right. This was according to plan as disclosed to me. There was no inn at Rijeka, which was only a village, and we were looking for a haystack. Ten minutes earlier we would have had to use the flashlights to find one, but now, as the trail became a road, there 120 was suddenly light enough to see cart ruts, and in another hundred paces Wolfe turned left into a field, and I followed. The dim outline of the haystack was the wrong shape, but it was no time to be fussy, and I circled to the side away from the road, knelt, and started pulling out handfuls. Soon I had a niche deep enough for Wolfe. I asked him, 'Do you wish to eat before going to your room?' 'No.' He was grim. 'I'm too far gone.' 'A bite of chocolate would make a new man of you.' 'No. I need help.' I got erect and helped him off with his knapsack. He removed his jacket, got into his sweater, put the jacket back on, and down he went ? first to one knee, then both, then out flat. Getting into the niche was more than a simple rolling operation, since its mattress of hay was a good eight inches above ground level, but he made it. 'I'll take your shoes off,' I offered. 'Confound it, no! I'd never get them on again!' 'Okay. If you get hungry ask for room service.' I knelt to go to work on another niche, and made it long enough to stow the knapsacks at my head. When I was in and had myself arranged, facing outward, I 121 called to Wolfe, 'There's a faint pink glow in the east across the valley, ten miles away, above the Albanian Alps. Swell scenery.' No reply. I shut my eyes. Birds were singing.
122 FR1;Chapter 7 My first daylight view of Montenegro, some eight hours later, when I rolled out of the niche and stepped to the corner of the haystack, had various points of interest. Some ten miles off my port bow as I stood, a sharp peak rose high above the others. It had to be Mount Lovchen, the Black Mountain, so that was northwest, and the sun agreed. To the east was the wide green valley, and beyond it more mountains, in Albania. To the south, some two hundred yards off, was a clump of trees with a house partly showing. To the southwest was Nero Wolfe. He was in his niche, motionless, his eyes wide open, glaring at me. 'Good morning,' I told him. 'What time is it?' he demanded. He sounded hoarse. I looked at my wrist. 'I should have said afternoon. Twenty to two. I'm hungry and thirsty.' 123 'No doubt.' He closed his eyes and in a moment opened them again. 'Archie.' 'Yes, sir.' 'It is not a question of muscles. My legs ache, of course, and my back, indeed, I ache all over, but that was to be expected and can be borne. What concerns me is my feet. They carry nearly a hundredweight more than yours, they have been pampered for years, and I may have abused them beyond tolerance. They must be rubbed, but I dare not take off my shoes. They are dead. My legs end at my knees. I doubt if I can stand, and I couldn't possibly walk. Do you know anything about gangrene?' 'No, sir.' 'It occurs in the extremities when there is interference with both arterial and venous circulation, but I suppose the interference must be prolonged.' 'Sure. Eight hours wouldn't do it. I'm hungry.' He shut his eyes. 'I awoke to a dull misery, but it is no longer dull. It is overwhelming. I have been trying to move my toes, but I can't get the slightest sensation of having toes. The idea of squirming out of here and trying to stand up is wholly unacceptable. In fact, no idea whatever is acceptable other than asking you to pull my 124 feet out and take off my shoes and socks, and that would be disastrous because I would never get them back on.' 'Yeah. You said that before.' I moved nearer. 'Look, you might as well face it. This time stalling won't help. For years you've been talking yourself out of pinches, but it won't work on sore feet. If you can't walk there's no use trying. Tomorrow or next maybe, to prevent gangrene. Meanwhile there's a house in sight and I'll go make a call. How do you say in SerboCroat, 'Will you kindly sell me twenty pork chops, a peck of potatoes, four loaves of bread, a gallon of milk, a dozen oranges, five pounds --' ' Unquestionably it was hearing words like pork and bread that made him desperate enough to move. He did it with care. First he eased his head and shoulders out until he had his elbows on the ground, and then worked on back until his feet slid out. Stretched out on his back, he bent his right knee and then his left, slowly and cautiously. Nothing snapped, and he started to pump, at first about ten strokes a minute, then gradually faster. I had moved only enough to give him room, thinking it advisable to be at hand when he tried standing up, but I never had to touch him because he rolled 125 over to the haystack and used it for a prop on his way up. Upright, he leaned against it and growled, 'Heaven help me.' 'It's you, 0 Lord. Amen. Is that the Black Mountain?' He turned his head. 'Yes. I never thought to see it again.' He turned his back on it and was facing in the direction of the house in the clump of trees. 