Cyclops (The Margellos World Republic of Letters) (6 page)

“But, sir, what if the tuberculosis you just spat out comes back to your daughter on the eve of her marriage as her paternal dowry? You cannot be too careful. Therefore, no spitting on the floor, gentlemen! Right, Comrade?” he said to a man with a bicycle putting up posters.

“Right,” said the cyclist, proud at being addressed.

“And what are these, swastika posters? Not by any chance working for the German consulate, are you, von Velocitas? Dropping hooks among us, eh?”

“No,” the cyclist laughed artlessly, “I work for Franck-O.”

“For Franco? Well, well! I
said
you were up to some Fascist business. Working for the Caudillo himself! So how’s General Queipo de Llano? Getting old, isn’t he? Hemorrhoids, confession, come over all holy?”

“Listen, you!” the bill-sticker went serious. “A joke is a joke, but this …! Me and the Fascists? Think I’m crazy, do you?” The last sentence was directly linked with his right hand, which had already handed the bicycle to the left …

But Parampion … was his grinning mug to be punished for the mischievous little game of the harlequin who was performing his silly show inside his head?

“Bicycletissime!”
he cried with delight and went on in a sober, bright, and solemn tone, “May I, before the honorable folk of this ancient, royal, free, capital city, firmly shake your hand for your proud and manly revulsion at the idea of being in any way connected with mankind’s greatest enemy, illiterate Fascism!” and he grabbed the cyclist’s abovementioned right hand, all ready to do a job of another kind, and pumped it thoroughly to mark “eternal friendship.” There was even a kiss to the man’s brow, the seal on the covenant.

The well-pleased employee of Franck-O, whose job it was to stick up posters advertising the Franck factory’s chicory coffee substitute, was happily excited over the public proclamation of his political integrity.

“And now, gentlemen,” Ugo addressed the audience, “I’m off … perhaps to Pampeluna. This concludes our Street Treat Show for today. We wish our listeners a very pleasant goodnight. The anthem —and we’re done.
A propos, bicycletissime
, would Your Velocipederasty happen to have a cigarette to spare?”

“Make it two, make it two,” and the cyclist took out a large pigskin cigarette case, filled to bursting. “Here you are, help yourself.”

“I thank you from the heart of my bottom! No, no, only one, for what the Ragusan gentry called
harmonious memory.
Then again … perhaps another one for my Eustachius. No, not a parrot, it’s that friend of mine on the weighing machine. Certain specialists he has been seeing prescribe smoking for his condition. Look, I’ve got him riled, heh, heh … Right, thanks a million and a half. Such a velocipederastic gesture shall never be forgotten. Hail, fair knight!” exclaimed Ugo.

Taking three steps backward he made a flourish with his hat, bowing to the cyclist in a ceremonial manner. He then shot Melkior a quick glance and burst out laughing.

“Hah, good-looking people, pay attention, he’s angry. No, both smokes are for me actually, and the third … if I may, bicycletissime” —and he slipped one more cigarette from the posterer’s case—“the third I will give him tonight at the Give’nTake. He’s ashamed of me for the moment, but as a rule I enjoy his affection and respect. And you, honorable Mr. Ferdyshchenko … open Sesame!”—and he surreptitiously lifted the
CLOSED
sign from Nosey’s belly. Nosey took offense at the drunkard handling his person for a second time and calling him what could only be an insulting name, but he wanted to be sensible and only said in a cautious mutter:

“Wonder who these scoundrels mooch off.”

“And now, gentlemen, hah … you thought I was off to a place called Pampeluna? No, they were wrong! I am now off to Pantogegone. And Pantogegone is … nothing. Zero,
nihil, nitchevo! Adieu
, perhaps
pour toujours
, you never can tell …”

Ugo elbowed his way through the crowd toward a passerby on the other side of the street, cadged a light off of him and went on his way singing
Auprès de ma blonde
without a care in the world.

