These tricks were well known to me: now they could see me, but I could not see them. In all probability that would have been the end of me, were it not that some idiot threw open the door and announced in a greasy basso, “I beg forgiveness, I am terribly late and so sorry…” I charged toward the light, over some bodies, mowed down the latecomer, flew across the entrance hall, threw open the front door, and pelted down the sandy path holding my left arm with my right hand. No one was pursuing me, but I traversed two blocks before it dawned on me to stop.
I flung myself down on a lawn and lay for a long time in the short grass, grabbing lungfuls of the warm moist air. In no time, the curious gathered around me. They stood in a semicircle and ogled me avidly, not saying a word. “Take off,” I said, getting up finally. Hurriedly, they scooted away. I stood awhile, figuring out where I was, and began a stumbling journey homeward. I had had enough for today. I still didn’t get it, but I had had quite enough. Whoever they were, these members of the Honorable Society of Art Patrons — secret art worshippers, extant aristocrat-conspirators or whoever else — they fought cruelly and without quarter, and the biggest fool in that hall of theirs was still apparently none other than I.
I passed by the square, where again the color panels pulsed rhythmically, and hundreds of hysterical voices screamed, “Shivers! Shivers!” Of this too I had had enough. Pleasant dreams are, of course, more attractive than unpleasant ones, but after all, we do not live in a dream. In the establishment where Vousi had taken me, I had a bottle of ice-cold soda water, observed with curiosity a squad of police peacefully camped by the bar, and went out, turning into Second Waterway.
A lump the size of a tennis ball was rising behind my left ear. I weaved badly and walked slowly, keeping close to the fences. Later, I heard the tap of heels behind me and voices:
“… Your place is in the museum, not in a cabaret.”
“Nothing of the sort, I am not drunk. Can’t you und-derstand, only one measly bottle of wine…”
“How disgusting! Soused and picking up a wench.”
“What’s the girl got to do with it? She is a m-model!”
“Fighting over a wench. Making us fight over her.”
“Why in hell d-do you believe them and don’t believe me?”
“Just because you’re drunk! You’re a bum, just like they all are, maybe worse….”
“That’s all right. I’ll remember that scoundrel with the bracelet quite well…. Don’t hold me! I’ll walk by myself!”
“You’ll remember nothing, friend. Your glasses were knocked off in the first instant, and without them, you aren’t even a man, but a blind sausage…. Stop kicking, or it will be the fountain for you….”
“I’m warning you, one more stunt like that, and we’ll throw you out. A drunken kulturfuhrer — it’s enough to make you sick.”
“Stop preaching at him, give a man a chance to sleep it off.”
“Fellows! There he is, the l-louse!”
The street was empty, and the louse was clearly me. I could bend my left arm already, but it hurt like the devil, and I stepped back to let them pass. There were three of them. They were young, in identical caps, pushed over their eyes. One, thickset and low-slung, was obviously amused and held the other one, a tall, open-faced, loose-jointed fellow, with a powerful grip, restraining his violent and sporadic movements. The third, long and skinny, with a narrow and darkish face, was following at some distance with his hands behind his back. As he got alongside me, the loose-jointed one braked determinedly. The short one attempted to nudge him off the spot, but in vain.
The long one passed by and then stopped, looking back impatiently over his shoulder.
“Thought you were gonna get away, pig!” he yelled drunkenly, attempting to seize me by the chest with his free hand.
I retreated to the fence and said, addressing myself to the short fellow, “I had no business with you.”
“Stop being a rowdy,” said the distant one sharply.
“I remember you very well indeed,” yelled the drunk. “You’re not going to get away from me! I’ll get even with you!”
He advanced upon me in surges, dragging the short one,
who hung on with bulldog grimness, behind him.
“It’s not him,” cajoled the low-slung one, who was still very merry. “That guy went off to the shivers and this one is sober.”
“You won’t fool me.”
“I’m warning you for the last time. We are going to expel you.”
“Got scared, the bum! Took off his bracelet.”
“You can’t even see him. You’re worthless without your glasses.”
“I can see everything pe-erfectly!… And even if he isn’t the one…”
“Stop it! Enough is enough!”
