I realised there was no chance of a serious conversation with the antiques dealer that evening. I was still rather irritated, but I concealed it. I fell in with his tone – I had no other choice – gave a dry laugh and said:
“Pity I can’t tell Princess Shotokalungin in which particular former incarnation she might find the spearhead she so much desires.”
“Why not?” asked Lipotin.
“Because the Princess is likely to find your philosophy merely a very convenient excuse.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Lipotin smiled, “The Princess is Russian.”
“So what?”
“Russia is a young country; very young even, in the opinion of some of your compatriots, younger than everyone else. Russia is also old. Age-old. Nothing about us ever surprises. We can whine like children, we can watch the centuries pass, like the three ancient greybeards on their island in the sea and still – “
The same old arrogance. I could not conceal my scorn:
“I know. The Russians are God’s own people on earth.”
Lipotin gave an apologetic grin:
“Perhaps. It’s a devil of a country. Anyway, it’s all one world.”
The urge to mock this tea-and-tobacco philosophy, the Russian national disease, became even stronger:
“Wisdom worthy indeed of an antiques dealer! When we touch an object from the past, from whatever period, we have a living demonstration that the categories of time and space are not absolute. We alone are bound to them – –” It had been my intention to produce a stream of such and similar banalities, chosen at random, to drown his philosophical rhetoric, but he interrupted me with a smile and a darting movement of his bird-like head:
“It could well be that I have learnt from antiques. Especially as the oldest of the antiques I have come across is ... myself. My real name is Mascee.”
Words cannot describe the jolt of terror that shook me as Lipotin said this. For a moment my head seemed to have become a seething mass of cloud. My whole body was in turmoil, and it took the greatest effort to keep my expression one of mild surprise and curiosity as I asked:
“Where on earth did you come across that name, Lipotin? You can hardly imagine how fascinating it is! You see, the name is not unknown to me.”
“Really?” replied Lipotin. His features remained inscrutable.
“Yes. I have been interested in that name and its bearer for – oh, for some time now.”
“A fairly recent interest?” Lipotin’s tone was mocking.
“Why, yes. Certainly!” I replied eagerly. “Since these – these – – – ” Automatically I took a step towards my desk, piled high with the evidence of my endeavours. Lipotin must have noticed; it was not difficult to put two and two together. He interrupted me with a smug expression of self-satisfaction:
“You mean, since these documents on the life of John Dee, that dreamer and necromancer from the days of Queen Elizabeth, came into your possession? You are correct; Mascee did count both of them amongst his acquaintance.”
I was growing impatient: “Now listen here, Lipotin”, I expostulated, “that’s enough pulling my leg for one evening. I don’t mind putting up with your mystical clap-trap, but how on earth did you come across that name, Mascee?”
“Well now”, said Lipotin, as languid as ever, “he was, as I think I may already have suggested – ”
“A Russian, of course. ‘Tutor to the Czar’ the documents call him. But you. What have you to do with him?”
Lipotin stood up and lit another cigarette.
“A mere joke, my dear fellow! The Tutor to the Czar is well known in our – let us say in our circles. Is it an impossibility that a family of archaeologists and antiquaries such as mine might be descended from the said Mascee? Only a suggestion, my friend, only a suggestion!” – and he picked up his coat and hat.
“Very amusing, indeed”, I cried. “You know this strange figure from the history of your country and, lo and behold, it appears in old English papers and walks into my life – so to speak – – ” – the last phrase seemed to appear on my lips of its own accord.
But Lipotin was shaking my hand and at the same time his left hand was on the doorknob:
“ – and walks into your life, so to speak. At the moment, of course, you are merely immortal, whilst he – ”, Lipotin hesitated a moment, his eyes twinkled and he gave my hand another squeeze, – “for simplicity’s sake, let’s say ‘I’ – I, you must know, am eternal. All beings are immortal; they just don’t know it, or forget when they enter the world or leave it. That is why it would be wrong to say they have eternal life. But more of this another time. We will continue to see a lot of each other, I hope. Goodbye for now!” And he hurried down the stairs.
I was confused and uneasy. I shook my head to try to clear my mind. Had Lipotin been slightly tipsy? At times there had been a gleam in his eye that suggested a few glasses of wine. But he had not seemed at all drunk. A little mad, rather, but he’s been that since I’ve known him. To suffer exile at the age of seventy, as he did, can loosen a person’s hold on reality.
Still, it’s remarkable that he knows about the “Tutor to the Czar”, – even claims to be related to him, if that was meant seriously.
It would be useful to find out from him precisely what he knows about Mascee. But, damn! I didn’t get anywhere in the matter of the Princess. But when I catch Lipotin in broad daylight and stone-cold sober I’ll get a straight answer out of him. I won’t let myself be led up the garden path again.
And now, back to work!
A random dip, exactly as I had decided, into the depths of the drawer containing the rest of John Roger’s package, brings
