A LITTLE MURDER SHOP

“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” said the man opening the door widely and strutting up backwards. “There is nothing to fear, yes, men of my age have already done what they have been destined to. Now our greatest crime against the law perhaps would be to steal a piece of sausage at a supermarket, Madam… Come in, come in,” the man was smallish, huddled in a huge hand-knitted cardigan.

She has passed by the house only once some days earlier. Took the dog out for a walk, the dog chased some deer this way, so they climbed to the top of the slanting meadow, than jumped over the brook and she found herself on an alley ending at its overgrown banks.

The alley was very short, no pavement, no macadam, just a wheeltrack left by somebody’s car flanked by a score of houses, mostly unpainted and unfinished, because of some municipal housing project to be started here. The little house she has entered now was the last in the row, the only older structure, set apart by the meadow with the brook.

She certainly came to investigate the place after she got the offer, as if by looking at the house she would learn more about its owner. But she took the panoramic road at the top then and could not see much, because the place was too far away and the yard was densely overgrown. She dared not step on the alley, overcome by an unpleasant feeling, even alarm, that although she has not confided her wish in a soul, the old man somehow knew about it. Not only knew, he must have been dead certain in it to have the cheek to do what he has done. She was afraid that if she’d walk along the alley and he’d see her, he might take this as a kind of confession and use it (he or somebody else) as a clue, as evidence against her. Now, entering the tiny entrance hall, the woman was adamant that she would never accept the offer, but would only demand an explanation, so as to find out how this total stranger has managed to nose it out. She even played with the thought to postpone coming, to wait and see if she’d get another offer, another “advertising slip” as he had called it when he thrust the thing into her palm. After all, he could have made a mistake, he could have taken her for another woman and she would only give herself out, most foolishly acknowledge something she was not even certain she was intending to do. But yesterday the first snowflakes fluttered in the air and she knew that here, at the foot of the mountain, once in the air the snow did not linger long. The soil had no source of warmth and within a couple of days everything would be white-clad, with every shoe track leaving a distinct imprint, leading surely back to one’s thoughts and intentions. All this reasoning about the shoe tracks and the snow came in to her in the tram, on her way back from work, and seemed to cheer her up with the sheerness of its importance. That is why she took the panoramic road, but instead of descending the meadow towards her house, she crossed it at the brook, just in front of the house of the old man. She muddied her shoes: the meadow was always soggy and totally muddy now with the scanty snow. She decided that if somebody takes notice of her muddy shoes, she would by all means tell that she has crossed the meadow, just felt like crossing there. And if someone sees her entering the old man’s house, she’d tell that she went in to ask if he sells any eggs, because when the dog chased the deer this way, she glimpsed a hen strolling in the yard.

”Would you take off your coat?" asked the little man. “You might feel chilly later on outside… Though you would hardly make up your mind to buy the merchandise now… Not an easy decision, you know, then the price is also a notch, couldn’t say I sell cheap…”

“No, thank you,” said she.

“Hi-hi, so be it, women never, especially when they came for the first time, take off their coats. Hi-hi, I’ve shared this observation with other tradesmen, no, no, not of my merchandise, certainly not, such like me, do not consider it a boast, are but few… Well, they had told me that women make more difficult customers, somehow more indecisive, wavering. It’s probably because a woman’s soul strives after so many things at a take and finds it difficult to gauge its priorities, eh?”

The house was tiny. From the entrance hall one could glimpse a kitchen through a half-open door and there were two other doors, closed: probably to a pantry and to a bathroom.

“Here, you see,” obligingly singsonged the man, “here is my kitchen and upstairs, to your kind attention, upstairs is my study or my little shop, hi-hi, if you fancy to call it that, and my humble bedroom… It doesn’t seem proper to invite you to the kitchen, hi-hi, upstairs I can treat you to a coffee too. I have a another coffee-pot upstairs, you know, because at my age one doesn’t feel like running up and down the stairs several times a day, and I like my coffee, I do, doesn’t interfere with my sleep at all, don’t know how it is with you?”

“I like coffee,” said the woman.

“Hi-hi, that’s what I thought. Saw you once carting a kilo pack, said to myself, another soul mate, hi-hi, sorry for spying out on you, but my trade requires it. One has to watch people, finding customers is not an easy job. I nearly started thinking that you would not come and all my ideas and hard effort would just go down the drain… Now, mind your step, a small turn here, the staircase is narrow and this step is sagging, with all that work can’t spare an hour to fix it… But do you know, these creaking, wooden stairs are even better, they talk somehow, you know, under the feet of various customers they tell different things.”

“Your letter perplexed me,” said the woman in a slightly grating, flustered voice when they reached the upper landing, also wooden, with a short railing at the side. There were two doors: apparently to the study and to the bedroom. The one was opened a crack, revealing a wall lined tightly with books, up to the low ceiling.

“In a minute, we’ll discuss everything in a minute,” said the old man, because that’s how she kept doggedly thinking of him after watching the sagging bottom of his trousers on the stairs behind him.

“In here, please,” he opened wide the half-opened door.

The room was small, with a beveled ceiling at the back.

A huge desk overflowing with papers, pencils and ball-pens occupied most of it, with a typewriter and a photograph of a woman in an old-fashioned silver frame on top. There was a library behind the desk, towering up to the ceiling as in the other room. The library was divided into two parts: shelves full of books – on medicine, chemistry, physics, botanical reference books, and, as far as she managed to take in the rest, small drawers, like the old library card catalogues, but for cards three or four times bigger. Each drawer had a piece of paper pasted on it, with a letter and two digits. Two old armchairs were placed in front of the desk, covered with dark-colored woolen blankets, with a small round table squeezed in between, a box of luxury chocolates spread on its peeling veneer top.

“Take a seat, take a seat for a while,” said the man, or the old man. Her impression of him shifted constantly: he seemed to her either young, or terribly old, depending on what she was looking at. “Just a second, some customers are suspicious, very suspicious and make my work terribly complicated, but what can one do, hi-hi, a trade is a trade. They would rather communicate by letters, a guy was just asking here about a detail and I had a hard time finding it for him, I’d finish it right away, only a couple of lines to put down and the date. Started forgetting things, you know, not the essence, of course, don’t you think that you would buy a low-quality stuff off me, but if I close the book now, I’d have to rummage anew searching for which was where.”

The old man slipped on a pair of glasses left at the side of the typewriter and buried his long bony finger in the pages at his side.

“Then, he-he, one has to consider the season too. Each season, my dear, offers its own solution, even demands a solution of its own. He-he, this man in his letter here, describing his habits and certainly the habits of the person for whom he buys the stuff, suggests the idea himself. He somehow is even aware of this idea, as if it already has shaped out in his mind and he has indeed thought out the particulars. For why should he otherwise write to me that they both almost never miss a weekend to have a hike in the mountain, even in bad weather, but somehow he dares not look these speculations in the eye. He-he, such customers are very easy, I mean fast-acting, you just put in words, hour by hour, what they have suggested to you in the letter, give them a permission to do it, so to speak, eh?”

The old man rattled away on the shabby typewriter.

“Now, just for a second, my dear, we don’t want to overdose the medicine, do we?”

He nimbly got up, turned to the library and took out a fat red book.

“’R’……,’r’, here it is, no trace when mixed in food, a small pill is completely sufficient…He-he, most people have no imagination, Madam, that’s what makes me so uneasy about them, they lack imagination and commit their crimes the way their forefathers did, learning nothing, thoughtlessly. Sometimes it even crosses my mind that maybe thieves are more intelligent than murderers, “ he looked at her above his glasses, ‘and I have always felt contempt for thieves, you know, thought them somehow inferior, as I hope you understand properly my meaning…”

The woman sitting in the armchair across him nodded.

“Just look at all the information we get recently, to take but the newspaper items alone: electronics, laser beams, remote control. And it is not the technology that is important, my dear; it is not the technology that stirs admiration for them. One could easily guess that they never use just a single method anymore, no, they combine them, that’s the novel thing, the idea, do you follow me?… Now I have only to add the name of the drug…”

The old man strutted again, went around the desk to the window, where there was another typewriter under a cover and lifted it up.

“He-he, my dear, see what I got second hand? Quite sound, you know, somewhat worse for the wear, but one doesn’t earn much in my trade and I don’t feel like writing the names of the drugs in Cyrillic, things have a more commercial look that way, haven’t they? I’m telling you all this as neighbor to neighbor, divulging a secret, so to speak. Everything should bespeak the quality of the business, otherwise the customer looses faith and in our trade he is sufficiently distrustful as it is.”

