Ranko Marinkovic - Cyclops

“Who’s ‘she’?” Melkior was gripped by something like fear. “You really are talking nonsense …”

“The one you saw tonight … at the Give’nTake? Heh-heh! Viviana! But her name is not Viviana. That’s your first mistake.”

Melkior was speechless. How on earth …? Why, it was sheer telepathy! He hadn’t said a word to anyone. … As for Viviana, he would have called her that himself … No, he simply stared at ATMAN, his flesh creeping with terror: My God, this man knows everything!

“I know everything, Mr. Melkior,” the palmist stated, interrogatorlike.

“Including your suffering over ‘being last.’ That, too, is a mistake. You think that even Ugo is ahead of you. As for the actor, he’s simply a hairpin, a garter, a comb, if you like. Perhaps you’re offended by such comparisons, but take them as figures of speech, in the sense that he’s a toilet article … Perhaps it’s you that she sees as … Mr. Right.”

“You know her?” Melkior blurted out the very unfortunate question, but impatiently, impatiently!

“Do I know her? She comes to me looking for a husband! As if I had one in my pocket and had only to reach inside. What about personal initiative, I told her. You’ve got to seek, and knock, and ye shall find, and it shall be opened unto you. What are those two irresistible eyes for, those two legs above the knee, not forgetting the idea of the pair of breasts that tugs at your heart? That was how I put it to her, almost in verse. You laugh at verse? Well, never mind, I told her that as poetically as I could, in rapture.”

“And she turned you down!” Melkior rejoiced. He was gaining ascendancy over ATMAN, had almost got him confused.

“Turned me down … but not quite.” The palmist was already regaining some of his composure. He was visibly dejected. Perhaps he had come up only to talk about her. “That is to say, she turned me down halfway. In fact, she turned me down two-thirds of the way, but I’ve kept the remaining third — for contact, you see. We are in touch. Was that a frown I saw at ‘touch’? All right then: we maintain diplomatic relations. Mutual interests. She is — I take it you’ve gathered — a parasite.”

“You support her?” and a pain kicked at Melkior’s diaphragm.

“Never. Why should I? There’s another plant that she lives on. Don’t worry, it’s a female plant. Flora. That’s her name. Her aunt. Runs a dressmaker’s salon. ‘Flora’s Fashions,’ perhaps you’ve heard of it. I refer my clients to her. And vice versa.”

“That’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is.”

The sun smiled down on Melkior. He smelled the fragrance of roses from the long ago May festivities of his boyhood. He went to church in his short pants to hear a little girl Ana sing in the choir. He wanted to become an organ player, that was how May-like was his love for Ana. Then a cloud covered the sun for an instant and there was darkness in church and Ana’s voice sang a sibylline death chant. But the sun shook the clouds off and Ana shone again. …

“Is her name Ana?”

“You don’t even know her name! No, it isn’t Ana. What made you think of that particular name? You’d better stick with Viviana, names make no difference anyway.”

“Look,” Melkior suddenly remembered to ask, “how did you know what happened at the Give’nTake tonight?”

“How? What a strange question. I was there.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“But I saw you. Thénardier has a small room in the back, an office. He even sleeps there when there’s a wild binge. He’s got a couch in there. I use the room at times … when necessary.”

“You follow her?”

“Now and then. I play the waiting game.”

“Waiting there? At Thénardier’s, on the couch?”

“Not that literally I don’t. Freddie will soon change her for a fresh princess regent. That’s what I’m waiting for.”

“How will he change her when you said just now that it was she who …”

“… kept him as part of her toiletry? Yes. No contradiction there. He keeps her — beautified by his presence — to sit with in cafés. As soon as they start whispering ‘Freddie’s in love’ in the Theater Café, the princess regent will be replaced.”

“So he doesn’t really care for her?” Melkior’s interest was keen.

“Well … he does all right, but not in that sense. He’s rather a wimp.”

“A wimp? In what sense?”

“It’s ‘I’m not in the mood today.’ It’s ‘I can’t guarantee, I’m playing tonight.’ And so on. A male deferred.”

“How interesting!” Melkior laughed pleasurably. “So Freddie will soon …”

“He will. Word’s got around the Theater Café. It’ll be before the leaves have turned yellow. She was born on December 24, the day before Christmas. She won’t be celebrating her birthday with him. She may celebrate it with me, or even with you, but definitely not with Freddie.”

“Why me?” Melkior tried a laugh, without any convincing success. He was growing fond of ATMAN.

“You’re a serious candidate.” Adding, as if worried, “She has asked about you.”

“You’ve just made that up!” and his heart beat a crazy tattoo. This is the beginning of love, he thought.

“By no means. She asked. Freddie had warned her, because of your reviews. He hates you. With a passion.”

“I know. He tried to provoke me tonight at the Give’nTake.”

“I know. He wanted to have it out with you as well. She was egging him on. Ugo threw a wrench in the works. She wanted to see the two of you fight.”

The cloud had covered the sun again. Or is ATMAN pulling my leg? He would have loved to press him with questions, but restrained himself, with a scowl. The palmist was studying him seriously, compassionately even, as one who shared his fate. At length he cracked his long fine fingers and spread his arms like a priest at Mass, with resignation, “Oremus.”

“Oh, well, there’s no understanding them. Apparently they like that sort of thing. They like watching people run over by trams, too. The gore. The torn limbs. Whereas they sob in the cinema over the lost doggy looking for its master.”

“How did you know she was egging him on?” Melkior succumbed after all.

“She said so herself. I joined them, later on, after you left. ‘I so wanted to see a good bash.’ Bash , that’s her word. You ought to know her education is minimal. When you meet, she may well ask you what exemplar means. She’s ignorant.”

Melkior was disturbed by the information. He felt a stupid need to ask questions. “So what does she do?”

“Reads love stories. Looks for a husband. Perhaps you could … No, you couldn’t. Too ordinary. Her idea of a husband is somebody who’d stir things up. If she marries again it will have to be a scandal, in one way or another. My chances are better than yours. ATMAN the palmist. Now that’s shocking!”

“Oh, she has been married then?”

“Once. An ordinary sort of thing. To a nice, young, hard-working man. Ordinary. Her aunt Flora says she could not ‘look up to him.’ The aunt is an old maid with an Angora cat. They don’t live together.”

Better and better. But why, why was ATMAN saying all this? Was he in love with her? And what was the point of the nocturnal visit? What kind of game was this?

“What did she ask you about me?” said Melkior with a touch of the stern.

“Well, certainly not your mother’s maiden name …”

“Then what?”

“Well … there are all kinds of questions, are there not?”

“Such as?”

“Can’t a young man like you be broadly interesting to a woman like her?”

“What’s ‘broadly interesting’ supposed to mean?”