'Why the devil weren't we disturbed long ago? I suppose old Vidin is no longer alive, but someone owns this haystack. We'll go and see. The knapsacks?' I got them from my niche, and we started for the road, which was only a cart track. Wolfe's gait could not have been called a stride, but he didn't actually totter. The track took us to the edge of the clump of trees, and there was the house, of gray rock, low and long, with a thatched roof and only two small windows and a door in the stretch of stone. Off to the right was a smaller stone building with no windows at all. It looked a little grim, but not grimy. There was no sign of life, human or otherwise. A path of flat stones led to the door, and Wolfe took it. His first knock got no response, but after the second one the door opened about two inches and a female voice came through. After Wolfe exchanged a few noises with the 126 voice the door closed. 'She says her husband is in the barn,' he told me. 'This is preposterous. I heard a rooster and goats.' He started across the yard toward the door of the other building, and when we were halfway there it opened and a man appeared. He shut the door, stood with his back against it, and asked what we wanted. Wolfe told him we wanted food and drink and would pay for it. He said he had no food and only water to drink. Wolfe said all right, we would start with water, told me to come, and led the way over to a well near a corner of the house. It bad a rope on a pulley, with a bucket at each end of the rope. One bucket, half full, was on the curb. I poured it into the trough, hauled up a fresh bucket, filled a cup that was there on a flat stone, and handed it to Wolfe. We each drank three cupfuls, and he reported on his talk with our host. 'It's worse than preposterous,' he declared, 'it's grotesque. Look at him. He resembles old Vidin some and may be a relative. In any case, he is certainly Montenegrin. Look at him. Six feet tall, a jaw like a rock, an eagle's beak for a nose, a brow to take any storm. In ten centuries the Turks could never make him whine. Even under the despotism of Black George he kept his 127 head up as a man. But Communist despotism has done for him. Twenty years ago two strangers who had damaged his haystack would have been called to account, today, having espied us in trespass on his property, he tells his wife to stay indoors and shuts himself in the barn with his goats and chickens. Do you know how Tennyson addressed Tsemagora -- the Black Mountain?'
'No.' 'The last three lines of a sonnet: 'Great TseryiagorOy never since thine own Black ridges drew the cloud and broke the storm Has breathed a race of mightier mountaineers.' He scowled in the direction of the mighty mountaineer standing at the barn door. 'Pfui! Give me a thousand dinars.' While I was getting the roll from my pocket -- procured for us by Telesio in Bari -- I didn't need to figure how much I was shelling out because I already had it filed that a thousand dinars was $3.33. Wolfe took it and approached our host. His line as later reported: 'We pay you for the damage to your hay128 stack, which you can repair in five minutes. We also pay you for food. Have you any oranges?' He looked startled, suspicious, wary, and sullen, all at once. He shook his head. 'No.' 'Any coffee?' 'No.' 'Bacon or ham?' 'No. I have nothing at all.' 'Bosh. If you think we are spies from Podgorica, or even Belgrade, you are wrong. We are ?' The man cut in. 'You must not say Podgorica. You must say Titograd.' Wolfe nodded. 'I am aware that the change has been made, but I haven't made up my mind whether to accept it. We have returned recently from the world outside, we are politically unattached, and we are starving. If necessary, my son, who is armed, can engage you while I enter the barn and get chickens ? we would need two. It would be simpler and more agreeable for you to take this money and have your wife feed us. Have you any bacon or ham?' 'No.' 'Something left of a kid?' 'No.' Wolfe roared, 'Then what the devil have you?' 129 'Some sausage, of a sort.' He hated to admit it. 'A few eggs perhaps. Bread, and possibly a little lard.' Wolfe turned to me. 'Another thousand dinars.' I produced it, and he proffered it, with its twin, to our host. 'Here, take it. We're at your mercy -- but no lard. I overate of lard in my youth, and the smell sickens me. Your wife might conceivably find a little butter somewhere.' 'No.' He had the dough. 'Butter is out of the question.' 'Very well. That would pay for two good meals in the best hotel in Belgrade. Please bring us a pan, a piece of soap, and a towel.' He moved, in no hurry, to the house door and inside. When he came out again he had the articles requested. Wolfe put the metal pan, which was old and dented but clean, on the stone curb of the well, poured it half full of water, took off his jacket and sweater, rolled up his sleeves, and washed. I followed suit. The water was so cold it numbed my fingers, but I was getting used to extreme hardship. The gray linen towel, brought ironed and folded, was two feet wide and four feet long when opened up. After I had got our combs and brushes from the knapsacks, and they had been used and repacked, I poured fresh water in the pan, placed it 130 on the ground, sat on the edge of the well curb, took off my shoes and socks, and put a foot in the water. Stings and tingles shot through every nerve I had. Wolfe stood gazing down at the pan. 'Are you going to use soap?' he asked wistfully. 'I don't know. I haven't decided.' 'You should have rubbed them first.' 'No.' I was emphatic. 'My problem is different from yours. I lost hide.' He sat on the curb beside me and watched while I paddled in the pan, one foot and then the other, dried them with