The old man went back, rattled in the word on the sheet of paper he took out of the first typewriter, then read it carefully and put it into a drawer of the desk.

“I’ll address it later, my dear, I keep the addresses in a special place and when the deal is over, destroy them, one should make a thorough job of everything, shouldn’t one? Now I’d have to be careful with you too, it’s like at the doctor’s: one should never admit simultaneously two patients into the consulting room. I was even thinking - for every business should strive after perfection - hi-hi, downstairs, as you saw, there is a pantry, so I thought I’d make another door in it, another entrance door, that is. I certainly am careful, but it may happen so that those two customers might come at the same time, I’m trying to foresee everything, you know. Although I’ve dedicated my life to trading as they say, customers often waver, come right up to the door, I’ve seen them doing it, then go away, then return once more. And it’s bad policy not to open the door to a client, because another one is sitting inside, it’s bad policy to turn a customer away. When one has taken up trading, one should strive to never miss a client. That’s why I came up with the second door idea, and in there, in the pantry, it’s quite spacious, you know, I’ll even put a bench, if it so happens that the customer shall have to wait for a while, no need for him to keep standing. As I see it, there should be also some magazines and newspapers on a small table there, a coat hanger too, a cat to rub against one’s feet. Cats are such strange animals, my dear, but let’s not stray away from the subject. Hi-hi, everything should immediately be put into its slot, or havoc would reign.”

The old man got up, took the red book from the desk and after some struggle thrust it between the other tightly packed books on the shelf.

“But I did not finish my thought about the crudeness and lack of intellect, if you wish, of the contemporary murderer,” he prattled on, while attending to the book. “He just keeps murdering as his grand-grandmother did, though at least once a week they show him on the TV how crimes are exposed, what equipment is used, how many people are put on his tracks. The first and basic thing about my trade is to avoid suspicion. And here is the advantage of our job over that of the thieves. No way to avoid suspicion there, because when a thing is missing it either is lost, or is stolen. Not so with man, humans die sooner or later, you know, either owing to some inner causes, or by accident. It is most natural for a man to die, Madam, and precisely this natural characteristic of his should be applied, it gives us a great advantage over thieves… I do so hate them somehow,” the old man shriveled, “they certainly repel me, more cunning as they are, Madam, more knowing of the world, but so primitive, aren’t they?”

The woman nodded assent.

“I beg your pardon, if you happen to have such a inclination…”

The woman blushed.

“Never did.”

“That’s what I thought,” the old man clapped his hands, “I’ve also never ever stole a thing in my life, except once, as fist- or maybe second-grader. We were passing with my father by a crippled man who was selling baked sunflower seeds on a small table. They never bought me any, dear Madam, my father claimed they were dirty and I so very much liked them, so when we passed by the table I reached out and grabbed a handful Childish caper, Madam, because I started nibbling on them right on the spot, my father immediately saw this and made me give them back to the man and apologize. Such a mortification, Madam, such a shame. I have stolen nothing ever since, not even writing paper, not even a ball-pen have I taken home from the office. And I had worked for many long years, Madam, as a clerk – this is the exact word – advanced to the position of Head of Department at the Ministry even… But I‘m straying away from the subject again,” he sat at his place behind the desk and smiled affably. “Essentially, almost all methods for achieving the thing we are discussing now are well known. The novel thing, Madam, my original idea, thanks to which my little shop has been thriving for already five years running, is that suspicion sets in whenever these methods cross a certain limit. Until crossing it, they would hardly stir any suspicion whatsoever and, as I have already emphasized, the greatest chance murder (although this word somehow grates in my ear) holds is that it might not stir any suspicion at all. So my idea, Madam, and I trust you’d find it quite sound, is to combine the methods, to have a little of each, as actually not only the modern thieves do, but in a manner the ailments do a man in. Here again one has a lot to learn from Nature, my dear. In my time, for instance, tuberculosis was in the vogue and it turned out that not only the TB bacillus was to blame, but also a host of sundry factors, accumulating one after the other until the man gave up… A little of this, a little of that, Madam, so that it would dawn on no one that it has been used on purpose, well, this certainly requires more thinking and observation, but that’s what makes my business notable. For five years running, Madam, not a slip, not a single customer dissatisfied, what other business could boast such a success? And I would dare draw your attention to another fact: I work alone, don’t trust anybody. Two persons are too much for one crime, Madam, and, according to my conjectures, I’ll probably meet my death from the hand of a distrustful person, who will use my services, my merchandise and then would get scared. But, on the other hand, this adds some spice to my profession; certain risk exists, yes, and as a professional I am expected to foresee everything, am I not? Would you say psychiatrists have an easier job, Madam, how could one say what could take root in a twisted mind? Prompted by my trade I have occasionally delved in such literature and think that I could never have been able to do such a job. In my trade everything is reliable, I work with mature and serious persons, who know what they want and whenever they have second thoughts, they probe into and overcome them. Moreover, my dear, normal men don’t have so many options and it is not so difficult to foresee which way they would turn… He-he, nearly forgot the coffee, you know, sometimes I plunge into a case for days, work very long hours and think that I have no right to expose my customers even to a whiff of a threat. But sometimes I’m simply longing to have a chat with somebody, to explain my theoretical reasoning, if I may say so. I tackle my business as the modern factories do: with a research and development and a production unit, so to speak. And although one sells one’s merchandise, of satisfactory quality too, however seldom one feels like showing how the whole thing works. Theory is such an intellectual feast, Madam, to know that nothing is accidental in your work, no groping, no empiricism, and everything rests on a congruous concept. Let’s take you, for instance, you are a physicist, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” said the woman.

“Hi-hi, this would encumber slightly our work, but slightly, Madam, because no crime should ever be linked in any manner to the profession of its perpetrator. A surgeon, for instance, should never attempt to kill with a knife, because anyone would guess on the spot that this was the doing of someone well familiar with the human body. Hi-hi, accept my apologies once more for spying out on you, but if you don’t like my merchandise, if you feel hesitant (this is a thing only you can decide and I have no right to interfere), you won’t pay up and everything will be on me, so to speak. Although particularly this part of the job seems to be most time-consuming: to make the customer enter the shop and before that, of course, to make sure that he is a serious and solid person, sufficiently well motivated, not driven by some stray whim… A, the coffee, the coffee, Madam, how do you like it - soluble, or espresso, or I can make a Turkish coffee for you… Espresso, as I thought, it’s stronger and more coffee-like and requires brewing, and when it is brewed it smells like coffee, something soluble coffee is missing totally.”

The old man started fussing again, plunged behind his huge desk, opened a door and drew out a coffeepot and some coffee. He filled the coffeepot carefully, each movement exuding pleasure, fastened the top and plugged the pot in the electrical outlet behind him.

“Now, Madam, the coffee will be ready in a moment and we’ll have a talk so as to better concentrate… There was a moment, my dear, when I intended to do business only with foreigners. I thought that, first of all, they would not come here and thus would arouse no suspicion in the neighborhood. Not that I’ve been having any trouble so far, don’t get me wrong, but a man is a man so as to foresee and peek forward into the future, doesn’t he? It would have been more interesting for me to take in their orders, for they would involve another country, unlike customs, different seasons even. I’d have to read heaps of pages, to learn some geography… No, I have not abandoned the idea and I have quite a number of foreign clients, Madam, even more than common sense would command, for another complication came up. The people from the post office are inquisitive, we are such a small block of houses and the lady-clerk in the post office, you probably know her, is like a walking newspaper, they’d start nosing around. I keep telling her that they write to me from all over the world about the new variety, yes, Madam, in fact I have cultivated a vine variety, very resistant to blight… I don’t know how much you know about such things, actually I’m an agronomist by profession, you know what blight is, don’t you?”

“I’ve heard something about it,” the woman relaxed a little.