Melkior remained alone before the crowd of disappointed spectators, like a culprit who was now to answer for the letdown. They were looking at him as if he had invited them to a show which had not amused them and they would now ask him to explain. Indeed, he began behaving as though he had really wronged the disgruntled mob …

“All I want to know is, who these scoundrels mooch off?” repeated the curious citizen with the
CLOSED
sign. His question had now been asked aloud of all those present; they were duty-bound to supply an answer. “Hah!” shrugged one of those who sees through everything, in a scandal-mongering tone. “Clear enough, isn’t it? Couldn’t you see how they did it? Making like that Mexican general was his pal, all the ‘bicycletimus,’ ‘bicycletimus’ hocus-pocus, a real circus, the sneak, with this guy on the weighing machine playing his second, making a fool of the poor blind man. … It’s all stage-managed, gentlemen, and now you may as well check your pockets and see if you’re missing anything. Well, I’m not; I’ve been to Mexico, I know all their tricks.”

Like marionettes linked to a single string pulled by the experienced Mexican, all those present went through identical swift and anxious motions. There was a round of nervous patting of chests, sides, hips, all the places where pockets are to be found. One man even checked whether his wedding ring was still on his finger …

There was a sudden “Oh no!”—a cry of utter dismay. All arms stopped dead and all eyes stared at the desperate man. He stood there like a man stunned, his arms in an X across his chest, patting his empty pockets; his eyes rolling from one bystander to another seeking help.

Melkior looked at the victim of the theft: naturally, everyone could see his astonishment at recognizing the man as Four Eyes! His innocent idea to slip away unnoticed (he had no wish to be present when the pickpocket was nabbed) now turned out to have been naïve. It soon became clear to him that he had been, at the Mexican’s suggestion, tacitly proclaimed a thief himself! A thief or partner to a thief.

Under the accusation of those terrible looks which demanded that he come clean, Melkior quite foolishly stared at Four Eyes in tense expectation of … what? Proof of his innocence?

He himself did not know what he had expected of Four Eyes. He might possibly have been hoping against hope that Four Eyes hadn’t yet recognized him … the business the other day … the Distressić thing … Meanwhile Four Eyes was giving him a tearful, tragic look, one full of pleading and martyrlike forgiveness (which did not go unnoticed). Then, turning his uncertain and confused gaze somewhere aside, he said in a voice so tearful as to be almost inaudible (but it
was
audible) … for he was accusing no one, it was only that his paternal heart was breaking:

“I was going to buy shoes for my boy … Daddy, he said, make them one size too big, I’m growing. The poor little fellow, that he should have to think about such things. And here’s autumn coming, the rains … The child will be off to school soon.”

The scoundrel’s been reading Dostoyevsky, Melkior thought hastily.

“Did you lose much?” somebody asked in a voice moved nearly to tears.

“My wallet with twelve hundred inside. And all my papers.” Then he added, after a well-measured pause, crying out from the bottom of his heart, appealing to all of mankind, “If only he would let me have my ID back! These are serious times.”

It was touching. A woman’s eyes filled with tears. The poor man, his child walking around barefoot and all he wants back is his ID card! Someone hit on the idea of notifying the police. … But Four Eyes didn’t care much for that idea: he opposed it vigorously, going on at very suspicious lengths: “No, no, please! Fair’s fair, we must show some understanding …”

“Listen, you!” spoke up the cyclist all of a sudden, angrily grabbing Four Eyes by the elbow. “Who d’you think you’re kidding? You never had a wallet to begin with. Listen folks, he only showed up here a second ago, right after the bloke from Mexico asked what might be missing from our pockets.”

“Good heavens, me?” Four Eyes rolled his eyes, the very picture of a martyred saint appealing to God to be his witness. “I who have been here all along? Here, this gentleman will tell you whether I’ve been standing behind him or not! Didn’t you accidentally tread on my foot and very politely say you were sorry? Here, look, the footprint’s still there.”

The Mexican was the gentleman who had accidentally trod on his foot. He confirmed it with a nod.

“The footprint’s still there my eye! I’ll give you a footprint across your thieving mug! He only got here a minute ago, and the first thing he did was to ask me if the coppers had been around! As if I didn’t know you, you lush! You’d barter God’s child’s shoes for booze, you would! What will he think of next, the creep!”

“Did you hear him, folks?” moaned the grief-stricken Four Eyes. “As if robbing you blind wasn’t enough, they call you a drunk in the bargain!”

“Clear enough, isn’t it? That’s their method all right,” said the Mexican grimly, terribly disappointed by something in this world. “Tell the truth and they’ll say you’re a drunk; tell a lie and they’ll buy you a drink. Ptui!” he spat out vehemently and began to push his way out of the circle around the weighing machine. “Let me through before I ram someone’s teeth down their throat …” and so saying he gave Melkior another once-over glance.

