very natural-looking picture of field flowers in a crystal vase. The picture was painted with luminous paints and the dewdrops glistened in the darkened room.
I punched the TV control at random and stretched out on the bed. It was soft yet somehow firm. The TV roared loudly. An inebriated-looking man launched himself out of the screen, crashed through some sort of railing, and fell from a great height into a colossal fuming vat. There was a loud splash and the phonor exuded a smell. The man disappeared in the bubbling liquid and then reappeared, holding in his teeth something reminiscent of a well- boiled boot. The unseen audience broke out in a storm of horse laughs. Fade out… soft lyrical music.
A white horse pulling a phaeton appeared out of green woods and advanced toward me. A pretty girl in a bathing suit sat in the carriage. I turned off the TV, got up, and went to look at the bathroom.
There was a piny smell and flickering of germicidal lamps.
I undressed, threw the underwear into the hopper, and climbed into the shower. Taking my time, I dressed in front of the mirror, combed my hair, and shaved. The shelves were loaded with rows of vials, hygienic devices, antiseptics, and tubes with pastes and greases. At the edge of one shelf there was a pile of flat colorful boxes with the logo “ Devon.” I switched off the razor and took one of the boxes. A germicidal lamp flickered in the mirror, just as it did that day in Vienna, when I stood just like this studiously regarding just such a little box, because I did not want to go out to the bedroom, where Raffy Reisman loudly argued about something with the doctor; while the green oily liquid still oscillated in the bath, over which hung the steamy vapor and a screeching radio receiver, attached to a porcelain hook for towels, howled, hooted, and snorted until Raffy turned it off in irritation.
That was in Vienna, and just as here, it was very strange to see in a bathroom a box of Devon — a popular repellent which did an excellent job of chasing mosquitoes, chiggers, gnats, and other bloodsucking insects which were long forgotten in Vienna and here in a seaside resort town. Only in Vienna there had been an overlay of fear.
The box which I held in my hand was almost empty, with only one tablet remaining. The rest of the boxes were still scaled. I finished shaving and returned to the bedroom. I felt like calling Rimeyer again, but abruptly the house came to life. The pleated drapes flew open with a soft whine, the windowpanes slid away in their frames, and the bedroom was flooded with warm air, laden with the scent of apples. Someone was talking somewhere, light footsteps sounded overhead, and a severe-sounding female voice said, “Vousi — at least eat some cake, do you hear?”
Thereupon I imparted a certain air of disorder to my clothes (in accordance with the current style), smoothed my temples, and went into the hall, taking one of Ahmad’s cards from the living room.
The widow turned out to be a youthful plump woman, somewhat languid, with a pleasant fresh face.
“How nice!” she said, seeing me. “You are up already? Hello, my name is Vaina Tuur, but you can call me Vaina.”
“My pleasure,” I said, shuddering fashionably. “My name is Ivan.”
“How nice,” said Aunt Vaina. “What an original soft-sounding name! Have you had breakfast, Ivan?”
“With your permission, I intended to have breakfast in town,” I said, and proffered her the card.
“Ah,” said Aunt Vaina, looking through the card at the light. “That nice Ahmad, if you only knew what a nice responsible fellow he is. But I see you did not have breakfast.
Lunch you can have in town, but now I will treat you to some of my croutons. The major general always said that nowhere else in the world could you have such wonderful croutons.”
“With pleasure,” said I, shuddering for the second time.
The door behind Aunt Vaina was flung open and a very pretty young girl in a short blue skirt and an open white blouse flew in on clicking high heels. In her hand she held a piece of cake, which she munched while humming a currently popular song. Seeing me, she stopped, flung her pocketbook on its long strap over her shoulder with a show of abandon, and swallowed, bending down her head.
“Vousi!” said Aunt Vaina, compressing her lips. “Vousi, this is Ivan.”
“Not bad!” said Vousi. “Greetings.”
“Vousi,” reproached Aunt Vaina.
“You came with your wife?” said Vousi, extending her hand.