“I seldom mention the fact that I’m an agronomist, sounds somewhat too light for the trade I’m now in, and I confide it in you because we share the same neighborhood, are fairly close, so to speak. Though it has been of great help to me – we’ve studied botany, I know a lot about trees, about their diseases and those of the animals – my profession has blessed me with many ideas, Madam. I stopped practicing it many years ago, but still reap the fruits of my reading and knowledge in this field. What I was going to say though was that I stopped working only with foreigners not only because of the lady-clerk at the post office. Live contacts bring great pleasure: to invite the customer into the shop is delightful. Else, fame spreads by hearsay, true; people hand down with sweating hands your address to each other, happy that you don’t know them. They ring you up in the middle of the night, because by some mysterious law, Madam, many feel like buying out your idea, starting owing it in the dead of the night. They have hesitated for a long time and then suddenly the desire spurs them on, four-five hours before dawn, just cannot bear waiting anymore. But we were speaking of the live contact, Madam; live contact is quite a different thing. Nothing compares to seeing the face of the client, indeed your efforts are more successful then … Hi-hi, don’t you imagine that I’m selling my merchandise to all and sundry: there are clients who stir aversion in me and I tell them that I don’t have anything suitable for them. I have the right to do it after all, haven’t I, my dear, yes I have, the only loser in such cases is my firm, my business, that is me, which means that only I am the loser. When after all these long years there is finally no one to boss me around anymore, I can afford it, cannot I, though a closer look would show that I do this again in the interest of the shop, of the business. One should not sell merchandise like mine left and right, Madam, without any consideration, we are not striving after profit alone. I usually avoid selling repeatedly to one and the same customer. It has happened to me so far only twice in my five-year practice, but these were very special cases, though some people, Madam, are all out after it once they get a taste of my merchandise. All of a sudden they like it, it brings a spring to their step, and they rush back to knock on my door, one guy even started threatening me.”

“ Is this your wife?” asked the woman pointing out at the photograph on the desk.

“No, no, Madam, I don’t have a single relative, my dear, not anymore, so there is nothing to fear, we’d be the only two persons who know about the purchase. A tradesman like me cannot be married, although I have faith, my dear, I used to have faith in women, because that’s how my mother has brought me up. And I still do, because this woman here, Madam, has proved to me that one could have faith in women. It was her, my dear Madam, who suggested to me to open this little shop, men are never so enterprising, no, half a year before dying the idea has dawned on her. Hi-hi, our coffee seems to be ready, here, just another second, smells nicely, doesn’t it, one should not blame me for doing trade in a backward manner. And now I’m going to show you my merchandise, you’d have a nice long look at it, you’d hesitate for some time (quite natural, you know), think things over. And I won’t start complaining, if you’d go home without buying it, or if you decide to come again to have another look of it. I’m always here.”

“You have mentioned money,” the woman said. “May I smoke here?” added she casting a glance around.

“You may, Madam, yes, you may, I myself, am not in the habit, but I like the tobacco smoke, seems pleasant to me. Now in a moment we’d find an ashtray for you.”

Once again he dived behind the desk, disappearing completely, rummaged in the lower drawers and took out a small crystal glass ashtray for one cigarette. Then somewhat hesitantly added:

“Be careful, my dear Madam, be very careful not to break it. This ashtray, a notebook and a ball-pen were the only things we owned together,” he pointed out at the photograph on his desk. “She’s fifty here and beautiful, isn’t she, Madam? I know it’s bad taste to comment on the beauty of the loved one in front of other women, but she is dead now and this somehow changes things, excuse my tactlessness. Don’t know how she looked at seventy, she refused to see me, was paralyzed and bed-ridden for ten years in a home for elderly people, because her daughter refused to have anything to do with her. But I found her even there, it wasn’t an easy job, you know. I was writing high and low for almost a year before getting her first letter, oh Lord, what a happiness it was, my dear, what a heavenly bliss! We kept in touch by letters for a year, I wrote to her every day. Things keep piling up in one’s soul through the years, so much accumulates and one has a lot to share, it never dawned on me that I had such a penchant for letters, my dear, never dawned on me, yes. Then she had a second brain hemorrhage and could not write anymore, but again she came up with the idea - she was unbelievable, full of ideas – to ask a nurse buy her a small tape-recorder with a lot of cassettes and started sending them to me with her voice, Madam. Believe it or not, but I nearly fainted, when I heard her for the first time. Nothing had ever changed in that voice, Madam, it’s a lie that women age, Madam, they either were born old or never age. How could a woman age, when she was endowed by the Lord God to caress, to make love with her voice, excuse me for putting it like that?… Any sugar for you, I did stray away from the subject again with all that chatter, but it’s my age, you know, loneliness too, for even the best tradesman can feel lonely, cannot he? It’s bad policy to tell you all this, people lose confidence whenever they get to know one too well, or at least many fear such a development and keep silent, but I think that everything would go even better after I tell you about that part of my life. For, true, I’m a tradesman, but things are ticklish in our trade and maybe this will make it easier for you to discuss your needs. You’d see that no one’s stranger to sin, to sinful thoughts, no matter how much one’s striving to be respectable. Life itself gives rise to these sinful thoughts and deeds, Madam, and we resist them as much as we can, but we are not omnipotent, no… Hi-hi, is this of any interest to you, Madam, you aren’t bored, are you? Actually a very grateful customer from Greece sent me a bottle of their special Metaxa brandy. I haven’t even opened it as far as I remember, so let’s do it now and have a drop, eh? Last year there were times when you were rather heavy-handed with the alcohol, always buying brandy, excuse me for spying out on you, but it was in the interest of the job, only for this reason. Seemed you liked best the Pomorie brand, didn’t you, twice a month on your paycheck and whatever else you can get in-between, he-he. I was sorry and even occasionally feared for you, in winter more precisely, pity, I said to myself, the girl won’t be able to pull through. But spring helped you, my dear, as it did many other creatures, you did pull through. Then, when I saw you one day climbing the hill with a broom and a heap of packages, I thought: ‘Now here’s our girl getting a grip on herself, before I know trade might get busy in the neighborhood!’ You have no idea how you have tired me then, the elderly people feel somewhat fragile in spring, so I got terribly tired to catch up unobserved and overtake you on the steep slope. But I was so keen, nearly bursting from curiosity to see whether you’ve got another bottle of brandy in your packs. Because if there was one, the broom was an accident, and if there was not, I was right to surmise, my dear, that you’re about to make the next step. He-he, don’t know whether you remember it, but there was no brandy then, your purse was a funny, smallish affair and everything in it showed…”

The old man got up again, but this time he approached a sideboard in the library, which turned out to be a liquor cabinet, opened it and took out the Metaxa bottle.

“I have some vodka, too, my dear, but as far as I know you, you’d hardly prefer it…”

“You’re right,” said the woman, “but it doesn’t seem wise…”

“You can excuse yourself with some celebration at the office,” the old man gave her a wink. “They often drink at the office now, Madam, in my time clerks never drank so, only artisans did and after working hours, but let’s not stray away, not stray away.”

“You think I’ve decided to commit something horrible,” the woman began, shaking off cigarette ash into the ashtray.

“Lord forbid!” started the old man as he poured brandy into two crystal brandy glasses. “Lord forbid, I only suggest, my dear, seeing that you are in need, tormenting, jeopardizing yourself, and only offer, did I not word it right in my advertising slip? I only offer and you, if you decide, if you feel confident, only then you’ll make use of my shop, which will offer a suggestion to you how to do it so that you won’t arouse suspicion, which is the main thing. Crime becomes meaningless, if one has to be punished for it. Certainly there are people who commit crimes only to get punished, so as to sink still lower but, as I told you, we are not discussing them. That is why I like to select my customers myself, so as to be confident that they are balanced and determined persons, who only need some help to avoid being pestered by coroners. For even if no evidence is left, Madam, even if one is confident one hundred percent that nothing has remained to give any clue, even if one is certain that that’s how it should have been and that one would do it again, if need be, you’d find it still difficult, Madam, to be constantly reminded of it. People relish in discussing crimes years after their commitment, even if you remain unexposed, they’d keep talking about you. So here comes my firm, Madam, to divert suspicion, to avoid talk… Cheers, my dear, to your beauty!” said the old man and with a smile-lit face raised the glass, gripping it daintily by the stem.

“Such a beautiful color,” said the woman taking a sip.

“Very, very beautiful, true, like amber, my dear, take off your coat, here, let me help you, if you wish, but be careful, please, not to break the ashtray, I myself once swept away an entire tray full of dishes with my coat… So, as I’ve started to tell you, in one of her cassettes she told me once: ‘If the editor claims that your book rather resembles a murders manual than a crime story, why don’t you open a little murder shop? So many people need a carefully worked out idea. Thus you’d be able to market all your notions, to read your heart’s full and along with this to earn money. Because,’ said she, ‘the ideas in your two books are brilliant, but presented in a rather unexciting way. I don’t know, dear (she, my dear Madam, always addressed me in such a manner), how much time we have got yet and you needn’t humiliate yourself before any puny editors, for the shop would bring you independence. You are a proud man (these were her exact words), you are a proud man and you must make some effort, although at the end of your life. Without a boss, you must at least at the end show them that you could have managed by yourself’!”

