“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.”
6.
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…”