High summer shaped her lips. Hejar swung his feet off the desk, stood up and came round towards her. "Not at all, my dear lady ... "
But Elsie Stogumber was clear of her chair and through the office door before he could reach her. Her summer was not for Anton Hejar.
Hejar stood on the permanent walkway opposite the gymnasium and made no attempt at concealment. Such intrigue became ludicrous with repetition, particularly when all parties were aware of the charade that was being played out. Now, he did not veil his intentions even out of courtesy.
He was too little of the hypocrite, he told himself, but even in that, he lied. He stood so because he liked to watch Trevnik's dark face as the man noticed him, to see the nostrils flare and the eyes go suddenly wild as if in fear of an old superstition, and then just as suddenly narrow and normal and carefully-averted.
He heard a descending thunder on the stairs. Trevnik must have seen him, given the advantage of darkness looking out on light, because he simply showed his back as he locked the door and started down the street.
In no apparent hurry, Hejar crossed the road and fell into step about twenty yards behind the giant. Today, he saw nothing suspect in the man's gait. Trevnik, presumably, had given up any pretense and walked now only in a way that exhibited the disciplined thrust of hip and leg.
Elsie Stogumber, cramped from her unaccustomed sojourn in the narrow doorway once occupied by Hejar, emerged into the mid-day brilliance and watched the two men down the street.
Berke took a final wheat-germ sandwich and pushed the remaining pile along the bench to Hejar.
Though he had long since ceased to be troubled by his occupation, his appetite had never returned. Each day he prepared more sandwiches than he would eat.
And each day, still feigning surprise at the meeting and hungry from his hunt, plump Hejar joined him on his bench at the leisure zone and waited politely until Berke had shown himself fed to sufficiency and offered him the surplus.
Berke washed his mouth out at the nearby drinking fountain, spat and sat down again.
Hejar chewed, his attention riveted to the children's fun-run, watching for a collision with the spinning chairs or a fall from the helter-skelter.
"We could, perhaps, fill in the loop-holes," said Berke. Hejar grunted.
"The way into this game is too easy," said Berke. "If we study, it is to be eventually better at our job. There is no ruling. It is a labour of love. Amateurs, opportunists can always make inroads. Perhaps we should form a union, or get some recognition from the Central Committee."
Hejar shrugged. He was uninterested in Berke's theorising, his verbal attempts — in his incompetence — to make the living more secure for himself.
"The amount of money the amateurs make, the volume of business we professionals lose is negligible," he said. "What do they get? A relation dies at home. Natural causes. Who pays for natural causes? The bodies are worn out, anyhow. A murder victim is discovered on a rubbish dump in an advanced state of decay. Where's the money in that? No, myself I don't mind who gets the stamp. I can always keep myself well."
In his sudden silence, he indicated his doubt of the other's ability.
"Me, too," said Berke hurriedly. "I was thinking of the less fortunate members of our calling."
Atop the fifty foot slide, a jostled child screamed and clutched with vain fingers at the air. Berke and Hejar moved at speed towards the gathering crowd.
The Minerva no longer pretended that the health foods it served were any more than politely-fashioned simulants or, at best, salvaged from some overgrown delicatessen. But at least the café still retained certain of the musty odours that had once given herb stores an impression of geography contained within three walls and a display window.
Jolo Trevnik avoided the glassed-up, crowded planktonia. His stomach, accustomed to a balanced carbohydrate intake, turned on the lead oxide that came with every boxed cereal these days, a legacy of the brightly-painted free gift needed to sell any competitive product.
His system revolted against battery lamb and the beef and chicken, he knew, contained sterilising agents. Not that he was bothered particularly about potency. The unborn were the lucky ones, he reasoned.
A shape above his table cut out the light. Momentarily, he started, his mind still fixed on the snatcher with the Santa Claus face.
Then the woman sat down opposite him and he noted the carefully-highlighted features and the overbright eyes with a measure of relief.
He took a sip at his acorn coffee to steady his nerves. When he put his cup down, she said, "Mr. Trevnik?"
He nodded.
"I saw the name on the door of your gymnasium."
"But that's a long way away. What ... ?"
"I followed you," she said quickly. "I couldn't help noticing I wasn't the only one."
Trevnik dropped his eyes and considered the gray coffee. He felt — unclean; a curiosity, a freak. All the more for having someone else notice his humiliation.
"I'm sorry for you," she said, and that made it worse.
"You don't need to be sorry, lady," he said, almost angrily. "It doesn't bother me. I look after myself. I avoid accidents."
"My husband was the same."
"Should I know your husband?"
"I think he came to your clinic a few times — Harry Stogumber."
"Stogumber."
His echo of the word chilled her with a memory.
"Tall man," he said. "Not too fat. Not much meat on him at all, really ... "
"Please." The woman laid her gloved hand across his fingers.
"I'm sorry," said Trevnik. "Did I say something ... ?"
"A phrase. It has associations ... "
Trevnik went over it in his mind. " 'Not much ... ' " He bit his lip. "I am beginning to understand," he said. "I didn't realise. Forgive me, ma'am. Maybe I should ... "
Trevnik freed his great legs from the meager table and turned his seat at an angle to allow them access to the gangway.
"I hope you're not going," the woman said. "Please don't go."
Elsie Stogumber was running her eyes over the breadth of his shoulders, the width and density of his hands. The frankness of her inspection began to embarrass him. "I was going to ask you a favour," she said finally. "That man who keeps following you. He was there when the car hit my husband. He ... " She swallowed hard.
"Don't trouble yourself," said Trevnik. "I can work out what happened."
"I want to hurt him," she said. "Really physically hurt him. But what can I do?"
Trevnik looked down at his hands, saw how the tendons moved under the skin.
"So you want me to hurt him for you ... Do you know that I have never in my life used my strength to hurt anyone?"
"I could offer you money," she said. He looked up angrily. "But I won't. I can see that you would do it only if you wanted to do it."
"Lady, that man is only waiting for me to die so he can tear me apart. I want to do it now."
"Then what is stopping you?"
Trevnik clasped his hands to stop them from moving of their own accord. He rested his chin on them.
"It is against the law," he said.
"What law? What human law could possibly deny that I have a right to hurt that man?"
"You, maybe. Not me."
"You could plead self-defence ... if you said he tried to push you into the road or trip you into the rotor plant, you would have provocation."
"Lady ... Mrs. Stogumber, ma'am. How could I plead self-defence. I mean ... I mean ... look at me. I look like an attacker. I want to help you, Mrs. Stogumber, but ... "
"It's all right," said Elsie Stogumber. "I'll find somebody else."
Trevnik found himself on his feet. The woman said no more. All she wanted was for him to stand still while his thoughts progressed. She allowed perhaps 15 seconds to pass while Trevnik hesitated, towering above her. "Of course, they wouldn't have to kill him," she said quietly.