The Dead Mountaineer's Inn (10 page)

“Where's the suspect?” Simone asked loudly.

“I told you he wouldn't come,” Kaisa squealed.

“Everything's fine,” I said. “He's coming.”

I sat in my old place; then, remembering the way things went here, I got up and went to get soup. Du Barnstoker was talking about magic numbers. Mrs. Moses was gasping. Simone laughed abruptly. “Bardel, Dubert, stop this …” Mr. Moses grumbled. “Medieval nonsense, all of it.” I was pouring myself some soup when Hinkus appeared in the dining room. His lips were trembling, and he looked green again for some reason. He was greeted by an explosion of cheers, but he hastily looked around the table, making his way uncertainly to his place between me and Olaf.

“No, no, no!” the owner cried, running up to him with a glass of liqueur in hand. “Baptism by fire!”

Hinkus stopped, looked at the glass and said something that I couldn't hear over the noise.

“No, no, no!” the owner said. “This is the best medicine. The cure for all your sorrows! A panacea, in other words. Please!”

Hinkus didn't argue. He poured the liquid into his mouth, put the glass on the tray and took his seat at the table.

“Now there's a man!” Mrs. Moses called out admiringly. “Gentlemen: here is a true specimen!”

I went back to my place and proceeded to tuck in. Hinkus hadn't gotten any soup, he'd only taken a little bit of the roast. He didn't look so bad now—he seemed to be thinking intensely about something. I had just started listening to Du Barnstoker's rant when the manager clinked a knife against his plate.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he called out solemnly. “If I could ask for a moment of your attention! Now that we are all gathered here together, I will allow myself the pleasure of giving you some good news. In response to overwhelming requests from the guests, the inn's administration has decided to hold a gala ball tonight, in honor of the Beginning of Spring. Tonight's dinner will not end! Dancing, ladies and gentlemen, wine, cards, pleasant conversation!”

Simone clapped his bony hands together with a bang. Mrs. Moses started clapping too. Everyone perked up, and even the stone-faced Mr. Moses, after taking a hard swallow from his mug, hissed, “Well, then, cards are all right …” The kid drummed a fork against the table and stuck its tongue out at me. A pink tongue, very pleasant-looking. And then, at the very height of this tumult and excitement, Hinkus suddenly leaned towards me and whispered in my ear:

“Listen, Inspector, you're a policeman … What should
I do? I wanted to take something out of my trunk … some medicine. They told me to drink it before dinner … And I had … well … some warm clothes, a fur vest, socks … None of my stuff was in there. There were just some rags—not my own, torn-up underwear, some books …”

I carefully laid my spoon on the table and looked at him. His eyes were circles, full of fear, and his right eyelid was twitching. A head gangster. A maniac and a sadist.

“All right,” I said through my teeth. “What do you want me to do about it?”

He immediately shrunk somehow, pulling his head back into his shoulders.

“Oh no … nothing … Only I didn't know whether it was a joke or … After all, if someone stole something, you're a policeman—aren't you?… It's got to be a joke, don't you think?”

“Yes, Hinkus,” I said, lowering my eyes and again turning my attention to the soup. “They're all jokers here, you know that. Think of it as a joke, Hinkus.”

To my great surprise, the party turned out to be a success. Everyone stuck around after hurrying through their meals—everyone, that is, except for Hinkus, who muttered some excuses and stomped back up to the roof to continue bathing his lungs in the mountain air. I felt a little sorry for him as I watched him go. I even thought for a second about heading back to his room and taking that damned watch out of his trunk. A joke's a joke, but he could get into serious trouble. He's got enough problems already, I thought. I was tired of these worries, tired of these jokes, tired of my own stupidity … I'm going to get drunk, I decided, and instantly felt better. I exchanged my shot glass for a tumbler, and looked quickly around the table. What did any of this have to do with me? I was on vacation. And anyway, I'm not a policeman. Who cares how I'd signed in … If you want to know, I'm actually a salesman. I sell secondhand sinks. Toilets too … It occurred to me that for a counselor, even a youth counselor, Hinkus had a pretty poor vocabulary. I shook this thought out of my head and cackled diligently over some clumsy witticism of Simone's that I hadn't heard. I swallowed a half glass of brandy in a single gulp and poured myself another one. My head started to buzz.

