Ranko Marinkovic - Cyclops

Maestro paused. He spat the butt to the floor and lit a fresh cigarette, which he immediately moved with his tongue to a corner of his mouth to keep it from impeding his speech.

“And the most miserable thing, honorable Eustachius, is that I’m sitting there in the wardrobe among the rags, choking from the smell of mothballs — and terrified I’ll give myself away … fearing for her sake! Word of honor, I didn’t give a thought to myself (fine, I’ll get through this … or choke to death, it doesn’t matter really) — it’s because of her that I’ve become all darkness and silence. Here they come, into the bedroom … I never move an eyebrow, I don’t breathe! But what’s this? It’s not his voice, the colleague’s, the husband’s! Then again, perhaps it’s only the acoustics of the wardrobe … anyway, there wasn’t much time for checking: they were at it before long. That’s how it was, Eustachius … me listening inside to the entire … entire charade … until the last gasp. I don’t remember what kind of sound I made, but it must have been some vengeful cry, because he jumped out of bed right away and began looking for me in the room. I then thumped an elbow against the wood, ‘here I am.’”

“What?” Melkior was flabbergasted, “weren’t you afraid?” He remembered his own “retreat” from Enka’s. … “He could have killed you there and then.”

“He could have indeed … but the desire for revenge was stronger, Eustachius. After all, a naked man in the wardrobe (and I’ll have you know I was a man in those days), locked in from the outside, and the key out of the lock! — what better evidence of a woman’s harlotry do you want? He started shouting (like the Moor demanding the handkerchief) ‘The key! The key! The key, you God-damned whore!’ and she kept giggling wildly in the bed for all she was worth — it was all a lark, you see. Try to picture the scene, Eustachius! At last, when he was utterly beside himself and lurched to strangle her, break open the cupboard door, she gave him the key. He pulled me out by the ear like a schoolboy. … But what happened? It wasn’t him, the husband — it was someone else, a huge fellow, an athletic superman! The revenge had misfired! Never mind me being pulled out by the ear, never mind me being naked (asthenic, intellectual build, with a bit of paunch in the bargain), never mind her laughing (and why shouldn’t she: just imagine it — two naked fools!) … the revenge, the revenge had fallen flat! God, why did I ever bellow inside that cupboard? In the end, after he’d taken a better look at me, he joined in the laughter himself. He crawled into bed next to her and the pair of them, covered, proceeded to jeer at my naked self. … In that case, I thought, miserable and bare-assed as I was, retrieving my clothes from the cupboard, in that case, the whore’s ball will come to an end one day. And I did put an end to it.”

“You got your revenge!” exclaimed Melkior aligning himself wholeheartedly with Maestro.

“You bet I did, Eustachius, of course I did! Very soon, too!”

“How did you do it?”

“Through a second vaudeville, one with a dramatic ending and this time directed by me!”

“How did you …”

“The end justified the means. Don’t hold it against me, Eustachius — I used an anonymous letter. Instead of me, it was the avenging husband who hid in the cupboard. Fully clothed, of course. And armed with a toy pistol, just to be able to throw them out into the street naked.”

Melkior was listening with a feeling of personal satisfaction: he was entirely in the “avenger’s” shoes; he didn’t even mind the “anonymous letter.”

“Surely you invented that bit?” He wished to be sure of his satisfaction.

“Do you think, Eustachius, that I could deprive myself of such an occasion to gloat? I was standing right there as Adam and Eve were evicted from the Garden of Eden … and I cackled like an infernal demon, I assure you, I howled to make it sound as malevolent as possible.”

“Did he see you?” Melkior was hankering for the details.

“The spouse? No, he slammed the gate shut as soon as they were out … it was only then that I appeared, hee, heeee …”

“Did the fellow recognize you?”

“Hah, that was the only fly in the ointment. It was not the same fellow , it was someone else again, a subtler type, a master of the racquet … Word has it that he’s now coaching an African ruler in the game.”

“And how did she behave?”

“Innocence incarnate. Covering her instruments with her hands … Oh, it was one of the greatest scandals of the day! You can imagine how I wrote it up for Yesterday in Town: ‘Adam and Eve Hit the Street’! The Old Man commended me. …” Melkior was not enthused by Maestro’s gloating. So this is the story of Viviana … (It was as if this were a source of “fresh relief” and “final liberation”) … unless Maestro’d invented it all? Well, hadn’t I buried her already? Oh yes, I have buried my dead love …

“So he actually kicked her out … naked … into the street?” he asked all the same. Perhaps the old boy did invent it. …

“Precisely. It was as if he’d taken my advice. As a matter of fact, there was a wee suggestion to that effect in the anonymous letter, if my memory serves me well — it has been a good number of years since.”

“She’d have been very young?”

“Very, very, veracious Eustachius. If you want to find an excuse for her in it. …”

“I want nothing!” said Melkior, irritated. “Why would I care?”

“Ah, on the subject of ‘care,’ I’ve been meaning to ask you — how well do you know her?”

Melkior gave him a sullen and distrustful look:

“We spoke once at Adam’s, the chiromantist’s …”

“Well, did they, heh-heh … take you into the partnership?” squinted Maestro maliciously. But this may have been from the cigarette smoke in his eyes, thought Melkior, anxious: the question had been all too clear.

“I’m not with you … What partnership?”

“Don’t listen to me, Eustachius, I’m a nasty fellow,” said Maestro and gave another inexplicable squint. “But verily, verily I say unto thee: beware of the magician Adam. This is my testamentary advice to you: A perfidious bastard is capable of doing what no one else can. Remember, mortal, that dust thou art … he’ll get his neck wrung yet. …”

“Get his neck wrung,” that’s preventive action! Melkior detected Don Fernando’s fingers in this. So he’s exerting his influence all right … but only as fingers, Melkior dismissed.

“And as for the bait,” went on Maestro in a kind of hurry, “I’ve told you: spit thrice. I used to shave three times a day, and you, Eustachius, should spit three times in a row!” he lifted an ATMAN-like index finger, “those are the words of your ruined parent on his deathbed.”

Maestro looked at the folded-up cot with regret.

“It would be meet for me to lie down full length upon it and give you my blessing … but I can’t be bothered to open it out … not merely for the sake of ceremony …”

“I’ll do it …” hastened Melkior only to bite his tongue, “I mean, it would do you good to lie down, it’s late, you’re tired, also you’ve had a lot to drink. …”

“What, and let you escape? Uh-oh, I won’t have it, Eustachius! Your testimony will be my protection against slander.”

“Who would slander you … and why?”

“The Corso humanists … for ‘defeatism.’ I told them, over my shoulder, that I didn’t give a fig for their Future. I don’t give the toenail from my little toe for their hydroelectric power plants. Anyway, I haven’t even got toenails on my little toes — what I have is hooves that have become corns … from walking. There, I don’t give a single pedestrian corn of mine for all the electrical powers of the Great Future. What use are they to us pedestrians? I respect human walking.”