“No,” said I. Her fingers were soft and cool. “I am alone.”
“In that case, I’ll show you all there is to see,” she said. “Till tonight. I must run now, but we’ll go out this evening.”
“Vousi!” reproached Aunt Vaina.
Vousi pushed the rest of the cake into her mouth, bussed her mother on the cheek, and ran toward the door. She had smooth sunburned legs, long and slender, and a close-cropped back of the head.
“Ach, Ivan,” said Aunt Vaina, who was also looking at the retreating girl, “in our times it is so difficult to deal with young girls. They develop so early and leave us so soon. Ever since she started working in that salon…”
“She is a dressmaker?” I inquired.
“Oh no! She works in the Happy Mood Salon, in the old ladies’ department. And do you know, they value her highly. But last year she was late once and now she has to be very careful.
As you can see she could not even have a decent conversation with you, but it’s possible that a client is even now waiting for her. You might not believe this, but she already has a permanent clientele. Anyway, why are we standing here? The croutons will get cold.”
We entered the landlord’s side. I tried with all my might to conduct myself correctly, although I was a bit foggy as to what exactly was correct. Aunt Vaina sat me down at a table, excused herself, and left. I looked around. The room was an exact copy of mine, except that the walls were rose instead of blue, and beyond the window, in place of the sea was a small yard with a low fence dividing it from the street. Aunt Vaina came back with a tray bearing boiled cream and a plate of croutons.
“You know,” she said, “I think I will have some breakfast too. My doctor does not recommend breakfast, especially with boiled cream. But we became so accustomed… it was the general’s favorite breakfast. Do you know, I try to have only men boarders. That nice Ahmad understands me very well. He understands how much I need to sit just like this, now and then, just as we are sitting, and have a cup of boiled cream.”
“Your cream is wonderfully good,” said I, not insincerely.
“Ach, Ivan.” Aunt Vaina put down her cup and fluttered her hands. “But you said that almost exactly like the major general… Strange, you even look like him. Except that his face was a bit narrower and he always had breakfast in his uniform.”
“Yes,” I said with regret, “I don’t have a uniform.”
“But there was one once,” said she coyly, shaking a finger at me. “Of course! I can see it. It’s so senseless! People nowadays have to be ashamed of their military past. Isn’t that silly? But they are always betrayed by their bearing, that very special manly carriage. You cannot hide it, Ivan!”
I made a very elaborate non-committal gesture, said, “Mm — yes,” and took another crouton.
“It’s all so out of place, isn’t that right?” continued Aunt Vaina with great animation. “How can you confuse such two opposite concepts — war and the army? We all detest war. War is awful. My mother described it to me, she was only a girl, but she remembers everything. Suddenly, without warning, there they are — the soldiers, crude, alien, speaking a foreign tongue, belching; and the officers, without any manners, laughing loudly, annoying the chambermaids, and smelling — forgive me; and that senseless commander’s meeting hour… that is war and it deserves every condemnation! But the army! That’s an altogether different affair! Surely you remember, Ivan, the troops lined up by battalion, the perfection of the line, the manliness of the faces under the helmets, shiny arms, sparkling decorations, and then the commanding officer riding in a special staff car and addressing the battalions, which respond willingly and briefly like one man.”
“No doubt,” said I, “this has impressed many people.”
“Yes! Very much indeed. We have always said that it is necessary to disarm, but did we really need to destroy the army? It is the last refuge of manhood in our time of widespread moral collapse. It’s weird and ridiculous — a government without an army…”
“It is funny,” I agreed. “You may not believe it, but I have been smiling ever since they signed the Pact.”
“Yes, I can understand that,” said Aunt Vaina. “There was nothing else for us to do, but to smile sarcastically. The Major General Tuur” — she extricated a handkerchief — “passed away with just such a sarcastic smile on his face.” She applied the handkerchief to her eyes. “He said to us: ‘My friends, I still hope to live to the day when everything will fall apart.’ A broken man, who has lost the meaning of life… he could not stand the