“Have you known each other for a long time?” asked the woman looking at the photograph: it showed a woman about fifty, neither beautiful, nor ugly, with a decent hairdo and a surprisingly merry, bright and even cunning look in her eyes.

“Well, Madam, have another drop, we’d fill the glasses again, they are too small. It’s too difficult for one to rifle through one’s past in front of others, or in part of it as it is. By the way, one is willing, one strongly wishes to do it, but then later feels bitter and empty inside, doesn’t one, you must have experienced this? Just be careful with the ashtray, hi-hi, first I gave it to you, and now keep pestering you about it. A real tradesman never does such a thing, but few tradesmen, Madam, would have given you such a valuable thing to use. So she sent me then, my dear, the cassette with the suggestion to set in the shop, because she was living with me, abandoning her body somewhere there behind, in the home for the elderly people and coming here to join me, miles and miles away. And she sent a parcel with the ashtray, the ledger, an exceptional ledger, my dear, can show it to you too, and the ball-pen. ‘These things’ said she, would be the first furnishings of our business office…’ I myself was hesitant, typical of me, delaying everything from day to day and in shame for these delays, poring in the books, pretending to be engaged in reading and reference work. That’s what I wrote to her: ‘I’m accumulating material now, preparing myself and casting around for customers.’ Do you know what her last words in that cassette were? ‘You are an extraordinary man. I love you and have never stopped loving you since our time together. Destiny, Politics and Morality separated us, but we shall prove to them that, although at the very end, we have managed to disregard them and did something completely on our own. I love you’.”

The old man got up and shuffled his slippers to the liquor cabinet.

“Another drop, Madam, I must be really getting old, so many words, my dear, but let us have another drop, I myself seldom drink, only a glass of red at lunch. Here, Madam,” said he, pointing out at that section of the library which was partitioned into drawers, “this is my merchandise, two thousands three hundred and twenty-three combinations for murder, my dear Madam. Not ways, mind, but combinations – the idea on which, as you were kind enough to listen to me explaining, my business rests. I attack each object at least from two sides, or from five to seven at the most, it doesn’t take more. Whenever you see a doctor busily writing a longish prescription for you, something must be wrong, for the best is always in the middle.”

He rummaged happily in the drawers.

“However, only one of these combinations of ideas is the basic one. And thanks to the emphasis on one of the ideas, I have managed to classify them. Now, let me see what can I show you as an example, I can easily do it for they won’t be of any use to you by themselves, somebody must adapt them to the concrete case. Just for advertising purposes, so to speak, which drawer, my dear, shall we pull out, this one, for example, eh?”

“All right,” said the woman and the old man pulled out one of the drawers. Inside, like in the old library catalogues, were stacked cards, some with colored dividers protruding on top.

The woman got up.

“Hi-hi, don’t get up, dear, don’t get up, it’s too cramped here, I’ll bring it myself.”

The old man took out the drawer and strutted to the table again.

“M, N and P, we’ve pulled out the letters M, N and P. Let us see what we have got here. ‘Murders based on an obtaining Medical Condition,’ then the yellow card here is ‘Murders based on a Natural Situation,’ then ‘Poisonings.’ He-he, which one you’d want us to explore in a more detailed way? Now I must take this paper out of the ‘Natural Situation’, there, for I’ve recommended it to the man to whom I’ve just wrote that letter. Once used, I never return the method back, nor do I delete it, but put it into another division: ‘Used Murders’… He-he, You must be thinking now that I’m old enough, that suddenly the worst could happen to me, true, my dear, quite true, but who would make the connection? Because, as I have told you, my strength is not to arouse any suspicion. Now who’d connect a natural, completely natural death, or one under tragic, but utterly transparent circumstances and the catalogue of an old man, who either reads, or cleans the place, or keeps busy in his workshop. As I told you, I do delete the addresses though, no one could find them even if suspicious. Security of the customer is the major task of our business, my dear, the major task, a demise of the firm will not threaten the customer…”

It was then that downstairs the bell rang sharply.

“Ah?!” exclaimed the old man. “They seem to start coming with the dusk, remember what I told you? Trade gets brisker with the dark, while I at my advanced age rather like to go early to bed and read an amusing story… Excuse me for a moment please.”

He got up hugging the drawer with the cards.

“No, actually, “ he seemed somewhat ashamed, “I’ll leave it here, no, here,” he suddenly changed his mind and put the drawer on the desk, as far as possible from the woman.

“Just for a second, don’t worry, we’ve made a point that your anonymity will be protected.”

He rushed through the door and his tiny steps echoed down the creaking stairs. The woman listened intently, a door opened downstairs, followed by a muffled conversation. Half a minute passed and she decided it was safe to get up and have a look around, because the stairs would tell when their owner was climbing up. She got up, the floor was covered with a faded but thick carpet and the floorboards did not cave under. She made a step to the desk, but only with one foot, so as to be able at any noise immediately sit down. The papers scattered around the desk were newspaper and magazine cuttings, there was also a medical journal on gastroentherology, with a sharp pencil protruding from it: apparently the old man was in the habit to take notes or underline when reading. The woman dared another step and reached for the drawer with the cards. She flipped the card with the ‘Murders based on a Natural Situation’ divider. It was yellow, there was a pink one immediately after it, with an inscription ‘Murder at the seaside. 1. In the active season.’ A couple of white cards followed. The first one has a lot of text. The woman began reading: ‘She is a poor swimmer. He, an excellent swimmer and persuades her to go to the deep, while she holds him at the shoulders, as they have done repeatedly…’ The stairs below creaked, the woman quickly put the cards back into their place and, trying to control her heavy breathing, tiptoed back to her armchair.

The old man entered smiling.

“I was quite right, my dear, already this winter I must make the second entrance and the waiting room in the pantry,” he kept rubbing his hands with pleasure, but when his eyes stopped at the drawer with the cards, his face lengthened, its expression froze and he fell silent.

“So-o-o,” he drawled in a second, as if losing his thought, and rolling the ‘o’-s in his mouth headed for the other end of the room, to the window. Stopped in front of it, looked outside and remained silent, although one could somehow sense his effort to continue the conversation.

“I permitted myself a glimpse into the drawer,” said the woman petrified, but articulating every word clearly.

“I saw, yes, yes, very strange,” the old man turned to her. “I don’t know why, excuse me, you must have noticed, but I don’t like anybody peeping into my drawers. I don’t know why, I could read them aloud, but don’t like when somebody touches them. Feel strange, even ashamed, when somebody touches them, but it’s not a big deal, my dear, you are a customer, feel awkward, want to see if everything is o’key, you pay for it after all. Well, this is my workshop. Do you want to see it? By the way, yesterday when you were doing the rounds and looking from the panoramic road, you must have noticed it, although the place is rather overgrown,” the old man stared at the woman, fell silent for a moment and then went on. “It was accidental this time, I cast an accidental glance through the window and saw you passing and looking this way. Don’t know what made me get up, go to the window and look. But it did not surprise me, my dear, this happens often, especially the day after they have slept with my advertising slip. And to tell you the truth, I felt pleased, warmed at the heart, because apparently I was not wrong and could hope for you to become my client. Actually, all whom I have approached with an advertising slip make the rounds, Madam, some dare not enter for it could not be said that my shop is very attractive: an old house is an old house, no matter how much one keeps patching it up, it still remains old. One such customer decided that he could not buy anything, even an idea, off a man who at the end of his life lives in a tumble-down house and decided to do it himself… They sentenced him, Madam, they did and I think it is his second year behind the bars. Think how unpleasant this could be for the children: their mother murdered, their father a murderer! I visited him twice and gave him advertising slips, twice, considering how far away he was living. He was a difficult man, Madam, was drinking too and spurred by my trade I had to follow him there too, and crowds easily make me tired. And what an idea I had for him: something excellent, something extremely elegant but he had no faith in people. And faith,” the old man raised his voice, “faith comes from the mother, later on we all add something or take something from what we have got, but what makes us trustful or mistrustful comes from the mother, with her milk, or her smile, I don’t know, it does not come later… What I was saying was that that man had no faith… Sip, sip up your brandy and come, if you wish to see my little workshop. We’d hardly need it for our common task, but you must understand and realize that whatever the price, it is because I invest part of, oh Dear, what am I saying, I invest most of the money I earn to improve the shop. Here, for instance, a very fine lasso needs to be made, a key to be doctored, a cast to be taken. Now you are a physicist and surely understand that if a radioactive spec has to be transported from one place to another, a lead box will be needed, but who will make it? The task will require tools and they cost a penny, oh, Madam, do you think that I would have kept all these drawers, had I been rich? Certainly not, all modern businesses (but what can I do, when I own only a humble shop) work with computers. I could have easily loaded all my data into such a computer, which could have been programmed in such a way so as to make us all sure that after receiving my death certificate it would automatically erase all these data. This is my little dream, we all have little dreams, Madam, as you know, and I can admit this to you for you are my neighbor and I can confide in you, moreover that you somehow inspire trust. I have a rich customer overseas and it is up to him that I look for it, he can afford to pay a higher price…”

“How much would it cost?” asked the woman and the old man quickly fixed her with his speckled eyes.

