you nor I can understand, or even hope to.”

“It’s not all that bad, Kofa. Hope is the last thing to die,” Juffin piped up gaily, and turned to me. “He said ‘in a dream’! Where else? Whether you like it or not, there is some very strong bond between you two, Max. And a very dangerous one. This is a special problem. In short, you’re going to have to kill him.”

“Me?!”

I was beyond dumbfounded. I couldn’t believe my ears. The world felt like it was collapsing around me.

“Why do I have to kill him, Juffin? The death penalty was abolished long ago—you said so yourself. And he won’t hold out for very long as it is.”

“That’s not the point. It’s about you. This stranger used your Door. I can’t explain it all right now; it isn’t the time or place. You must understand one thing: if the man dies his own death, he’ll open another Door for you. It’ll be there waiting for you. It could be anywhere. No one knows how things will transpire, and you have too little experience to figure it out on your own just yet. And behind this new Door will be Death, because now his path leads only there. And by killing him with your own hands, you will destroy this unnecessary and fatal connection you share, which you had no part in choosing. And mark my words, there’s no time to lose. He’s dying. So . . .”

“I understand, Juffin,” I nodded. “I don’t know why, but I understand everything. You’re absolutely right.”

The world around me shuddered and melted away, subsiding into a million tiny flames. Everything became shiny and dull at once. It was, as I saw—no, sensed, felt—a kind of short corridor that stretched between me and this dying madman. And I very much doubted that we were two distinct people. We were Siamese twins, freakish sideshow monsters, connected not by a tissue of skin, but by something else, concealed from the gaze of the crowd in some other dimension.

Perhaps I hadn’t been aware of this from the start, but when I rushed off to wash my hands, as if that would help, I already knew. I had managed to hide this terrible knowledge from myself, until Juffin uttered out loud what I had been too afraid to think.

I dropped down on my knees next to my abhorrent double, and took the splendid Profiline butcher’s knife from the inner pocket of his coat. And I planted the knife in his solar plexus, without shrinking back and without even flinching.

I’ve never been a strong man, rather the opposite. But this act completely changed my notions of what I was capable of. The knife went into his body like it was butter—though it doesn’t really happen that way.

“You got me, friend . . .”

In the last words of the dying man I heard more reason than I had heard during all the other events of that absurd, sickening day.

And then I went to wash my hands again. It was the only way I knew to reward myself for my courage.

When I returned to the place of execution, junior officials were already bustling about with buckets and mops.

“Thank you for removing the body so quickly,” I said, taking my seat. “You’ll think it’s funny, but I’ve never killed anyone before. I’ve never even gone hunting. Juba Chebobargo’s doll doesn’t count, I suppose. It’s a loss of innocence in a way, so please be kind.”

“No one removed him, son,” Kofa said in a quiet voice. “He simply disappeared, as soon as you left. The blood on the carpet stayed, though. They’re already cleaning up the mess.”

“How’s it going, Sir Max?” Juffin shoved a mug of hot kamra over to me.

“You already know. Fine, I guess. It’s strange, though. The World hasn’t completely come back to me, if I may express it that way.”

“I know. But that will soon pass. You did everything just fine. I didn’t expect you to manage as well as you did.”

“I’m wearing the Mantle of Death, after all,” I laughed. Laughter is the best way I know to return you to your senses.

“Sir Juffin, I need a drink,” Melifaro announced. “I thought I was used to everything in this job at the Refuge for the Mad. Now I understand that I desperately need a drink. Right this second.”

“I’ve already sent a call to the Glutton . Do you think you can hold out another two minutes?”

“I’m not so sure. First those pagan rites of yours, then the disappearance of the primary material evidence. And you have no intention of explaining anything, I suppose?”

“No, I don’t. I’d be glad to, but . . . we had to do it that way, old chap. Take my word for it.”

“Really? Or maybe it was just a new form of entertainment, and I’m lagging behind? Sir Kofa, you, at least, might try to calm my nerves.”