The Story of My Wife

by Milan Fust

  I did finally gather from all the mish-mash that the deal involved oil, vast quantities of cooking oil, enough oil to make the entire United Kingdom sizzle. And top quality oil, too! When you looked through it, it sparkled like crystal, its lovely amber captured the sun.

  "Show me a sample of that precious oil," I said.

  But he didn't have an ounce to show me. That's how these people are. They do big business, but the stuff they buy and sell is never seen. There are transactions but no tangible commodities. I never did conduct business on such a grand scale. When I struck my deals, I sat on those barrels and crates myself, by God . . . But why go into that. . . ?

  Anyway, the upshot was the following: he formed a veritable oil ring, bought up everything "for a tune," (he meant a song). In a month or two the oil would start pouring into London. (What for? I would have liked to ask but didn't. Let it pour.) For the time being the oil was stored in one of his native country's "great" ports, which one he was not in a position to tell me. (To this day I don't know any more about the whole arrangement.)

  "And that's why we're meeting tonight," Kodor informed me. "To celebrate. With the major stockholders, I mean. I'll let you in on it, too, don't worry. Do you think I'd pass over an imposing man like you?"

  Well, my befuddlement at all this was total. I still don't know what happened to me, Did I fall into a deep sleep? Did my senses grow numb? I felt as if I was in some brown fog. I sat there nodding, pretending to be intensely interested in these wonderful developments, until I realized I wasn't even listening.

  I watched Kodor open a cabinet door, and saw him walk right in. The cabinet, I discovered with some amazement, led to a whole other wing, complete with dressing room, washroom, etc. How odd it all was, like everything else around Kodor. He undressed, changed into fresh clothes, and all the while kept on talking. At one point I interrupted him:

  "Listen, Kodor, could you get me some coins from your bank? Brand new ones, of course."

  "What's that?" he inquired cheerfully. Only then did I come to my senses. (Actually, I thought of getting hold of a few coins and sending it to the girl, without any letter or anything, simply a terse note—"In rememberance, from Captain J. S.")

  "I am working on a coin-tester," I told Kodor very quickly. "A little device that would identify counterfeit coins used in vending machines. That's what I need brand new coins for." I couldn't come up with anything better on the spur of the moment.

  "You don't say." Kodor eyed me suspiciously. "I had no idea you were so clever." But he looked at me as though he wanted to say: You are a shrewd one. Hope you are not trying to trick me.

  In a red, silk-lined private room of the Hotel Brighton, I took out my fountain pen and wrote the following letter to my wife:

  "Tiny tresor, I am with Kodor and will have to stay with him tonight. Business. Then I am off to the home of the wild pigeons: Brazil, possibly for as long as six months. (I underlined the word six.) But before that, next week, that is, I must go to Bruges. But right now I have to get drunk—good manners demand it. And so does life. I must spur this rascal into action, for everything now depends on him, alas. Things may still turn out all right if he is on our side. One more thing: try not to read all night tonight; I don't want you to be in bad spirits when I walk in, bringing you the rays of the morning sun . . . Your Apollo."

  When I was finished I turned to Kodor:

  "Do you want to send greetings to my wife?"

  "I sure do," he said, and on the back of the paper he wrote: "I am busy inciting your dear husband against women. An old devil: Sir Alexander Kodor."

  "Sir?" I asked, horrified, "Didn't you know? As of last week."

  The lucky bastard.

  So I sent the letter, along with a bouquet of roses which I bought in the hotel lobby. Then I sat down and gave myself over to pure pleasure.

  "Meat, bread and wine, I am content with these three," I informed the guests at the party. I can tell you, it's not hard to win people over, especially if you have some feeling for it. It doesn't take much. Just being fat may do the trick. Or if you knew, say, how to neigh, if you could imitate animal sounds. Now Kodor was famous for his roguish smile but also for a crinkle around his eyes that gave him a sweet, raisiny look, a look that promised profits galore; they all fell for it.