Meanwhile, the fun was starting. Kaisa hadn't had a chance
to clear the dirty dishes yet; meanwhile, after communicating their intentions to one another via a series of hospitable gestures, Mr. Moses and Du Barnstoker moved to the green cloth-covered card table that had appeared suddenly in a corner of the dining room. The owner put on some loud music. Olaf and Simone approached Mrs. Moses simultaneously, and, since she was unable to choose between her two cavaliers, the three of them proceeded to dance together. The kid showed me its tongue again. Well, all right, then! I got up from the table and stumbled my way towards this hooligan, this bandit. It was now or never, I thought. Anyway, this kind of investigation was more interesting than stolen watches and other junk. But I'm a salesman. Of well- and even miraculously preserved sinks …

“May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?” I asked, plunking myself down on the seat next to the kid.

“Madame, I don't dance,” the kid answered lazily. “Now shut up and give me a cigarette.”

I gave him a cigarette, glugged some more brandy and proceeded to explain to this creature that his behavior—his be-ha-vi-or—was unconscionable, and had to stop. That I'd whip him if he didn't watch it. Or write him up, I added after thinking it over for a few seconds, for the public exhibition of improper attire. Also writing slogans, I said. That's no good. On doors. Shocking and rebellious behavior—rebellious! I'm an honest salesman, and I won't let anyone … A brilliant thought occurred to me … I'll complain to the police about you, I said, bursting into a giddy laugh. And may I suggest this … no, not a toilet, that would be unseemly, especially at the dinner table … but how about a beautiful sink? Miraculously preserved, in spite of everything. It's a
Pavel Bure
. What do you think? Treat yourself!

The kid answered me, ingeniously, first in a boy's husky
bass, then in a gentle girlish alto. My head began to spin; it was starting to feel like I was having a conversation with two people. On the one hand, there was this spoiled teenager who'd gone to seed, who continually stole my brandy, and to whom I had responsibilities as a member of the police force, an experienced salesperson, and a person of higher rank. On the other, there was that charming and piquant girl, who was nothing like my old lady (thank god), and towards whom I was apparently starting to feel more than just paternal feelings. Shoving aside the teenager, who kept trying to butt in on our conversation, I told the girl my definition of marriage as the voluntary union of two hearts that have taken on certain moral obligations. And no bicycles or motorcycles, I added sternly. Let's agree to that up front. My old lady can't stand such things … We agreed and drank, me and the teenager first, then me and the girl, my bride. Why in god's name shouldn't a girl, who was of age mind you, have a little good brandy? Having repeated this question three times (not without some slight belligerence), I leaned back in my chair and looked around the room.

Everything was going swimmingly. No laws were being broken, no moral statutes violated. No one was posting slogans, writing notes, or stealing watches. The music was thundering along. Du Barnstoker, Moses and the owner were playing Thirteen, with no limit on the pot size. Mrs. Moses was dancing daringly with Simone to some very modern music, Kaisa was clearing our plates. She was surrounded, by dishes, forks, Olafs. All of the dishes on the table were in motion—I barely managed to grab a passing bottle and spill it on my pants.

“Brun, buddy,” I said earnestly, “Don't give it another thought. It's all just a big joke. Gold watches, dust covers …” Here I was struck by a new thought. “Let me ask you
something,” I said, “What would you say to friendly shooting lesson?”

“I'm not your buddy,” the girl said sadly. “I'm your bride.”

“All the better,” I shouted enthusiastically. “I have a ladies' Browning …”

We talked for a while about guns, wedding rings, and, for some reason, telekinesis. I began to feel more reluctant.

“No!” I said, decisively. “I disagree. First, take your glasses off. I want to know what I'm getting here.”

This was a mistake. The offended girl disappeared off somewhere, leaving me with the teenager, who started being rude. But just at that moment Mrs. Moses came up and asked me to dance, which I did gladly. A minute later, I'd decided that I'd been an idiot: that my fate lay with Mrs. Moses, and with her alone. With my Olga. Her immaculately soft hands weren't in the least bit chapped or cut, and she willingly allowed me to kiss them; she also had beautiful, distinctly visible eyes, which weren't hidden by goggles; a pleasant smell clung to her; plus she wasn't the sister of a rough and impudent youth who wouldn't let you get a word in edgewise. True, Simone seemed to be constantly circling her (the great physicist, the dull fool) but one could learn how to get used to that, since the two of them weren't related. We were grown-ups, after all; we indulged in sensual pleasures on our doctors' advice, and, when we stepped on one another's feet, we admitted it in an honorable and manly way: “Pardon me, old man, my mistake …”