“Five hundred, Madam, if you don’t mind. Everything covered: from preliminary work… and up to the end, everything… I would like you to deposit half of the sum the moment you got the idea and the rest, my dear lady, you’d give to me if you are pleased by the merchandise, when you feel pleased, come and pay it out.”

“Five hundred!” accentuated the woman. ‘Five hundred!”

“No more than for an illegal abortion, if I may…”

The woman reddened and looked sharply at him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the old man strutted to her and lifted with both his hands her palm from the table. “I know what it had cost you to collect the sum, one should not talk of such things with women, I know, excuse me, it’s just my age, but I had to be sure of everything. Sometimes I got up very early in the morning, horribly early for a retired man, so I was walking near your place and saw you going to work. You ran down the steps of your house and kept running as far as the gulch, where at last you dared stop and get sick. So I asked myself: why a woman would get sick in the morning and why instead of climbing a couple of steps back to her house she would run to the gulch? Excuse me, please, I could have been wrong of course, but whenever one gets a bee in one’s bonnet all facts seem to be in support of his hypothesis. I could have been wrong of course and you’d put me straight if that is so, but I thought that a woman would do such a thing, if she is pregnant and does not want her husband to learn it… Because the other fellow, Madam - I don’t hurt you much by reminding you of all these painful details, do I? – has threatened to break your relationship, if you got pregnant, hasn’t he?… Would you like some more coffee, hi-hi, I have a soda water siphon left from I don’t know how long. Would you like a glass of soda water, pity it doesn’t cross my mind earlier that you might like it with your brandy!” and the old man went to rummage behind his desk again.

“I didn’t know who was the father,” said the woman hoarsely.

“That’s how it is,” shrunk the old man. “But let’s not talk about it, my dear, let’s not talk about it, how can I distract you? How come I’ve strayed from the subject again and being so inconsiderate, but one learns being brusque somehow. It seems to me a couple of years ago I was more considerate, maybe it’s just loneliness, it has been eight years since my wife left this world forever. There was no great love between us, but we lived well and I thank Fate for it. She was such a chatterbox, never leaving one to concentrate and invent something, but also never letting one feel lonely. We had no children and she, poor soul, clung tightly to me, never letting me for a second, maybe afraid of being abandoned, although, Madam, how could one abandon somebody when, in the first place, one’s never ever been with… Hi-hi, see what I’m telling you about my deceased, nice and good-looking wife… I was with her,” and the old man pointed with his bony hand to the portrait on the desk, his voice for the first time cold and bitter. “I was with her, there are people who cannot part with the person who has occupied their heart and that’s that – they might marry, divorce, have children, never mention the person in their heart, but that person would stay with them every day, whispering, peopling their dreams. Well, unfortunately, I say unfortunately because this is kind of a punishment, my dear, I belong to this type of people… Nothing could part us, see, fifty years of wars, famine, state frontiers, whatever, but nothing could part us, I managed to track her and she gave me the idea. Yes, she gave me the idea, called me a great and clever man, while my deceased wife, chattering as she did all the time, never ever thought me capable of anything, but trimming the trees in spring and autumn… And I am happy, yes, happy, and think that she would have been happy to see you here, smoking a cigarette in her ashtray…”

“I won’t be able to collect so much money,” said the woman as if making up to leave.

“So you are going now and giving everything up?!” the old man was alarmed. “Think it over, my dear, let’s think things over and solve the case. If the task proves too complicated, I could certainly reduce your second installment, then, as I have stressed, you’d bring it only if pleased with the result, at your discretion, so to speak. You are so nice, I would hate to lose you, and you are determined too, and I know a determined customer when I see one for I am dealing with such customers for a very long time and my business is successful. You’d get angry, act rashly, women often are rash, come to a half-baked decision and fall in, believe me, it’s better to think things over,” he touched her slightly by the shoulder and pressed her back into the armchair. “Sit down, sit down and relax, by the way, if you wish, we can check easily now in winter, if somebody’s back at your home. He always goes to his study, takes off his coat and heads that way, here, have a look,” and the old man dived again behind his desk producing huge, old field-glasses. “Rather primitive, but they’ll do, you’d only have to watch from the hallway.”

He bustled about, obviously uneasy, nearly running.

“I’ve mentioned his study not to goad you, my dear, but because your drawing room cannot be seen from here, there are all those trees and your house is set lower down… Although, hi-hi, you are quite right to complain, he truly stays only in his study, as if nothing else matters to him… Come, dear Madam, come to the front in the hallway.”

Both left the room, the old man opening gallantly the door and letting her go out first. They found themselves in the hallway in front of the two rooms. There was a small window just in the middle.

“This way, here, “ said the old man and stood before the window. “Just a moment, my dear, I only have to fix them. Your house is an easy one to spot, he-he, there are women who hate anyone peeping into their houses, always keep the curtains drawn, day and night, some keep them drawn even in rooms which are impossible to peep into, also with drawn curtains. Your house is another business, by the way, for precision sake, you, dear lady, is quite a different person too, not using curtains at all, as far as I was able to see, it’s always your husband who draws them. The moment you start quarreling and he draws them, doesn’t he, he-he, small details, he-he, you haven’t quarreled since spring, it seems the women are those who start the quarrel at home. As far as I can recall, of course it was before the spring, you’d enter his study and a minute later he’d jump on his feet and start thumping the desk with his fists. Was it not so? And he would show you the door with a wide, sweeping gesture, which irked you most, didn’t it?… Here, I spotted it, no, he’s not back home yet, my dear, look for yourself.”

And he handed her carefully the field glasses. The woman took a look, failed to get her bearings at first, because the picture has got out of focus, but then spotted the pine tree in her neighbors’ yard and the lamp-post in front of her house. Its lamp gave the only light around, the whole house was enveloped in darkness. She dropped the field- glasses sharply and handed them to the old man.

“I do not make you angry, do I?” fussed the old man again.

“You won’t betray me, will you?” asked the woman.

“By no means! Lord forbid! How can you say such a thing, my trade relies on this, on tact, confidentiality, I even feel offended, “ and he looked at her with peculiar compassion. With such compassion that for a second she wondered whether the man was crazy, but he was too orderly and cozy to be insane.

“You took the child to your mother’s, didn’t you? He-he, a clever step, he did one term at the local school, if I am not mistaken, am I?

“Well here, all those…”

“I know, I know, it’s rather unpleasant, although who can tell what will be most useful to one? But true, one wishes to see one’s sibling with the best children, not with those whom Nature has deprived of their most human trait: the ability to think, Madam, to think. Though maybe here one could learn some compassion, see enough pain, for one couldn’t say what one would need most in this life, could one? But no doubt, no doubt, you did wisely and I don’t have much experience with children…”

Without invitation the woman headed back to the study and sat into her place.

“Have a drink, my dear, you feel good here, don’t you? I’ll only put the drawer back in its place, like that, should not forget only to take out the paper with the idea I have already sold, now, here we are. You’ve read the card about the seaside, you are so easily flustered, my dear, luckily for you we are neighbors and you came across my business. I feel bad at the thought that you could have done it as an amateur and get into trouble. See, a mere glimpse of a card has made your hands sweat and leave an imprint, look what a fat and clear smudge, probably got your fingers dirty in the tram,” he handed her the white card with an oval dirty mark at the upper corner. “And this card about the mountain hikers shall go to ‘Used murders’.”

