Ranko Marinkovic - Cyclops

But Ugo was not falling for it. He knew there were at least twenty eyes following the denouement within the abandoned triangle, wishing to read THE END in large capitals at the close of the film. The soccer fans seeing the match through until the referee’s last whistle. He therefore went on with his game.

“Follow me,” he whispered sternly to the petrified city dweller, plucking one of his overcoat buttons. “You come, too, Eustachius.”

“Oh, so you …” stammered the fear-frozen prisoner.

“… know each other? You bet! You’re in luck though: I’m feeling a bit indulgent today — it’s my mother’s birthday. Come along, come along. Follow us!”

The city dweller was making his docile way in the wake of his destiny, following Ugo’s restless head of hair, the black star of his undoing. Ugo knew it. He suddenly pulled Melkior into the thickest of the crowd, bent his head down as if his neck had been broken and said to him: “Head down! Turn off the beacon and our prisoner will run aground.” And sure enough they presently heard the man’s forlorn supplication: “I’m over here, sir. Where are you, sir? I’m over here.”

“Search on, you pest, just you search on! Let’s play hide and seek, shall we, Eustachius?” They stepped into a doorway and lit cigarettes. “So how did you make contact with the enemy?”

“I stepped on his foot.”

“God, don’t tell me you did that on purpose!”

“I did,” admitted Melkior boastfully: he wanted to show off for Ugo.

“You are a piece of work!” Ugo was glad of the feat. Melkior felt a stupid kind of glee.

“He was exulting about London being bombed, the dolt,” he hastened to consolidate his merit. “He gloated out loud about London burning.”

“Oh, you did it for London?” Ugo was disappointed. “I did have a hunch it wasn’t an acte gratuit. Aah, if I’d left you to the mercy of the violence lover it would’ve been no more than you deserved. Will you look at him — he’s sniffing the air in the street: looking for his master.” Indeed, the city dweller was anxiously peering this way and that, looking into the faces of passersby like a dog that has lost a scent.

“I bet he’ll be off on his own to report himself to the police. Conscience? No. All he wants is to sleep in peace tonight, even if it’s on straw. I think he’s been sufficiently punished. Let’s get out of here.”

Melkior remembered his guest and felt what is generally described as a stab of conscience. He felt guilty in advance of any possible … Perhaps the man was already back there and ATMAN was dialing a number: Hello, have I got a bird for you. Yes, a redwing, I think you’ll be interested. … He was overcome by an odd kind of anxiety at evil forebodings and suddenly tugged himself free of Ugo’s arm.

“Where will you be a bit later? I’ve got to dash over to my place now.”

“To look at the ceiling? Take me along. We’ll look at it together.”

“No, really I must. I won’t be long. Where can I find you?”

“Nowhere. I’m coming with you. Where can I go now, on my pitiful own? It’s too early for the Give’nTake … or anything else.”

“But I might be as long as half an hour …”

“No more? And you keep wondering why women shun you. I devote my whole life to them!”

They walked in silence past well-lit shops through the evening throng. Melkior was thinking about Enka. Half an hour? Well, that was precisely how she liked it. Ugo had lifted his moist, runny, funny nose, miming an offended wisdom.

“I could have taken a different approach back there. For example: What, this character? (Pointing at you): I’ve seen him collect money from them. He works for the you-know-who, of course. Or: I know him as well as he knows my pocket. He’s robbed me blind, too. How much did he steal from you, sir? Or: hold him, gentlemen, and I’ll get the police. (To you): Are you aware she’s about to give birth, you scoundrel? She’s my sister, gentlemen, a teenager, her whole life ruined. Or: who did he claim to be — Napoleon or Mohammed? It all depends on which way the wind is blowing. (Taking the audience into my confidence): We’ve been looking for him for six days, the Head of Psych’s beside himself with worry. Or would you have preferred me to introduce you to the honorable citizenry as a pervert, an escaped convict, a forger, a crazed arsonist, a grave robber, a fratricidal maniac, a paralytic, an epileptic, a phantom ripper, the founder of a sect of cut-off ears collectors, a cannibal …? I could have done any of those things, but I saved you from a certain lynching instead. And how do you thank me? By dumping me in the street, that’s how. Got to nip over for half an hour. A half-hour secret? Some damned secret! Ptui!” and Ugo spat forcefully on the window of a gourmet cafeteria famous for its delicate delicacies. But presently, as if regretting the gesture, he went inside following his “mad inspiration,” and for Melkior’s benefit (who had remained standing at the door in bewilderment) he performed an impromptu pantomime:

He selected the fattest customer, one with a hunting hat atop a fat head who was bent religiously over his plate. Ugo approached him from behind; nobody noticed. Using both hands, he lifted the hat off the man’s head, solemnly, like a priest lifting the monstrance at Mass, and gave him a brotherly and very loud kiss on the denuded and shiny pate. He then covered his kiss with the hat, still ritually serene as if concealing a holy secret beneath it, bowed to the bar — the main altar — crossed himself meekly and went out into the street, his face piously upturned, his gaze directed skyward.

The scene had taken no more than half a minute, but everyone was too surprised to utter a sound. Even the “kissee” did not protest: he was taken so much by surprise as to “comply,” he even helped Ugo so as not to spoil the performance of the rite. It was only a moment or two later, when Ugo was already outside, that they realized something odd had occurred. Whether it had been a lunatic or a joking rascal was now being loudly discussed. There was laughter, too.

“Now that’s an acte gratuit,” said Ugo didactically, “not treading on someone’s foot for London.”

“I wasn’t trying to …” Melkior cut his sentence short: he realized he was “explaining himself.”

“Yes, yes, you sought to avenge mankind. To squash Hitler on someone’s corn.” Ugo was poking provocative fun at him. “Petty malice was all it was.”

“What about the kiss on the thinker’s head then? What was that?”

“Nothing. I kissed Stupidity, through one of its models, if you must have ‘meaning.’ Kiss thy neighbor rather than tread on him, my dear Eustachius. That’s how we reveal our true nature — by those small acts in moments of inspiration. You’re inspired to tread on feet: a future dictator. Did you at least tread on him good and proper, Eustachius the Purposeful?”

“Go to hell! I’ve no time for your shenanigans!” Melkior was terribly irritated; he was wishing he could shake free of Ugo and dash home, but how, how? He was raging. “I’ve got to go, do you hear me, I’ve got to go back to my place … to see if my papers have come,” he lied in the end.

“You have your evening papers delivered?” smirked Ugo. “How nice.”

“My call-up papers, blast you! I’ve been out all day. I wish you would stop hanging on to me like a … Leave me alone!”

“Think very carefully, unreasonable Eustachius — do you mean precisely what you say?”

“Yes, I damn well do!” yelled Melkior, now quite beside himself. “I’ve had enough of your damned romping around, understand? I have serious business to attend to. Get lost!”