Бруно Травен - Aslan Norval

“Suthers,” he read. Nothing else.

“So that is her name,” he said to himself. “It’s about time I figure it out. Suthers. That can mean all kinds of things. Maybe it’s her name. Maybe it’s the name of her rich impotent husband. The one she wants to get rid of with my help to cash in on his life insurance. Probably six or seven million. And then she’ll go have fun somewhere in Europe with gigolos or impoverished dukes. Who knows? Of course, I can still pull out. I will just say that I am not doing this. And go my merry way.”

He really did walk just then, venturing around the entire estate so as to plan an escape route in case the lady had her henchmen at the ready to get him to comply. He walked along the front of the estate, to the right and then to the left.

So, this is where the multimillionaires spend their nights. During the day, they can’t even enjoy this display of wealth. They have to hoard money so they don’t lose their precious castles. It’s some kind of life, I guess! he philosophized.

In the meantime, he had returned to the iron gate and stood there hesitating for quite a while before he finally decided to press the yellow button.

I would love to know whether this button is plastic or ivory. Probably ivory. Plastic is for the proletariat. I’m not even part of the proletariat. I’m nothing, I’m just hanging around. Who knows, the lady might be fun to play with after all. Why not? Nice curves. Dressed in velvet and silk. Sexy perfume.

To his right the buzzer sounded with a melody, as the thin arrow under the yellow button glowed.

Beckford noticed that the narrow iron door next to the wide gate had opened as if by a ghost. He entered the front garden. Three steps later, he turned and noticed that the door had already closed behind him.

For several seconds he looked at the door. Goddamn it, now I’m trapped. The door opens and closes automatically. Probably triggered by my own shadow.

He walked back toward the door, but it remained closed.

Okay, so now it’s electronic magic. They control it from inside the house.

He estimated the height of the iron gate and the tall, steep wall made of brownstone that surrounded the park. If she thinks this gate and wall can keep me here, well, my dear, you’ve got another think coming. In miserable, unforgettable Korea, where it was always a question of life or death, I jumped over walls twice as high as this one.

He crossed the large front garden and found the entrance door to the house wide open. A Negro dressed in black pants, a brown leather vest, and long green sleeves greeted him.

“This way, please, sir,” the servant said, inviting Beckford with a slight movement of his hand to follow him.

He opened a door in the back of the spacious entrance hall, allowed Beckford to enter, and closed the door soundlessly behind him.

“Excellent, wonderful that you’ve arrived so early, Mr. Beckford,” the lady said in greeting. She got up from an armchair by the large floor-to-ceiling window and walked toward him with an outstretched hand.

She is probably expecting that I kiss her hand like in the movies, he thought. As rudely as possible, he let her come toward him longer than any well-mannered man would have dared. But he had never claimed to be a man with good manners, let alone well educated, except for the education he had received in the Marine Corps.

He knew that such behavior was not proper, especially with regard to such an elegant lady and in such a fancy house, but he told himself: While I was rolling in dirt, mud, and blood in Korea for years, this little doll cuddled in silk beds and dedicated herself to all kinds of fun and entertainment. No one asked me about good manners and hand kisses when the Chinks attacked us, howling like wolves with a sound so piercing that it froze your spinal-cord fluid and burst your eardrums. Slaughter them, goddamn it, slaughter them or you will be slaughtered yourself! Good manners. Hand kisses. It’s all worth shit if you don’t know whether you’ll be breathing ten seconds later.”

In the meantime, the lady offered him an armchair, which she pushed closer to her own. She laughed at him intimately. Good God, he thought, she has beautiful teeth! They seem to be real. And with her open laugh she might get me after all, one day when I feel especially sentimental. But not so fast, my dear. First, let’s put all the cards on the table and let’s see who has the trump card.

“Finally, we can talk with more privacy,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

The Negro rolled a small cart into the salon. Spread across three tiers were bottles and glasses, tongs, little bowls with ice cubes, nuts, and a large selection of tiny thin toast slices topped with caviar, anchovies, and Roquefort cheese.

With a somber expression, the Negro rolled the cart close to the lady’s side and then disappeared mysteriously through a side door, which Beckford had not noticed before. It opened and closed without a touch.

“Whiskey? Cognac? Bourbon? Napoleon? Tequila? Jamaica? Vodka? Aquavit? Gin? Bénédictine? Bols? Dubonnet? What would you like?” asked the lady with a smile.

She probably thinks she is captivating,” he thought. But she can’t captivate me.

“Scotch, please.”

She filled his glass halfway.

“With soda? Or with a chaser?”

“Neat, please.”

She filled a small glass with curaçao. Lifting her glass slightly, she said: “This is how it’s done.”

Laughing loudly, she added: “Mud in your eye. It’s a vulgar toast, but sometimes it feels good to use a vulgarity. It’s like a sigh of relief, like after a dance when you take off a pair of shoes one size too small.”

He drank half of his glass at once.

“I don’t see anything unusual in using vulgar words. It’s actually the only language I speak, with the exception of a few Korean phrases and the Greek alphabet, which I had to learn in the Technical Institute to understand the elements of mathematics. It can’t be taught in English but only in Greek.”

“Now wait a minute! This thing with the Greek alphabet is fantastic. You can show off with that, especially in the right circles, chimpanzees who want to invest millions but don’t know where and how to do it. I urge you to practice the Greek alphabet up and down and add a dozen Latin and French phrases, they won’t know the difference. You’ll leave a huge impression. You can wrap anyone around your little finger if you have a rich vocabulary. You don’t even need to know the exact meaning of the words you are rattling off. The effect is stunning. I’ve used this trick in Hollywood again and again. There’s no place where it works better than among the guys of the film industry.”

Surprised, Beckford looked up, taking the lady seriously for the first time.

“In the film industry, you say?”

“Yes, in the film industry.”

“I have never read your name anywhere. I have also never seen you in a movie,” he said, hemming and hawing.

“Of course you couldn’t have read my name anywhere because you don’t even know my name.”

“That’s right, very true. You have never told me your name.”

“Aslan Norval.”

“Aslan Norval?” he repeated, looking as if he were trying to remember whether he had ever heard the name and if so in which context. “Aslan Norval?” he said again. “I have really never heard it.”

“You couldn’t have. I belonged to the army of people who work behind the scenes and are therefore unknown. The public only knows about those who dance around in front of the camera. Nevertheless, in many cases, my work was more important to a good movie than that of the actress. You can make a film, even a very good film, without actors and especially without professional actors. But to date, not a single film has been made without the crew behind the scenes. They’re the ones who work so hard that they tear out their hair in despair and get nervous breakdowns. I belonged to that crowd.”