“So what was your little idea?’ dared ask the woman and the effort to sound civil shrilled her voice at the end of the sentence.

“The one about the mountain hikers?” the old man was pleased. “But I’ve told you at the start of our nice little talk, he himself wrote it down, I had only to specify the details and to bring in some clarity and professional touch. He and his wife were both mountain hikers. Why, my dear, should he write to me such a thing in his letters, instead of, for instance, that they use to have cake on Saturday afternoons? For the simple reason that he wanted his wife to get lost up in the mountain, but did not know how to do it. She surely was as good a hiker as he, or approximately as good, knew that one should not succumb to sleep, got her bearings well and even if he deserted her, she’d managed on her own… I still wonder whether I should charge of him in full, because, my dear lady, I rather sent him a permit, instead of a high-quality merchandise turned out exclusively by my business. I have suggested something very simple to him. He should select a long route in cold weather, it isn’t difficult to put an old mountain-hiker up to heading even in dangerous conditions from one mountain chalet to another. In my humble opinion, they even relish danger and particularly for this reason roam the hills like goats. In the morning, before they start, though, he should put in her tea a small pill of a most trivial tranquilizer, one of those most women use to take. They are small and innocent pills which, however, one should be wise enough to take in he evening, otherwise one feels too limp at daytime. Too limp and tranquil. That’s what I have suggested, along with another very minor detail. It’s no problem to lose one’s woolen socks in a mountain chalet, my dear, the hikers scatter them all over the place to dry, so it’s no problem. Hikers don’t steal, but can take something by mistake. And it should so happen that her second pair of woolen socks should be also missing from her backpack (you know how it happens sometimes, you’re absolutely sure that you’ve put something somewhere, but the thing is not there). No-o, Madam, he won’t make her start in her thin socks so as to get her feet frozen. She’d refuse to do such a thing herself and would find a way out of the situation with her cunning female mind. And do you know how? A woman, whenever she misses something, my dear, would first look whether her husband has got it. And he’d have it: his second pair of socks, and he’d lend them to her with pleasure. That actually delayed my order, I had to write a second letter asking for the difference in the sizes of their socks: six sizes! He wears forty-three, she wears thirty-six. The socks would be too big for her, she’d grumble, but she’d put them on before putting her shoes. And the shoes would hurt her, Madam, would tire her earlier. This, in addition to the effect of the pill and the weather, would tire her very much indeed and before reaching the next chalet she’d be dead beaten. He’d offer her to stay in a shelter and rest until he goes to the chalet for help. And he’d go, but would first circle around leaving imprints left and right, as if he’d lost his bearings, which, my dear, could easily happen in the mountains, especially if it’s snowing or there is fog. He must stall for two or three hours, then until the people from the chalet prepare and go to the shelter and back… and that’s that, my dear.”

“Sounds flaky,” said the woman with a shrewish pitch in her voice.

“This is the trick, Madam, this is precisely the trick, I don’t feel offended, the trick is to do everything on the verge, so that even a failure (which, allow me to draw your attention to it, has never happened) will not arouse any suspicions of premeditation…”

“When do you expect the first installment?” asked the woman, trying to sound resolute and businesslike.

“The moment you get my little idea, my little plan, my dear. He-he, you’ve proved to be a fast-moving and determined woman…”

“And if I don’t like it?”

“Never happened, my dear… But I won’t be cheating on you, my business…”

“Two hundred and fifty?!” the woman started rummaging in her purse, as if expecting to find the money on its bottom.

“A lot of work, Madam, a lot of work, the other retirees manage to earn a penny or two off their gardens, or an odd job or two, while I concentrate every effort on the shop, for prosperity of the business… Let’s take last summer, for example, when I saw you for the first time climbing the hill heaped with packages, when you pulled through and I was overcame with suspicion. But suspicion is one thing and the facts on which my trade rests, Madam, are quite another. I had to follow you for days before feeling certain (can you imagine what would happen, if I hand out an advertising slip to someone without due reason?), do you know what it cost me until I understood the pattern: Tuesday and Friday, wasn’t it? He-he, it was clever of you to do it that way, only a female mind could conceive such a thing, it would be difficult for a man to fathom it. Moreover that you certainly nag him constantly for doing no shopping at all, so he’d feel guilty seeing you loaded like that with packs, eh? And he would be left with the impression that it has taken you a very long time to do such an extensive shopping, so that he not only would not be angry, but would even wonder how you have managed to do it in two hours…”

“Cheap, bulky and no queuing,’ the woman laughed for the first time.

“Yes, yes, yes, you must have bought ten brooms at least! But they are really very visible and who would have thought of a woman totting a broom in the tram, who would have thought that the other guy lives across the market place and the broom stall is in front of his apartment block? He-he, this also creates an impression of a good housewife, going every day to the market place to shop for the family and save money. I liked the trick with the broom best, my dear, somehow resembles the style of our business. I saw a kindred spirit, true, in a different field, but kindred nevertheless… But about the money, my dear, I had to learn where does he work, is he married or not, what does he tell his friends about you, because, my dear, indiscreet as it is, all men tell about the women they are having an affair with …”

“So whom did he tell?!”

“He-he, couldn’t tell you, you know, my dear, I had also to learn what are you saying too. Please don’t feel hurt, but when you got drunk in the fish restaurant at the end stop of the tram No 5, it’ll probably be unpleasant for you to recall all this…”

The face of the woman has twisted.

“Go ahead, go ahead, you seem to work in earnest, who could have imagined… in this tumble-down house, in that cardigan, you don’t seem very presentable…”

“It wasn’t me who made you shout out then, Madam. You were shouting at the top of your voice and I was only drinking beer behind your back. It was not only me who has heard you then, dear lady, anybody who was sober enough around to hear have heard you. Who was crying then later, Madam, on the tram stop?… your mascara running down, you were completely out of your mind then, excuse me. So no matter if I’m a small and crummy old man, as you condescended to point out, it was probably for that particular reason that I could approach you and you did not stop talking and crying on a stranger’s shoulder… Maybe, Madam, maybe I could look much more presentable, but my trade commands me to remain just like that.”

“I have no way to raise all this money!” the woman broke into tears, but in a minute her anger got the upper hand. “Where from could I raise such a sum, when he knows every penny in my pocket!… And being such an observant private eye, as you are, you must be well aware how much I earn!”

“Disposable income of two hundred and twenty-five, according to the books of the last three months, although I am not sure, my dear, whether he knows about that deposit of twenty on the first day of each month…”

“He surely knows, and how!”

“It’s none of my business to count your money, our conversation has just taken a wrong direction, excuse me. I’m prattling away, probably got tired, excuse me, my dear, let’s have a peace-making sip of brandy, eh?” and the old man put on his broad smile extending his glass in her direction.

She also smiled, raised her glass and they toasted each other.

“Maybe it’s really too much money, after all I’m not so hard up, we are neighbors too, you are a physicist, I might seek a consultation one day, so as to polish out some little idea, otherwise one flips through volumes and volumes not knowing where to find some trifling fact… Well, how much could you afford, my dear, tell me yourself, although I must admit that I counted much on that little combination, made especially for you, for your case, to be precise. I even went to the polyclinic, Madam, to see the medical record of your husband… He-he, although this was not much of a trouble: you just stand there, tell the name and the address and they give you any record, provided that name corresponds to your gender. Never ask for any identification, he-he, assuming that no one would be interested in the record of somebody else’s health… So, as you know, my dear Madam, your husband had a flu with myocardial complication, still is extrasystolic, has a halting heartbeat, must have complained occasionally to you… I even thought, he-he, see how a flu could help the developments, not now, in the spring. He felt bad then, feeble, your contact, if you’d excuse me commenting on such things, utterly faded out and it doesn’t take much for love to vanish, does it, my dear lady?”

“I came to hate him, quite suddenly, we’ve been together for ten years. He’s so laggard, heavy, like a backpack slumped on my back for years, I’m so bored with him. He claims that I’m temperamental… it isn’t true, I can assure you, not true… I can give you one hundred and fifty…”

“He-he, my little shop will go broke, can’t buy my books, such a beautiful little combination, I’ve pored over each leaf, calculated everything per kilo of weight, seventy-five kilos and a half. I know even this, and I have taken into consideration his gender, age and his ulcer of the stomach, and his Russian tea glass. Can you imagine to what lengths have I to go to find a Russian tea glass? Bought it from an antiques shop, costs me a tenner alone, how otherwise could I measure up how much liquid he drinks in the morning… and you’ve given the doctor five hundred for a five-minute job…”

“That’s different.”

