Various Flavors of Coffee Read Online Free PDF Page A

tiny cups in front of Pinker and me. I picked mine up. It contained no more than an egg-cup’s worth of thick black liquid, on which floated a honeycomb of hazelnut-brown froth. I rotated the cup: the contents were dense and sluggish, like oil. I raised it to my lips—
    It was as if the very essence of coffee had been concentrated into that tiny morsel of liquid. Burnt embers, woodsmoke and charred fires danced across my tongue, caught at the back of my throat, and from there seemed to rush up directly to my brain . . . and yet it was not acrid. The texture was like honey or molasses, and there was a faint, biscuity sweetness that lingered, like the darkest chocolate, like tobacco. I finished the tiny cup in two gulps, but the taste seemed to grow and deepen in my mouth for long moments afterwards.
    Pinker, watching me, nodded. “You have a palate, Mr.Wallis. It is rough and somewhat untutored, but you can apply yourself in that sphere. And—more importantly—you have the gift of using words. Find me the words that can capture—can standardize— the elusive taste of coffee, so that two people in different parts of the world can telegraph a description to each other, and each know exactly what is meant by it. Make it authoritative, evocative, but above all precise. That is your task. We shall call it . . .” He paused. “We shall call it The Pinker-Wallis Method Concerning the Clarification and Classification of the Various Flavors of Coffee. What do you say?”
    He was looking at me expectantly.
    “It sounds fascinating,” I said politely.“But I could not possibly do what you suggest. I am a writer—an artist—not some manufacturer of phrases.” My God, the coffee from that machine was strong: I could feel my heart racing from its effects.
    “Ah. Emily anticipated that this might be your response.” Pinker nodded toward the secretary, whose head was still lowered demurely over her notebook.“At her suggestion, I took the liberty of establishing your father’s address and sending him a telegram about this offer of employment.You may be interested to see the Reverend Wallis’s reply.” Pinker pushed a telegram slip across the table. I picked it up: it started with the word Hallelujah! “He seems quite keen to be relieved of the burden of supporting you,” he said drily.
    “I see.”
    “ ‘Tell him allowance terminated stop. Grateful opportunity stop. God bless you sir stop.’ ”
    “Ah.”
    “And in the light of your being sent down—your father men-tions it in passing—taking orders or indeed schoolmastering are avenues now probably closed to you.”
    “Yes,” I said. My throat seemed to have gone dry. Jenks placed another tiny cup of coffee in front of me. I threw it down my throat. Fragrant charcoal and dark chocolate flooded my brain. “You mentioned fantastic wealth.”
    “Did I?”
    “Yesterday, at the Café Royal. You said that if I entered into your . . . scheme, we would both become fantastically wealthy men.” “Ah, yes.” Pinker considered.“That was a figure of speech. I was employing . . .” He glanced at the secretary. “What was I employing?”
    “Hyperbole,” she said. It was the first time she had spoken. Her
    voice was low, but again I thought I discerned a faint note of amusement. I glanced at her, but her head was still bent over the notepad, recording every word with those damn squiggles.
    “Exactly. I was employing hyperbole. As a literary person, I’m sure you appreciate that.” Pinker’s eyes glinted. “Of course, at the time I was not fully apprised of your own somewhat straitened circumstances.”
    “What remuneration—exactly—are you suggesting?”
    “Emily here informs me that Mrs. Humphrey Ward was paid ten thousand pounds for her last novel. Despite the fact that she is the most popular writer in the country and you are completely unknown, I propose to pay you at the same rate.”
    “Ten thousand pounds?” I repeated, amazed.
    “I said the