  I decided I was going to turn on the charm, too. And why not? There were two little angels among the invited guests. So I showed them how much I could eat and drink. Sure enough, Kodor introduced me by saying:

  "A well-known devourer of oysters." And to others he said:

  "This, ladies and gentlemen, is Morbidani, the courageous sea captain." Everyone laughed. There was a morose old codger there, even he laughed. (He was some sort of doctor, actually, a retired physician, as I later found out.)

  What was more important, however, was that these two sweethearts for some reason took a liking to me and urged me to eat. They put the mustard, the dressings and other necessary items in front of me and were shaking with laughter. It seems they were in a mischievous mood, or had been waiting for just such an opportunity. They marveled at my appetite and were outdoing each other in trying to pamper me and mock me. In minutes the party was in full swing, and this made Kodor beam even more.

  "A wonderful fellow," he said, pointing to me. "Now I see at last what he does to bowl over women."

  "Does he bowl them over, really?" asked one of the little darlings.

  "Does he ever? They just have to spot him and they're ready to jump off trains. He is some charmer," concluded my friend.

  The two ladies laughed even harder.

  "And what a giant," one of them said with a shudder, though not of course without interest. I didn't even raise my head, I just cast a few intimidating sidelong glances in her direction, and continued eating.

  "He is an enchanter, I tell you," Kodor went on, "a real spellbinder."

  "What are some of your feats again?" he asked. "To begin with, his net weight is around three hundred pounds. Honest. And he can polish off four geese and twenty knockwursts in one sitting, isn't that right?" I nodded gravely.

  "A monster, in other words," said one of the ladies. I don't mind such comments, really. It gives them a little thrill, and that's all right. So they were having fun at my expense, so what? Why make a fuss? The world is a patchwork, just a flimsy patchwork, it doesn't pay to get touchy. For how is one ever to get satisfaction?

  I looked around the room. Actually, a rather interesting group of investors had gathered together: six men including us two, and the two women. Needless to say, nobody had a beard. What's more, you could tell they had very little to do with one another; they were all after big profits, that's about the only thing they had in common—that and the fact that they seemed to know very little about business (the other four, I mean), especially the doctor, the old man with the disagreeable look, whom I already mentioned. And what can I say about the stocking and undershirt merchant, who already had a play of his produced in Vienna? He didn't seem to have a nose for big business, either. And the two others: a shipowner and a major stockholder in a glass factory were likewise small potatoes compared to Kodor. In my younger days I would not have believed that one could encounter such naivete in the heart of London. But for all their childish notions, they seemed to be doing all right. It was quite odd, I must say, yet where but in England should one find such eccentrics. And Kodor treated them accordingly—gently, that is, like a mother. But that he was out to bambozzle them, I had no doubt whatsoever. What's more, I was sure that the reason I was there, and the two lovely chippies, was to provide the entertainment. Large sums of money must have been at stake, or else that charlatan would not have invited all these people to a plush hotel room.

  But a lot I cared. I was eating leg of veal, an excellent cut, and quite a chunk, too. ("Make it at least two pounds," I had told the waiter, knowing well that veal was best when roasted in one piece and served piping hot; it's tender and light then, like a pale pink cloud.) I coul
d shout for joy, I was so pleased. No one can imagine what goes on inside me when my juices start flowing.

  "My stomach is quite healthy." I said quietly. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am in fine health. Why should I bother my head about all these complications?" But it made no sense trying to explain. Those who were never afflicted with stomach ailment cannot imagine the joy good eating can bring.

  "And now I will bust the old gut," I said to myself playfully, and kept pouring all that fine wine down my throat. Kodor didn't miss a chance to make a big production of this, too.

  "Just look at him," he cried. "He is not even gulping it, he is pouring it down, as if his belly was a big tub."

  "I want to see, I want to see," clamored my nosy fans. So I demonstrated again how to do this, how to lap up a quartful without gulping.

  "Could it be that he doesn't have an Adam's apple?" asked one of the little darlings.

  "Maybe he has no soul," said the other.

  There is a smart girl, I thought. No, I don't, I felt like answering her.

