Cyclops (The Margellos World Republic of Letters) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Tresić-Pavičić, like Rolls-Royce. As if Rolls could not stand on his own without Royce. Silly, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it is silly,” Melkior agreed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, which Four Eyes interpreted as impatience and showed fear.
    “In a hurry, old boy? Now me, I’m fresh out of the hospital. The old kidney problem. The doctor said, ‘We must have it out’—Four Eyes made a sharp gesture as if slicing his own side with his thumb—and I said, ‘Not so fast, doc! I’m not having my kidney pickled in alcohol,’ I said. And so, my dear Distressić, I lost a nice little job with First Croatian. I went to see the Old Man this morning. ‘The Board of Directors meets tomorrow,’ he said, ‘kindly have your resignation in by then.’ ‘With a government stamp?’ ‘Government stamp and all.’ ‘The usual? The one that costs seventy-five in change?’ ‘Seventy-five in change.’
    “Short and sweet. Goodbye—Goodbye. While I was in hospital, the wife pawned all we had. If only I had something to pawn! … but there’s nothing left. No job—no credit. I needn’t tell you, do I, you know well enough what our damned Scrooges are like. Got money to burn while you may as well croak for want of a piddling seventy five in change!”
    Four Eyes fell silent, hanging his head in expectation. It was only out of the corner of his eye that he followed, animal-like, Melkior’s embarrassed dive into the inside breast pocket, where wallets are usually stored. And surely enough Melkior took out his wallet …
    “No, please, I didn’t mean …” and Four Eyes made a belated attempt to stop his arm … “I only told you as an old … I’ve got no one to share my troubles with.”
    “Unfortunately, I …” Melkior stammered shyly. “This is all I’ve got,” he offered Four Eyes a silver fifty-dinar piece and displayed his empty wallet, “Look.”
    “Heaven forbid!” Four Eyes cried out, flinching as if frightened. “Take a fellow’s last penny? Never! I’m not that kind of guy!”
    “But it’s not my last,” Melkior was almost pleading, “I’ve got some coming tomorrow.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Quite sure.”
    “Well then … But listen, I don’t want you lying to me! If you’re lying, then this is charity, and I won’t have that!” Four Eyes asserted with pride and added in a confidential tone, “And look, I’d like to ask you as a favor, let’s keep this between ourselves, shall we? By the way, where can I find you to pay you back?”
    “No problem, we’ll be in touch …”
    “Distressić, old boy, I can’t thank you enough. I’ll never forget it, so help me God!” He gave Melkior a hurried handshake, looking him in the eyes with sincere gratitude. “Bye then. I’m off to buy the stamps,” and he took off at the same hurried purposeful clip with which he had come into view a little while before.
    Melkior knew that Four Eyes had duped him, but had been unable to resist the extraordinary form of the effrontery. He then wisely resolved never to heed again any baited hooks thrown his way. So he now thought he’d ignore the Trams-are-not-what-kill-you-nowadays man with the newspaper and to hurry after Dom Kuzma; he had lost him again among the passersby. Nevertheless he cast a glance at the man with the newspaper out of some sort of curiosity. The other perceived the glance as a door that was opened a crack and scuttled right inside:
    “It’s not the trams that kill you these days, my dear sir, it’s this!” and he nodded at the bold headlines in the newspaper.
    Melkior read, BOMBS HIT LONDON IN WAR’S WORST RAID and, underneath, “Six Hours of Hell and Horror—Entire Quarters in Flames” … But he could picture nothing specific behind those alarming words, no dead child, crushed skull, man despairing over his demolished home and slaughtered family, none of those terrible scenes which were really there behind headlines. Melkior remained indifferent,