Бруно Травен - Aslan Norval

In the light of the shop windows and the streetlights, Beckford could see the same mysterious smile that had irritated him so much that afternoon. It was a smile that could mean everything or nothing, but never anything in between.

Without looking at Beckford or turning toward him, and without giving up her comfortable position, she declared with devastating sarcasm in her voice: “Mr. Beckford, on this long trip from the hotel, you have thought about nothing else but that you have conquered me, and that I am your lover now and you are my gigolo, or whatever you might have imagined. Isn’t that right, Mr. Beckford?”

“Well—um—I thought—um—what happened between us—”

He stammered terribly since he found himself knocked off the saddle so unexpectedly. The sharp tone of her voice abruptly tore him down from the throne on which he had been sitting in his dreams. He knew this hard, ironic tone of voice from previous occasions. He remembered it well: Whenever Aslan used this tone with him, what followed was like being thrown into ice-cold water. Usually it would take him some time to appear in front of her with any kind of semblance of self-esteem.

“Only someone who is as inexperienced in real life as you are, Mr. Beckford, could imagine something so idiotic. Who do you think I am? One of your bar girls? What you thought of me truly and deeply offends me. Every one of your thoughts was an affront to me.”

“But, ma’am, I never thought anything like that at all about you. On the contrary, ma’am, I honestly and sincerely respect you.”

“Blah-blah-blah! Don’t lie so shamelessly. You are not a gentleman with a single fiber of your being. A gentleman would respect a woman who gives herself to him for whatever reason more rather than less. You are a sergeant of the Marine Corps and will remain a sergeant of the Marine Corps until the end of your days. I think I already told you that once.”

“But then I don’t understand, ma’am, why you—why you—” He could not find the right words.

“—why I made it so easy for you is probably what you wanted to say.”

“Exactly, that is exactly what I wanted to say but I didn’t know how to express it.”

“And now, don’t be shocked, Mr. Beckford, and don’t go crazy when I tell you why I made it so easy for you.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I needed a human guinea pig for my own peace of mind. I found you to be an excellent guinea pig. Probably the best I could have found.”

“A guinea pig? I don’t understand what you mean, ma’am.”

“You never understand anything. That’s what’s so pitiful about you. A long time ago, I promised, well, I didn’t promise, but I hinted that I could give myself to you under certain undefined circumstances—for your enjoyment if you wish. It doesn’t hurt me if you interpret it that way. And as far as that insinuated promise is concerned, I don’t owe you a thing anymore. I even kept the promise twice instead of once, as intended.”

“That’s right, ma’am, and I am very grateful, to be honest.”

“Forget your gratitude. I am the one who should say ‘thank you very much’ like humans plagued by illnesses who should erect monuments to the guinea pigs, apes, dogs, mice, and rats for all the experiments these innocent animals had to suffer.”

Beckford glanced up and down the street and only twenty feet away he saw a bar.

“Excuse me, ma’am, I urgently need a whiskey. I will be back in a minute. I need to fortify myself for the guinea pig.”

“No worries, I’ll wait. Would you please ask the waiter to bring me a double vermouth bitter here to the car?”

Beckford brought back an extra-large double whiskey when he returned and sat back down in the car.

“I will most likely tell my husband what happened, Mr. Beckford,” said Aslan suddenly, thoughtfully sipping her vermouth bitter.

“Have you completely—well, I don’t know what I should call it,” Beckford exploded.

“Gone crazy, you mean? Not at all. The guinea pig will serve me to find out what my husband might do when he hears that another man—well, what happened at the hotel and with my consent. However, finding that out has little or nothing to do with me personally. Your job as my guinea pig, which you completed excellently, was a different one. I admit that I’m extremely satisfied with my vivisection. It was a much greater success than I expected.”

“And as your guinea pig, I was the subject of your vivisection?”

“Yes, you were. I wanted and needed a certain answer to a question that has occupied me for a long time. I could only obtain this answer in empirical fashion and from personal experience. You see, Mr. Beckford, I am very happily married to my husband. The truth is that I could never cheat on my husband.”

“And last night? And this afternoon?”

“Of course you don’t think so. That’s absolutely understandable. However, the truth is that I did not cheat on my husband.”

“And why are you telling me that?”

“You wanted me to explain the experiment, right? You wanted to know how and why the vivisection happened, right?”

“Of course—since you did the vivisection on me.”

“Let me get to the point. You have to know that my husband married me when I was twenty-four years old. And I entered the marriage as a virgin. And by the way, you might not believe it, but in this country more girls marry as virgins than you might think.”

“I don’t agree at all, ma’am. I have not met a single virgin,” answered Beckford, taking a big gulp of his extra-big double whiskey as if he wanted to wash away the unpleasant memories.

“I guess it depends on the circles in which you move, Mr. Beckford. And just to tell you something else, which you will find just as unbelievable: my husband gave me four weeks before consummating the marriage. Unbelievable to you, right? However, when we figured out how to be with each other, I learned to my great surprise that age should not be judged according to years listed in a birth certificate. My experiment was nothing but curiosity. I wanted to know what kind of difference exists in this kind of matter between a mature man, of average, or I might say, boyish nature and strength, and a muscular, powerful young athlete like you are, Mr. Beckford—although you really are getting rather soft. I undertook two trials of the vivisection on purpose. The first one was last night, when you were drunk and shy at the same time, because it was the first time. And the second trial was this afternoon, when you hadn’t had anything to drink and did not need to be shy anymore, especially since I made it so terribly easy for you, and practically offered myself to you.”

“Well, and so what happened?”

“Do you want to find out the results of the vivisection?”

“I’m dying to find out.”

“Mr. Beckford, the results are devastating for you. You cannot compete with my husband in the least, Mr. Beckford. I could not have paid for this kind of experience that you kindly helped me gain, with money or anything else. Thanks to you, I have learned about my husband’s value in every possible way. I hope that you understand now that I did not cheat on my husband. Instead, I affirmed my faithfulness as stronger and more lasting than ever before. Thank you very much, Mr. Beckford, for your kind participation in this vivisection, which was so terribly important for me.”

“I am the one who must thank you, ma’am.”

“As you wish. It doesn’t offend me. Look over there,” Aslan pointed to a building in the middle of the street. “There is a subway station. The subway will take you to your hotel much faster than I could in evening traffic.”

Beckford went to the bar, paid, and told the waiter to pick up the glasses. Then he sauntered to the subway station. As soon as he arrived in Lower Manhattan, he went to the closest bar to pick up a girl or fish for a lonely woman whose husband did not understand her. He was hoping to regain some of his manly pride, which had been gravely injured.