Melkior’s knees buckled for an instant. The Mexican’s threat had met with approval, and Four Eyes’ unheard-of nerve had found a home with the guardians of the sanctity of private property. Melkior decided it was time he lit out from the circle of these highly honorable men, even at the risk of having them yell “Stop thief!” after him. He stepped down from the weighing machine and tried to elbow through by way of the (so-called) “Mexican’s Passage,” but there was instantly a general mumbling … and a closing of the passage. They meant to have the thief identified (and should there be a brawl as well, so much the better).

This emboldened Four Eyes. The cyclist had failed to shake his reputation. … Impertinently he stepped out in front of Melkior:

“Hey, not so fast, young man! What about my money? Someone’s got to answer for it!”

“You go ahead,” and the cyclist gave Melkior a protective nod. He then let his left hand take charge of the bicycle, putting his right on his hip and facing Four Eyes:

“All right,
I’ll
answer for it!”

“H-how do you mean … you’ll answer for it?” stammered Four Eyes, his courage evaporating. “I’m only asking that my money be searched for, no offense meant. … We’re only human, aren’t we? No need to get all hot and … But it’s got to be fair!”

Melkior then made a gesture of utterly stupid magnanimity: he took out his wallet with several hundred-dinar notes stacked in it and offered one to Four Eyes.

“Here you are. I’m sure the others will want to give you something, too, but please leave me alone.”

Four Eyes extended a greedy hand for the money, but the cyclist pushed it aside, scarcely bothering to choose the kindest way of doing so.

“Why?” wondered Four Eyes. “You can see the gentleman is willing to give it to me. Is that how to be?” he said with mild reproach and made another try to take hold of the note.

Angered by his manner, the cyclist slapped his outstretched hand and compounded the act by making a fist and pushing it up under his nose.

“Go on, have a sniff,” he said generously, as if offering him an orange, but the other turned his head aside with a grimace of irritation and disgust.

“Queasy, eh? But other people’s money smells nice, is that it?”

“What other people’s? I was robbed …” But this sounded like retreat.

Four Eyes was indeed backing down, defending himself with a muffled mutter of what sounded like curses. Once outside the circle, he heaved a soul-deep sigh of “Oh, the honest man’s burden!” and went away at his habitual businesslike clip.

The audience, too, began to disperse, disappointed.

“Rogues, all of them, I’m telling you, one as bad as the other. It’s anyone’s guess whether he was robbed or not.”

That was the ear-stroking citizen, disgruntled at the matter having been left unsettled.

“He’d have hardly spoken like that if he hadn’t been, would he?”

“Oh come on, it’s only thieves nowadays who shout ‘Stop thief.’”

Only Melkior and the cyclist remained. The blind man was there, too, but he was pottering about his machine, covering it with its oilcloth cover (for the night), and was so intent on it as to be actually absent.

Melkior felt the uneasy accident of his position and said “There” and, a little later, “Thank you” and, in his confusion, buttoned his raincoat up wrong.

“Yes, well,” said the cyclist, ill at ease himself, but then he remembered Four Eyes: “The thieving scoundrel! The shoes old Owl says he wants to buy his boy … when the rotten lush hasn’t got a cat to call his own.”

“Owl?” Melkior voiced his surprise. “But isn’t his name …?”

“Nah! Everybody calls him Owl. God knows what his real name might be. He does the rounds of the bars at night, rolling the drunks, and sleeps in attics by day. The other day he nearly set our bookkeeper’s house on fire. He was playing with matches, some old papers caught fire … the firemen had a job getting him out of the smoke.”

The cyclist was silent for a moment, then shyly asked:

“That other fellow … is he a friend of yours?”

“Yes. Don’t mind his behavior, he was a bit …”

“Mind?” said the cyclist genially. “I like his kind. He made fun of us all and went away singing. He can’t be a bad man.” He then asked in a confidential tone:

“Do you by any chance have any connections with the newspapers?”

“Yes I do. I write for one.”

“Well, uh … what’s the word about us getting into the war?”

“I don’t write anything political … but they say we might …” Melkior shuddered as if they were invoking the devil.

“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Hitler bit off more than he can chew here in the Balkans! Mark my words!” said the cyclist with fervid conviction. “We may meet again somewhere. You’re an honest man,” he added with a cheery laugh, then mounted his bicycle and, tossing Melkior a “Bye now!” sped off down the street.