Wojciech Zukrowski - Stone Tablets

“Well, and they need not hurry. It is still waiting. We will not receive the legacy: not you, not I.” Kapur thrust out his thick lip.

“Be calm. I tell you, it is already too late. And we both can profit handsomely if we act in concert.”

Kapur grew sober. He leaned across the table and looked deeply into the lawyer’s placid face and his eyes, which concealed a catlike somnolence. His fleshy nose scented business. Suddenly he turned his head as if he had remembered that there was an unwanted witness.

“Later, perhaps?” He opened his sticky lips with a smacking noise.

“Mr. Terey is not hampering us. The more who know of this, the better,” Chandra drawled emphatically. “The widow of Khaterpalia’s older brother is expecting a child.”

“Impossible!” The doctor bridled. “He was repulsive. The terrible burns, the scars. I saw him!”

“When one loves, one wants to have a child. And she conceived one. She needed to. She will not be a barren widow but the mother of a young rajah. Of the elder heir.”

“But that man died!”

“And was burned. But he managed to beget a successor. That he was the rajah’s brother I have proof in writing: the statement of the court and the protocol signed by all the members of the family who have an interest, including the father-in-law Vijayaveda. The decision cannot be reversed, though they could try. I will see to it.”

“In what month is she?” The doctor leaned forward, devouring every word.

“She says she has not bled for two months.”

Istvan nodded toward the boy, who lowered his eyelids and busied himself by chipping at his mountain of ice cream.

“Nothing is certain yet,” Kapur said with a worried air. “It is still possible to bribe the servants, to give her an herb. She could lose it.”

“That is why we will draw up an agreement with her, and you, doctor, will take her under your most scrupulous care.” Chandra tapped the table with his bony fist.

“The rajah will not forgive us. You helped him…” Kapur hesitated. But his eyes were opened to the possibility of unbounded influence and of gaining the widow’s trust.

“In any case, you must be by her side,” Chandra said in a low voice. “That is your function, doctor. Mine is to ensure that it is paid well. Royally. A fortune is at stake in this game. Khaterpalia and his father-in-law are seasoned merchants. They will not haggle.”

Istvan looked at their faces, which were brightening with the smiles of partners refining a strategy. They had come to terms; they understood each other. “You are a formidable man, Mr. Chandra,” the counselor said quietly. “After what you told me that night—”

“I? Ah, yes.” The lawyer waved a lean hand, ruffling a stream of smoke. “Do you mean to say that business ventures with me are hard to bring to termination? Well, yes. But, indeed, you know my specialty: I am a philanthropist. Should I not occupy myself with the affairs of a poor woman who is expecting a child and who has twice lost her husband — especially when I see danger threatening her?”

“An unusual case.” Kapur turned his head, puffed out his hairy cheeks, and sniffed.

“Only unusual cases interest me.”

“Does the rajah know of this yet?” Istvan asked.

“The later he finds out about it, the better for everyone. One worry is enough for him. I am not asking you to keep it a secret, though I think good judgment dictates that we keep it confidential for a time. Why put pressure on him? Am I right?”

It seemed to Istvan that he knew what the lawyer was thinking.

“It will be safer that way,” the doctor affirmed. “I will go to the widow today. I will examine her. I want to be certain.”

“Conditions vary with women. But since she wants a child”—Chandra seemed to be talking to himself—“she can always have one.”

“Time has passed since the death of her husband,” Kapur reminded him. “A child cannot be born too late, for they will question it. And they will win.”

“And in the seventh month?”

“It is easy to recognize a premature one,” the doctor warned.

“These considerations are theoretical at this point,” Chandra cut in. “In case…For the time being, she expects a child. A normal pregnancy. The third month. I want to have that from you in writing.”

Istvan listened with aversion. After all, they did not have to hide what they were saying from anyone. They spoke of assistance and care — matters which were not in conflict with the law.

“Attorney, you enjoy appearing in the role of fate.” He looked into Chandra’s dark, murky eyes.

“Fate? And what is that, properly speaking, if not my intention?” Arrogantly he tilted his face upward. “Faith…gods…I am not the tool of predestination. I direct it, my dear sir. I can enlist the gods in my service.”

“You are fond of money, however, and in the end it is the goal,” the counselor insisted.

“You wound me! For me it is only a means. I despise it, so it is pushed into my hand. I punish some by taking it from them and reward others by giving it to them. I love to prepare surprises. I thought you appreciated my disinterestedness. If you found yourself in a predicament…”

Suddenly there was a clink as the boy put down his spoon.

“Let’s go, uncle.”

“Perhaps you would like one more helping?” Chandra tried to pat him but Mihaly moved back, avoiding the touch of the bony hand that, like a reptile, executed a half-circle in air blue with smoke.

“No, no. I want to go back now.”

“I often think of you, Mr. Chandra—” Istvan said under his breath.

“Good. I also have a sense that you are trying to summon me,” the lawyer cut in.

“I think you are very unhappy.”

“I? That is foolish! I have everything I want.”

“You would like to be loved, adored. All you possess is paid for. You buy friendship, women, even the blessing of a beggar.”

“Not true!” His voice rose. “They must be grateful to me. I fulfill their desires.”

“Uncle, I will wait in the car.” Mihaly pulled away as if in terror.

“We’re going now. Goodbye, doctor. Goodbye.”

Chandra squeezed his hand with unexpected force.

“Before long you will be the unhappier one. That is my prediction. You will always find a confidant in me.” He looked Terey in the eye almost beseechingly. “I myself will attend to your affairs.”

Istvan turned and moved impatiently toward the door. Mihaly ran ahead, dragging him by the hand. “Uncle, that is a bad man,” he whispered. “He will do something awful to you.”

“He can’t do much. The worst injuries are those we inflict on ourselves.”

“Uncle, you heard about the girl who was given an apple by the witch. She bit it and slept as if she were dead. Or she gave her a comb that she fastened in her hair and forgot who she was. Or she pricked the girl’s little finger and squeezed out a small drop of blood, and then she put that finger to her mouth and drank all her blood…and there was no trace of a wound. Or she took hold of her blouse and twirled so long that it strangled her — the girl’s own blouse — and she was sitting between her parents, but they could do nothing to help her. Or the witch led the girl to a great mirror, and when she looked at herself, the witch gave her a push and the mirror closed behind her. It was mute and never told anyone where she was. I know he would be able to do that, and even worse things,” Mihaly insisted. “That’s why I wouldn’t let him give me anything.”

Terey listened uneasily. Mihaly seemed to be babbling like a child with a high fever, muttering to himself. He touched the boy’s head: it was cool.

“After all, you know, those are fairy tales,” he said. “You weren’t afraid of an elephant, but you run away from an old gentleman who wants to treat you to some cake? Mihaly, what happened?” he asked, trying to calm the boy. He looked at the street full of bicyclists and motorcycle rickshaws and scattered them with the blare of the horn.