“He-he, one hundred and fifty, o’key, Madam, o’key, but in exchange of your help eventually, and the second installment shall remain unchanged, under the conditions I have already stated before you, provided you are pleased, so have we sealed the bargain, my dear lady?”

“ I must have exhausted your patience…”

“Not at all, not at all, my dear, trade is trade and I always arm myself with patience, when working with a woman-customer. Though despite all specificities of trade with such customers, hi-hi, I’d rather work with you, women somehow are more perceptive of the subtlety of my merchandise. Men are coarser, my dear, rage makes them rough in their approach and initially they are sometimes displeased with the subtlety of the method. There was one who tried to make it more secure, stronger, or at least he was imagining so, but actually he was rather willing to demonstrate his power, and suffered because of it. This, however, does not make our merchandise faulty, wrong use, so to speak, he-he… Do you have the money with you, Madam?… And also, shall we tell the guy who lives at the market-place, my dear lady?”

“No-o, I don’t know, I would have like to, but…”

“Better not, my dear,” the old man fixed the woman with his eyes, “better not, I’m telling you this out of experience, after all those cases I’ve been handling, better not. Men, my dear are cowards, he’d get scared and may leave you. Better stay unhappy, unhappy and proud, and after everything is over do not discuss marriage. Your house is a good one, sufficiently good for a bait, you yourself, too, your mother takes good care of your child, better don’t tell him,” repeated he and shrunk in his typical manner. “There are men who push one do sundry things and then feel disgusted. Keeping your secret would make you weak and rich, men like such a combination, you needn’t admit it, but they do.”

The woman started rummaging in her purse.

“Do you have one hundred and fifty here?”

“Ye-e-s… accidentally…”

“You’re a serious person and this pleases me, my dear, smart, too, you’ve read my advertising slip. He-he, how you goggled when I thrust it into your hand at the stairs, but didn’t kick a row. We were alone, you know, and some women are ready to kick a row the moment a man approaches them, but you, you only goggled and accepted it. Did not turn to look me up from the back, kept silent and opened the slip in stride… You’ve got the exact sum, don’t you?” he reached out and took the white envelope handed by the woman. “I mean I needn’t give back any change. Thank you, thank you. It’s nice when the job is done fast, there are people who hesitate for a long time and finally tire even me, who’s in the trade, you know, I get bored working with them.”

“You’ll tell me now?” the woman became impatient and looked at her watch.

“Just a moment, my dear, let me go down to the pantry, I have packed up and arranged everything, I was expecting you, he-he…”

The old man seemed to shoot out of the door, his footsteps trotted down the stairs, then a door opened and she heard him humming. He started moving something around, the woman thought it were some paper bags. Then the door slammed shut and the stairs started creaking again.

“He’s still not back home,” said the old man rushing into the room, “I cast a glance, but it’s dark, you’d be home on time. Here’s the merchandise,” and he dumped on the desk a fat plastic bag, available in every shop.

“Sixteen herbs, my dear, to be applied by schedule only in the morning, I simply didn’t know whether he drinks tea in the evenings too, so I simplified the schedule completely, developed it only for morning application, he-he. Only once you’d have to show creativity, only once you’d have to watch more intently… He’s drinking real tea, isn’t he?”

The woman nodded, she has turned pale.

“Do you feel faint?” the old man got flustered. “May happen occasionally at the start, do you want some water, or some of the remaining brandy, it seems to have a better effect, eh?”

And the old man took the brandy bottle from the desk and filled in half a glass for them both, wavered for a second and then filled the glasses full.

“Have a sip, good, you feel better now, don’t you, please pay attention, it is important not to muddle things up.”

He reached into the plastic bag and took out a typed sheet of paper, folded in two.

“In the morning, when you make his tea, it’s you who make it, isn’t it?”

“It’s me,” the woman said automatically.

“You must add a teaspoon of the herbs, see here, as per schedule, I think I’ve made it clear enough. For instance, the first day this will be bag No 1, here,” and he reached again into the plastic bag taking out a small double strong paper bag, like those used by botanists. The small bag was inscribed with a felt-pen “No 1”. “All small bags are inscribed, I’ve calculated everything, so you needn’t put more than a teaspoon. The herbs don’t have any particular smell, so they won’t change the taste of the tea, he must be a great connoisseur to feel the difference, but it could be always attributed to the quality of the tea, always. Now you must pay particular attention. All this will continue for ten days, then he’d get that heartbeat, very unpleasant, my dear, I have it occasionally too. Nothing much at a first glance, but one feels rather peculiar, and he’d go to the doctor, he’s quite meticulous in this respect, as far as I’ve managed to read his medical record, eh?”

“He’s meticulous, yes,” repeated the woman.

“They’d prescribe him the medication he’s used to take so far, my dear. Quinidine is the name of the particular drug, which’d be of use to us. He’d probably go to the same doctor, but even if not, his medical record says that earlier he was well ‘influenced’ by Quinidine, the doctors use precisely this funny word ‘influenced’ and will prescribe the same drug. You must read its name on the packaging, my dear, you must be certain that he is taking this medication and then you’d make your move, only then you’d reach for the last paper bag. Try to do it on Monday, my dear, those who complain of heart trouble, those who suddenly depart from this world, men in mature age, the reliable builders of our contemporary life usually do it on Mondays, at noontime. So you’d put the last package in his tea on Monday. You must go to work then and about ten o’clock would announce that you have to go to the library for some reference work. You have the right to go, my dear, haven’t you, and it won’t seem conspicuous? You must go to the National Library, to the reading room for technical literature. You visit occasionally the National Library, don’t you? There is always quite a crowd there and no one would notice if you read or not, if you’re red or pale, you could go down to the cafeteria too… No, no, don’t go, it’s too stuffy there,” the old man waved his hands, “you might faint and you should not faint on that day exactly, they’d be looking around for somebody fainting, as you see, everything should be thought out, my dear, everything… He-he, so the things would resolve themselves within ten days, no more. Only be careful not to overdose the stuff, for this could be sensed. Otherwise, my dear, the herbs themselves,” and he pointed out at the plastic bag, “are innocent, innocent grasses. You don’t have to hide them, tell him you’ve got them for yourself, it’s normal for women to use herbs, there is nothing wrong in it. Put them in a kitchen cupboard, without concealing, he-he. Let me help you with your coat, with the advancement of age one gets more gallant, some women refuse and I have felt somehow that they did it because of thinking me too old. A woman, Madam, should be told that she’s beautiful till the end, while a man should feel that women need his gallantry till his last day. So goes the world, Madam, let me see,” he approached the window in the hallway for they have already left the study. “Still not home, as far as I can see.”

“Goodbye,” the woman turned to shake his hand.

“No, no, please, let me go down and see you off to the door, watch out here, at the turn. You won’t forget the second installment, he-he, doesn’t seem proper for a man in my trade to sue you for debt, does it, he-he? If any extra questions arise, if anything changes, although I think that I’ve allowed for everything, by all means feel free to call me. I would be happy to see you in my shop later on, too, or in my study if you like it, or no, as neighbors drinking coffee in the kitchen. Hi-hi, your dog was very nice, pity you’ve given it out, couldn’t manage everything last spring, hi-hi, didn’t know where to start from: the child, the house, and him doing nothing, and the dog on top… Goodbye, my dear, you’ve taken the bag, haven’t you, be sure you’ve got your money’s worth, nobody have complained in five years. It seems expensive only at first, my dear, you’ll see and you’d bring me yourself the second installment, yes, yourself. Winter is on the way, yes, by the morning everything could be covered with snow. Watch out, watch out, don’t slip on the ice…”

“Goodbye,” said the woman and her body dissolved in the direction of the brook.

II

She rang the bell a long moment for the second time. Finally the door opened and the old man appeared swaddled in his cardigan.

“O, my dear, have you finished, do you bring the installment?” he stretched his neck out of the door. “Have you looked carefully around, if somebody is…”

The woman rushed into the hall.

“Murderer, murderer!” wheezed she, grasping the man at the front of his cardigan and shaking him. “You, wretched murderer, pimp!”

