‘I have a shop, you see,’ said the chief of police. ‘And I sell mainly books and flowers.’
‘Your writers are ingenious,’ she smiled.
‘These books are all collector’s pieces,’ he sighed. ‘I only retail the best. Our writers of Nihilon have no problems. How can they, being Nihilists? There are no rules. They write, and so they are understood. It is automatic, no matter what they write, whether it’s history, geography, psychology, pornography, botany, monotony, devilism, syphilism, bigamy, polygamy, or sodomy. You name it, they write it. Half our authors are thin and phthisical, and languish for death; the other half are monstrously fat and slothful, and so are prone to heart attack, high blood pressure, gout and palsy, but with a fantastic built-in drive for life. So if you’d be generous enough, dear lady, to buy one of their books I’d be extremely grateful. And so would they, as you can imagine. Not many cultured foreigners come this way to purchase my wares.’
A large transfer of money would be waiting for her in Nihilon City, so she could afford to be extravagant in face of such extortion which, at this point of her adventures, seemed quite skilful and amusing. ‘I’ll buy this one,’ she said, appearing to choose at random the volume with the gun inside and paying his price of two hundred klipps.
The back of the hut had an embrasure built into it, out of which pointed a heavy machine gun, mounted on a tripod and pre-aimed at the frontier wire. ‘In Nihilon everyone has several jobs,’ he told her, putting the money under a blotter on his desk. ‘Besides being chief of police of this town, I am a bookseller and a gardener. I’m also employed as a frontier guard, so that for every Cronacian spy I kill as he tries to cross into Nihilon, I’m paid three hundred klipps. It’s not much, but if I shoot two a week it helps to keep my wife and nine children, as well as my mistress and twelve children.’
‘Twelve?’ she exclaimed.
‘Soon to be fourteen, alas,’ he said. ‘But never mind. We don’t despair in Nihilon. There can’t be too many of us, menaced as we are by the barbarian predators of Cronacia.’ He went close and looked into her eyes: ‘I love you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, stepping back, and realizing that he was short-sighted, ‘I only came here to make a complaint.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘I arranged it. I have all these different occupations, but in my spare time I play God. Perhaps I’ll get that job as well, one day, though President Nil has it at the moment.’ He put his arms around her and pulled her close to his large chest.
She struggled. ‘Let me go. You must be mad.’
‘Do you think so?’ he sighed, kissing her lips. ‘All my life I’ve wanted to go mad, and I keep trying very hard, as I suppose everyone does in good old glorious Nihilon, but I can’t do it. Not yet. I keep trying though, because I hope to. What bliss it would be to go mad. I can’t tell you how much I long for it.’ He kissed her again, and she slapped his fat unshaven cheek, momentarily checking him.
‘Come away with me,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll give up everything for you. Let’s go to Perver City. Or if you don’t like that idea, I’ll even go into Cronacia with you. We can step through the wire.’ He ran to the desk and held up a gigantic pair of wire-cutters. ‘The fellow on the other side, who also has a machine gun, won’t shoot me, because we have a secret arrangement to let each other cross if things get too difficult. So if you won’t come to Perver City, let’s run off to Cronacia. I’ve heard there are wonderful beaches over there. We can sprawl on the sand all day, drinking and making love.’
For a moment the idea appealed to her as a means of getting to know more about the inside workings of Nihilon than by the tortuous expedient of travelling around the country itself, but she remembered that a meeting had been arranged with her four colleagues in Nihilon City, and so opened her notebook to write: ‘Passions run high in Nihilon. It is a country with few moral standards, and ladies travelling alone would do well to remember this.’
‘No,’ she said to the chief of police. ‘In any case, wouldn’t you rather go on playing God, in the hope that one day you’ll go mad?’
‘Don’t mock me,’ he said, making another half-hearted attempt to embrace her. ‘I only played God to lure you here. I saw you get off the train, so I persuaded the stationmaster to help you, which was the first part of my uncannily successful plan. He didn’t want to, but I said I’d kill his wife and have him arrested for murder if he didn’t. So he helped you through the customs, got you to the Nihilon train, and went off with your luggage. I knew that you would then have to complain to me, and I simply waited for you here. You see, it’s not playing God. It’s only thinking for oneself in a high and mighty manner!’
‘Your plan has failed,’ she said sternly. ‘If you don’t recover my luggage I’ll make a strong complaint when I reach Nihilon City. And then we shall see what will happen.’
‘You’re most uncooperative,’ he said, sulking, ‘I only wanted to make love to you among the flowers.’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Will you sign a confession, then?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘That’s the least you can do after all the trouble I’ve taken.’
‘Never.’
‘You don’t even ask what for,’ he said bitterly. ‘A confession would bring me five hundred klipps, which would fill my Zap sports car with top-star petrol for a week. If only I could rely on the goodness of people to give me a little spiritual assistance from time to time. Life can be very hard for someone like me.’
She smiled at his childishness, but which she didn’t like because she detected the ruthlessness lying underneath it. ‘How can you hope for people to be good in Nihilon?’ she asked.
‘You can hope for anything in this country. The reason it is great is that we’re not afraid of hope. What’s more, our hopes often come true. When I saw you getting off the train, and fell in love with you, I hoped we’d be able to meet, and here you are.’
She lit a cigarette. ‘But you arranged all that. You just said so.’
‘You can’t hope without giving it some help,’ he said, laughing for the first time. He attacked her so suddenly that she dropped her cigarette. A trick of his foot shut the door hard, while the other foot clipped itself between her ankles and forced her into his arms, so that, with great strength he lowered her quickly to the floor. Such was the shock of it that she didn’t struggle at first. Then she bit, scratched, and spat. She ripped the red tab from the lapel of his tunic, and this sound of tearing cloth saved her. The price seemed too high for him, water over his passion, and he jumped away before she could do any more damage to his uniform.
Jaquiline thought he had only leapt clear so as to spring down again from a better vantage point. She reached the table and opened the book for which she had already paid two hundred klipps. He put up his hands. ‘I love you,’ he said with trembling lips, eyes fixed on the revolver and cursing the versatility of Nihilon’s writers.
She held it steadily and was ready to fire: ‘I want my luggage. I have to be in Nihilon City tomorrow.’
‘We’ll go and get it,’ he smiled, taking a paperclip from his desk and fastening the red tab back in place on his tunic.
‘I’ll go alone,’ she told him, putting the gun in its box.
He opened the door, and gallantly pointed the way into sunlight. ‘My Zap sports car is at your disposal, madam. Twenty kilometres beyond this station the Nihilon City Express waits for two hours to take on food, fuel, arms, and spare wheels; if I drive fast we can get there in time to apprehend our criminal stationmaster. I’ll have him tried and sent to a special school where he’ll be taught a lower-grade job.’