  "As far as the inner self is concerned," I said, out loud this time, "let's hold off mentioning it, for at least five minutes, in deference to the soul of the calf whose meat I am eating. What would it say, I wonder. First we eat it and then put on our usual lofty airs."

  Now it was the lady's turn to look away and reflect on what I'd just said.

  But the time has come for me to describe the two sweethearts in a little more detail. They were sweet, and enchanting, and black, both of them, like two graceful, shimmering leopards—yes, they were delicate and vamp-like. To begin with, their eyes were black, yet their blackness was not of the same kind: one was a soft black, soft and dreamy, while the other's was a fierce smouldering black . . . And their dresses were all dark too, as well as their hair, and their teeth were sharp and pointed. I almost felt like asking them to please bite into my ear.

  Actually, I could understand anyone who did not take my words at face value, who doubted my assertions about feminine wiles. The truth is that at the time just about any young woman appealed to me. All the same, I'd like to assure everyone that these were capital specimens. Yes, but how do I prove my assertion? If I said that even the grave-looking old physician was off in a dream, and in his glum way casting sidelong glances at the girls, it wouldn't be much of an evidence. The undershirt merchant didn't count, either. It may be more convincing to reiterate that Kodor had good reason to bring them there. They were supposed to captivate our hearts. Besides, one of them, who had a black lace butterfly over her chest, had to be Kodor's mistress. A chance remark brought this to light.

  "Why are you staring at me, Sir Alexander?" she asked. "I take pleasure in looking at your beautiful head-dress," replied my friend. "And even greater pleasure in looking at the rest of you," he added impudently.

  From that you could tell that he got her that bejeweled headdress—hence the overriding pleasure.

  Music was playing in the next room, to the accompaniment of exotic, gamelan-like percussions and mean little shrieks, while in here the ladies were nibbling on grapes and cake and sipping champagne. They even clinked their glasses, like sailors in a pub, and said things like: "A thousand a year," and "chin-chin." And they wouldn't stop laughing. Evidently, the two sweethearts got drunk on a few drops of champagne. At midnight, Kodor's girl, the one with the butterfly, whose black silk was so slippery, the light just kept sliding and gliding on her curves—well, this beauty turned to me and said:

  "I decided to sweep you off your feet. But how do I do it?"

  Well, Jacob boy, I tried goading myself on, now's the time to show what kind of friend you are. The situation got to be somewhat confusing, and not only on account of all the drinks I put away;—I was full of apprehension.

  For this lovely creature did take a liking to me, I can state that without boasting. But the other one did, too, both of them did, that's where the thing got complicated.

  You can't pursue two loves at the same time. Or can you? Try it, Jacob, try it, I encouraged myself. But I really couldn't. Kodor's dame was impetuous, slender, slithery, and very quick. It was clear from the beginning that she wanted to have me all for herself. The other, however, was a more gentle, sweeter soul, and easily frightened. The onslaught tired her out, she immediately retreated, and became as forlorn as a drooping leaf. I had to grasp her hand under the table.

  The question remained: which one should I make love to? Frankly, I liked the softer one better. Or was I simply scared of Kodor's girl? Could be. One does owe some loyalty to one's friend, after all . . .

  Ah, never mind, I thought, the thing will straighten itself out somehow. Tomorrow I'll send her a beautiful bouquet with a note that I had to leave suddenly.

  But I do, I do have to leave, I reminded myself. We just talked about it, Kodor told me this very day. Why couldn't I leave tomorrow or the day after? I am going to Bruges, by God. And my heart leaped with joy. How wonderful! How convenient! I am going to Bruges and the complications are put off.

  In the meantime, Kodor was addressing the gentlemen present:

  "Since our gathering was such a success, and there is agreement on all the main items of our agenda, let's adjourn to the corner pub where the waiter's face is pockmarked but the fish is first rate."

  It was a mistake to say this, a definite mistake, as the grave doctor's face happened to be pockmarked; indeed, he perked up when he heard it, and said something to the effect that perhaps they didn't quite agree on everything. (Let's remember this little interlude, for we'll have occasion to return to it.)