At a certain point I found myself completely sober and standing behind the window-curtain with Mrs. Moses. I was holding her around the waist, as she rested her head on my shoulder, saying, “Oh darling, what a lovely view!…”

The unexpected informality of her address embarrassed me, and I stared dumbly out the window, thinking all the
while about how I might delicately remove my hand from her waist before we were caught. The view really was quite nice. The moon must have already been quite high; the whole valley looked blue under its light, and the nearby mountains appeared to be hanging in the still air. Then I noticed the gray shadow of unhappy Hinkus doubled up on the roof, and muttered, “Poor Hinkus …”

Mrs. Moses pulled away gently and stared up at me.

“Poor?” she asked. “Why poor?”

“He's sick,” I explained. “He has tuberculosis, and he's very scared.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “You've noticed it too? He seems to always be scared. A suspicious and quite unpleasant individual—hardly one of ours …”

I shook my head heavily and sighed.

“There you go again,” I said. “But there's nothing to be suspicious of—he's just a sad and lonely man. Very pathetic. You should have seen how he turned green and started sweating … And then there are all the jokes everyone's playing on him …”

Suddenly she laughed her charming crystalline laugh.

“Count Greystock was the same way—constantly turning green. It was quite amusing!”

I didn't know what to say; removing my hand with relief, finally, from her waist, I offered her a cigarette. She declined and began talking about counts, barons, viscounts and princes. Watching her speak, I tried to remember why on earth I'd gone behind the curtain.

Then the curtain parted with a rustle and there was the kid. Without looking at me, it shuffled its feet awkwardly and in a choked voice said, “
Permette vous
 …”

“
Bitte
, dear boy,” Mrs. Moses said, flashing me another dazzling smile as she glided over the parquet in the kid's arms.

I exhaled and wiped my forehead with a handkerchief. The table had been cleared by now. The trio of card players continued to deal in the corner. Simone was thrashing away at the billiard balls. Olaf and Kaisa had evaporated. The music was rumbling at half volume, Mrs. Moses and Brun were demonstrating their remarkable skill. I walked carefully past them and into the billiard room.

Simone greeted me with a wave of his cue; without wasting a precious second he offered me a five-ball handicap. I took off my jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and we began. I lost a large number of games, for which I was punished with a large number of jokes. My mood began to improve significantly. I laughed at his jokes, which I didn't quite understand, since they concerned things like quarks and Schrödinger cats and professors with exotic names; I drank my club soda, paying no attention to the mockery and entreaties of my partner; I moaned dramatically and clutched at my heart when I blundered, acted out my immoderate delight when I scored; I thought up new rules and defended them heatedly—I let myself go so thoroughly that at one point I took off my tie and unbuttoned my collar. I was in fine feather, in my opinion. Simone was too. He made shots at incredible, theoretically impossible angles; he ran around the walls and even, it seemed, along the ceiling; in the pauses between jokes he sang songs about mathematical theories at the top of his voice; he addressed me informally over and over again, and then corrected himself with a “My apologies, old man. It's this damned democratic education …!”

Through the billiard room's open door I briefly glimpsed Olaf dancing with the kid, then the owner carrying a tray of drinks to the card players, then a flushed Kaisa. The music blasted, the card players screamed with excitement, laying down spades, collecting hearts, trumping diamonds. Every
once in a while a hoarse voice could be heard: “Listen, Drabble … Bandrel … Du …!” and the mad knock of a mug against the table, and the owner's voice, “Gentlemen, gentlemen! What is money but so much ash …?” and the ringing crystal laughter of Mrs. Moses, “Moses, what are you doing, the spades have been gobbled up already …” Then the clocks struck something-thirty, the chairs were being moved in the dining room, and I saw Moses slap Du Barnstoker on the back with his mug-free hand, and growl, “As you wish, gentlemen, but it's time for the Moseses to get some sleep. A good game, Barny … Barnbell … you, you're a crafty adversary. Gentlemen, goodnight! Come, my love …” I remember Simone saying he was out of gas, as he put it. I went into the dining hall for a new bottle of brandy, having decided that it was time for me to replenish my stores of fun and lightheartedness.