The long one finally came back and grasped the drunk from the other side.
“Will you move on!” he said to me with irritation, “Why the devil are you stopping here! Haven’t you ever seen a drunk?”
“Oh, no! You aren’t going to get away from me.”
I continued on my way. I had not far to go by now. The trio dragged along behind me noisily.
“I can see right through him, if you please. King of Nature! Drunk enough to retch, and to beat up whoever comes along. Got beat up himself, and that’s all he needs…. Let go of me, I’ll hang a few good ones on his mug….”
“What have you come to, we have to walk you along like a hood.”
“So don’t walk me!… I loathe them…. Shivers, wenches, whiskey… brainless jelly…”
“Sure, sure, take it easy, just don’t fall.”
“Enough of your reproofs… I am sick of your hypocrisy, your puritanism. We should blow them up, shoot them! Raze everything off the face of the earth!”
“Drunk as a coot, and I thought he was sobered up!”
“I am sober. I remember everything… the twenty-eighth, right?”
“Shut up, you fool.”
“Shh! Right you are! The enemy is on the alert…. Fellows, there was a spy here somewhere…. Didn’t I talk to him?… The son of a bitch took off his bracelet… but I’ll get that dick before the twenty-eighth!”
“Will you be quiet!”
“Shh! And not another word. That’s it! And don’t worry, the grenade launchers are my baby.”
“I am going to kill him right now, the bum!”
“Lay it on the enemies of civilization…. Fifteen hundred meters of tear gas — personally… six sectors… awk!”
I was already by the gate to my house. When I turned around to look, the burly man was lying face down, the short one was squatting alongside, while the long fellow stood rubbing the edge of his right hand.
“Why did you do that?” said the short man. “You must have maimed him.”
“Enough prattle,” said the long one furiously. “We can’t seem to learn to stop prattling. We can’t learn to stop boozing. Enough!”
Let us be as children, Doctor Opir, thought I, slipping into the yard as quietly as possible. I held the latch to keep it from clicking into place.
“Where did he go?” said the long one, lowering his voice.
“Who?”
“The guy who went ahead of us.”
“Turned off somewhere.”
“Where? Did you notice?”
“Listen, I wasn’t concerned about him.”
“Too bad. But all right, pick him up, and let’s go.”
Stepping into the shadow of the apple trees, I watched them drag the drunk by the gate. He was wheezing horribly.
The house was quiet. I went to my quarters, undressed, and took a hot shower. My shirt and shorts smelled of tear gas and were covered with the greasy spots of the luminous liquid. I threw them into the hamper. Next, I inspected myself in the mirror and marveled once more at how lightly I had gotten away: a bump behind the ear, a sizable contusion on the left shoulder, and some scraped ribs. Also skinned knuckles.
On the night table, I discovered a notice which respectfully suggested that I deposit a sum to cover the rent for the apartment for the first thirty days. The sum was quite considerable, but tolerable. I counted out a few credits and stuffed them into the thoughtfully provided envelope, and then lay down on the bed with my hands behind my head. The sheets were cool and crisp, and a salty sea breeze blew in through the open window. The phonor susurrated cozily behind my ear. I intended to think awhile before falling asleep, but was too exhausted and quickly dozed off.
Later, some noise in the background awakened me, and I grew alert and listened with eyes wide open.
Somewhere nearby, someone either cried or sang in a thin childish voice. I got up cautiously and leaned out the open window. The thin halting voice was intoning: “… having stayed in the grave but a short time, they come out and live among the living as though alive.” There was the sound of sobs. From far away like the keening of a mosquito came the chant “Shivers! Shivers!” The pitiable little voice went on — “Blood and earth mixed together they can’t eat.” I thought that it was Vousi, drunk and lamenting upstairs in her room, and called out softly, “Vousi!” No one replied, The thin voice cried out: “Hence from my hair, hence from my flesh, hence from my bones,” and I knew who it was. I climbed over the window sill, jumped onto the lawn, and went to the apple grove, listening to the sobbing. Light appeared through the trees, and soon I came to a garage. The doors were cracked open and I looked in. Inside was a huge shiny Opel. Two candles were burning on the workbench. There was a smell of gasoline and hot wax.