  But it made Kodor brighten up, oh and how. He, too, noticed the mistake, how could he not, cunning man that he was.

  "Of course we agreed, how can you say we didn't, my dear doctor?" he replied, smiling his sweetest smile, smoothing the man's ruffled feathers like a tender mother patting her baby's bottom. And all the while he was glancing at me, the scoundrel.

  After all that it was only natural that I walked home singing. And the song that sprang up in my heart that glorious morning was a song of victory: I could take on the whole world now if I so desired. I've become a conqueror of hearts now, in spite of myself . . . Ah, I was triumphant, and in my rapture, I began caressing my winter coat.

  "You see, my little pussy cat, women really like me. (I talked to my winter coat as if it was Miss Borton or my wife.) How they coddled me, how they loved me . . . Why, they ate me up, those two ..." And the thought alone made me chuckle.

  Oh, I tried to feel sorry for my friend, tried telling myself it wasn't fair, it wasn't decent... I went as far as to sit on a stoop in front of a tobacco shop and squeeze out a little remorse. The tobacconist wasn't there yet, so I kept muttering: "You've really turned into a heel, Jacob, you really have. What did you do to your dearest friend? To his dearest mistress? Didn't you smother her with kisses in the hallway of that awful pub? What a terrible thing to do, Jacob; what a rotten, terrible thing to do.

  I tried shocking myself, as I say, but it was no use. Nothing could induce me to feel sadness or guilt. On the contrary, I couldn't stop laughing.

  All along I kept thinking how funny it was when I suddenly caught a glance of myself in a mirror in that hallway (yes, they even had a mirror). I saw then how cross-eyed one can look when all steamed up with passion. Which is kind of ridiculous, when you think about it.

  The other darling, the tender one, breathed the words "Du und du" in my ear. (She was fluent in German, the only one there who was, so she had the courage to utter the lovely word twice in front of her friend.)

  It makes no difference, I told myself sternly and got up from that stoop. It makes no difference whatever, I am leaving. I must get away from this . . . this field of conquest. If I don't, the family will go hungry. (But as I uttered these sacred words, I was rolling again.) Of course I will leave, I chastised myself. But really, what was I to do, go on panting after them? And what if tomorrow one of them will again say: "I demand your love?" Should I start panting all over
again, and whisper in her ear: "I love you, I adore you. . . ?"

  All in all, I was in a blissful mood.

  And as if all this wasn't enough, after I finally made it home, in some broken-down cab, my famous landlord came up to me. He was the sort of man to whom I gave all kinds of nicknames: old capon was my favorite. He was that, and more: a mealy-mouthed blockhead, a two-bit prophet, a pea-brained, salad-munching mystic, who rose each morning with the birds. This was the man I had to face on the stairs that morning.

  Although what we talked about is not directly related to the subject at hand, I will recount it anyway, if only to demonstrate the effect mysticism had on a certain class of people at the time. (It's an important point, I will return to it later.)

  At any rate, my landlord told me on the staircase that he could see (for he wasn't blind, he still had a pair of good eyes) that we were such decent folk, my wife and I, we led such upright lives, the two of us, he hoped I would forgive him if he allowed himself the question: Did I believe in the unity of the Patriarchs? (He meant Abraham and the others.)

  Now if I were to give him a melting, pious look at this point, I think the wine inside me would have started chuckling. Now he badgered me with this stuff? But I gave the old geezer his answer, as we shall see.

  It should be noted that Father Lambert's tract on unbelief, which he wrote to counter the jurist Ingersoll's arguments, was at this time reread by many people, it enjoyed a veritable renascence, especially among the devout. Once I had to plough through it myself, in order to put a pompous fool in his place. (It happened near Melbourne, Australia, some time ago, but that's neither here nor there.) The point is I was prepared. If this nincompoop should start spouting his philosophy, I was ready to clobber him, too. With Father Lambert's own words, moreover. For he was the ultimate authority for these people. My landlord, in his pious zeal, grasped my hand and asked me the next question: