“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).