“Do not offend me, my dear, you have no right to call me such names, I’ve given no grounds for this!”

“Murderer!” once more the woman took hold of his lapels and shook him even stronger.

“Somebody would hear you, my dear, don’t shout,” said the man trying to disengage himself. “Somebody would hear us and it would get worse…”

“Let it get worse, I’ll shout, I’ll cry out…”

“Come, come upstairs and let’s come to terms,” he took her by the hand and despite her resistance managed to lead her to the stairs. “Mind your step at the turn…”

“Leave alone these turns, you, murderer!” shook the woman, trying to pull her hand out of his unexpectedly firm grasp.

“I, my dear, am not a murderer, if you’ll be so good to calm down. It’s probably you, who are the murderer, I only sold you some packages of herbs, if you remember. I did not force you, you know, you yourself came to ask and to beg me, for who would give one hundred and fifty for a couple of packages of herbs? And with the promise to add another two hundred and fifty too, you’ve not forgotten, have you? And you has bargained on top of it all, preparing to commit murder and bargaining in cold blood for a puny hundred, and now you’ve come to dump your sin on me.”

“Murderer, villain!” the woman burst into tears after slopping into the armchair and buried her face in her hands on the coffee table.

The old man carefully pulled out the box of chocolates under her hands, fussed around wondering where to place it and finally put it in the desk.

“I’ll tell on you!” the woman raised her head, her face twisted and tear-stricken. “I’ll tell on you! This would take me behind the bars but would put an end to your dirty trade too! I wouldn’t have done it, if it were not you, I wouldn’t have done it!”

“He-he, see how easy it is now to accuse, but you cannot tell on me, Madam. I am a trustful man, my dear lady, but I have thought of such an outcome too, I’d tell them I’ve only been selling herbs. I do collect herbs and sell them to the State, my dear, earning a penny or two as any retired man, why not do a favor to my neighbor, nothing bad in this, he-he…”

The old man went to the liquor cabinet and took out the Metaxa bottle, pulled out two crystal glasses, poured out, then went to the table and put one of the glasses on it.

“Drink up, my dear, alcohol is an excellent medicine, alcohol, time and the Aspirin are…”

The woman grabbed the glass and hurled it at the window. The glass struck the windowsill, splashed its contents on the wall and broke.

“He-he, my dear, so next time I should include this also in the bill, I should foresee this too, or otherwise I might go broke, with all these discounts and broken crystal glasses…”

“I’ll kill you!” rasped the woman. “I’ll tell about your library, about the catalogued murders, about your little combinations!”

“He-he, I’ve written two crime novels, remember, Madam, they were rejected, remain unpublished, true, but their existence is a fact, catalogued and filed out, I’ve no connections, that’s why they are catalogued. I keep the letters from the publishing houses, everything’s documented, I’ve talked with the secretaries, he-he. If you kill me in person, you’d commit a second murder, so to speak, and probably would do a crude job too, my dear, they’d catch you, discover the first one too and things would get nasty, law usually is not lenient, my dear lady… What about him, did they tell you?” and the old man looked at his watch, “It’s already two o’clock, my dear, how time flies!”

“He’s nowhere to be found.”

“What do you mean, nowhere?”

“He’s not at his office, nobody knows anything, he’s not in the Pirogov Emergency Clinic, not in the morgue, nowhere to be found, and he always tells where he’d go!”

“A corpse could hardly….”

“Pardon?!”

“He must have fallen somewhere, Madam, you know how it is with heart attacks. Clerks are not always accurate, he could have been in the mortuary of some hospital, they don’t transfer them immediately to the central morgue. He-he, and I’ve warned you, haven’t I? You must be out of your mind to go to the Pirogov Clinic, to ask at the emergency ward. Wives do not look for their husbands there in broad daylight. You are exposing yourself, and what if any suspicion arises?”

“I’ll commit a suicide and that’ll be the end…”

“Here, take my glass,” the old man shriveled, “You won’t commit any suicide, drink up.”

The woman dried the glass at one gulp.

“I’ll kill you, I’ll tell on you!” she hissed up again.

“Possibly, my dear, possibly, what have you said at your office?”

“That I’d go to the library.”

“And have you gone there?”

“I have”

“And phoned his office from the cafeteria’s public phone?”

“Yes.”

“And then went in person to the emergency clinic and there…”

“Yes.”

“Too bad, Madam, too bad, how rash women are sometimes, you do something interesting and then rush hastily on, without attention to detail… see now, in tears, shaking, rushing here in the early afternoon, the neighbors might see you, they always spy around. You’d get at least twenty years in jail for premeditated murder, now excuse my perfidy, but I slipped a little sleeping pill into your brandy, it’ll have a faster effect this way…”

“It’s your glass, shut up, you” the woman laughed.

“The whole thing, my dear, has been doctored like that, the whole bottle, I’ve prepared it for I had a similar case, first, they buy it, and then came to hold me responsible. Then I prepared for it, my dear, but don’t ‘shut up’ me so rude, it irks me somehow… Everyone has a weak spot…”

“I really feel sleepy, so you’d kill me now, won’t you? Won’t you?”

“Have no fear, my dear, never with my own hands, never, I only plot how to do it, my dear, but never dared so far. You, you are another thing, my dear lady, you have jumped the hurdle, felt the pleasure, so to speak… Come, come to the other room, have a nap, my dear, and we’ll decide later whether you’d commit a suicide or would tell on me. One shouldn’t do such things before sleeping on them first… Here lie down on the cover, my dear, how fast this sleeping pill has got to your head, now there is a blanket, a clean pillow here. If you muster the strength, you may undress after I get out, relax, calm down, I’ll make no noise.”

The woman sank into the bed, still tear-stricken. The man helped her cover up with the blanket and headed for the door, when suddenly came back and stroke her on the forehead.

“I don’t want it happening, I don’t want,” she said slowly in a terrified voice.

“Not at all?” asked the man. “It must have been a dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman. “Yes, just a dream,” and took him by the hand.

“So you’ve enjoyed yourself, he-he, only a dream, jumped the hurdle and now want back, he-he. You don’t seemed satisfied with the mystery of crime alone, but want it erased and only the attempt at it left in your little soul, only the joy of jumping the hurdle, eh? He-he, only the pleasure that you could have done it, and not a crumb of your rage, my dear?…”

“I’m falling asleep,” the woman said slowly. “I’m falling asleep and I don’t want…”

“He-he, all right, all right,” the old man started humming. “Excellent!” and went out. “Good job, I wonder if they’ll divorce, this is difficult to predict… An excellent job, I deserve my glass of red…”

III

A month later, as if he has trailed them, the old man suddenly emerged before the woman and her husband, who arm in arm were about to enter their house.

“Oho, good evening, hi-hi so pleased to see you, is that your husband, Madam, good evening… How do you do? I haven’t seen you for a long time together, old men, after they retire, my dears, start gossiping from boredom and destitution… Nothing else left but to trail our neighbors, he-he, pleased to see you… Did those herbs I gave you then do you any good, Madam?

“Ye-e-s,” drawled the woman and then added quickly as in a tongue-twister, “excuse me for getting distracted and not paying you out, but I have not forgotten.”

“At your convenience, Madam, retirees learn quickly how to make the ends meet, contrary to the young, who think that there are many places to earn from, but if you are able to…”

“Yes, yes,” grinned the woman, “and I have not forgotten your request for consultancy, if you’ll need one…”

“But only if they have helped you, Madam, I’ve told you that this is the way my shop works, I even call it occasionally a business, my dear sir,” he turned to the man. “You must bring the second installment only if they have cured you, if you are satisfied, only then. You must know, sir,” he turned to the man again, “that I dry the leaves one by one, no sharp sunshine, no deep shadow, keep them in the open until ten o’clock in the morning and take them out only in the evening… You look good, Madam, I’m glad that my business has been operating already for five years and no one has complained, everybody feels better after that… He-he, good evening to you, love each other, my love id dead, but I still love her, my dears, and out of love can even hear occasionally her voice. We plan and plot, mainly at nighttime, when there are no people around, I hear her voice, here,” and he tapped lightly his chest, “deep out of my soul it comes and whispers… Good night, dears.”

“A curious old man,” said the man, when they turned on the alley towards their house.

“Yes,” answered the woman, “he’s writing crime novels too but they don’t accept them, claim that the things rather resemble murder manuals… That’s why he sells herbs.”

“You owe him some money?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll take it to him first thing in the morning.”