“Everything except addresses, birthdays, and other such nonsense.”
“Too bad. Besides those things, there’s usually nothing to know about people. Well, all right. I’ll be the navigator. You’re not going to tell me anything about what happened today, either, Max? Mystery of mysteries, but I’m dying of curiosity!”
“He was my illegitimate brother,” I answered in a malicious whisper. “And since we both claim the inheritance of our Papa—two old nags and a heap of their manure—I just took advantage of the privileges of office and finished off my rival.”
“Very funny. So it really is a terrible secret?”
“If it were up to me, it might not necessarily remain a secret. But terrible it certainly was. So terrible that it’s not even funny. Actually, if I hadn’t killed him, he would have died anyway. It was something like losing the Spark, only even more unpleasant.”
“How exciting!” Melifaro had an unending supply of good humor. “Fine. Never mind. You can keep your secret to yourself. By the way, there’s a left turn here. Wow, you’d make a great race car driver, mate!”
“What should I know about the customs you keep at home?” I asked, changing the subject. “When Juffin dragged me over to old Makluk’s to pay a visit, I nearly had a heart attack: bearers, palanquins, packs of servants everywhere, dressing for dinner. I shouldn’t expect anything like that, should I?”
“Take a good look at me, Max. How could I be the son of people who observe formalities? Mama believes that every guest has one sacred obligation: to remain full at all times. My father adheres to only one rule: no stupid rules, end of story. Do you know that it’s because of this I don’t have a name?”
“Really? I couldn’t understand why everyone always called you by your last name. I wanted to ask, but I thought maybe the problem was that you had some completely bizarre first name.”
“And you spared my vanity? You shouldn’t have. I don’t suffer from that, and I wish others didn’t, either. I just don’t have a name. When I was born my father had already left on his famous journey. Mama sent him a call every day asking what to name me, and every day he had a new idea. Each day she would ask again, just to make sure—always with the same result. When I turned three, my mother finally got tired of this shilly-shallying, and she asked the question point blank. Well, magnificent Sir Manga was very busy at the time, and his answer was: ‘Why does he need a first name at all with a last name like ours?’ My mama has her own notions of marital harmony. She said, ‘Well, may everything be as you wish, dear. You’ll be the one to protest later on.’ So she didn’t argue with him, all the more since it wasn’t a matter of her name, but of mine! And that’s how I’ve gone through life, though it’s the only thing I have to complain about—that’s for sure.”
“That’s great. I have the opposite situation. I was lucky with my name; but that’s the only thing I’m grateful to my parents for.”
“That’s right—you have just one name, too.” Melifaro nodded sympathetically. “You’re happy with it?”
“Actually, no. But you saw my living quarters. I don’t like anything superfluous.”
“You’re right there, too. Now you have to turn left. Slow down a bit. The road gets bad here.”
“Slow down? Never!” I cried out proudly, as we flew over the bumps and potholes, and the landscape whizzed by.
“Here we are,” Melifaro said with relief when we had come to a high wall hung with fragrant, trailing greenery. “But are we still alive? No, Max, there’s something monstrous about you! And I’ve invited this monster to my own home. But what can I do? I won’t call for Juffin to come to the rescue. He’s even worse. Let’s go, Mr. Bad Dream.”
The inhabitants of the enormous estate were already asleep, so we went out to the kitchen, where we silently devoured everything we could get our hands on. Then Melifaro showed me to a small, cozy room.
“When I was a child, and I was sick, or just sad, I would always sleep here. It’s the best place in the house, believe me. Make yourself comfortable. This room does wonders for people who’ve had a hard day like you have. First, you’ll fall asleep right away, no matter what your ordinary habits are. And then—well, you’ll see for yourself. My runaway grandfather, Filo Melifaro, built this part of the house himself. And he was not the least significant person in the Order of the Secret Grass.”
“Really? Juffin gave me a turban from their Grand Magician as a gift.”
“That’s really something! You’re a lucky man. Try not to lose it—it’s a powerful thing. I’m off. If I don’t go to sleep right now, I’ll expire, that’s for sure.”
And I was alone. A pleasant weariness lay on my chest like a pillow of soft ivy. It was wonderful. I undressed, got down on all fours, and fastidiously examined the local “dream station.” I discovered the blanket and wriggled down into the warm darkness underneath. I felt calm and happy. I didn’t much feel like sleeping, but lying on my back and silently contemplating the ceiling—what could be better!
The dark beams above enchaned me. They seemed to undulate ever so slightly, like waves of a tranquil sea, and eventually their rhythmic motion lulled me to sleep. In my dreams I saw all the places I loved—the city in the mountains, the English park, empty beaches. I didn’t dream about Echo anymore, though. There was nothing surprising about that—Echo had become part of another life, and I roamed its streets awake now.
This time it was very easy for me to pass from one dream to another. I changed dreams at will. When I was bored by walking in the park, I stepped over to the beach. Sad and lonely among the sandy dunes, I suddenly found myself in the cabin of the cable car. Several times I thought I heard the quiet laughter of Maba Kalox nearby, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Even this seemed like a remarkable incident to me, however.
I woke up before noon, feeling absolutely free and happy. Events of the recent past seemed to me to be part of a good adventure film, the future didn’t scare me, and the present suited me to a tee. After I had washed, I wrapped myself in a skaba and looxi of fiery bright colors, which I had picked out yesterday for the vibrant contrast they made with my malevolently glowering uniform, and sent a call to Melifaro.
I went down to the living room, where my eyes were met by a remarkable spectacle. A fellow of enormous proportions, his eyes downcast, stood by the table, wheedling and moaning.
“But Father, why?”
“Because it will be better that way,” answered his elder in the voice of someone losing his patience. It belonged to a shortish, elegant man whose red hair was woven into a luxuriant braid. I swear to the World, the braid extended all the way to the floor! Sizing up the situation, I realized that this must be Sir Manga Melifaro, the author of the
“A good morning to you, gentlemen.”
I was beaming with pleasure as I entered the living room. This was strange, since I am usually shy around new people, and I can’t stand introductions.
“Good morning, Sir Max Baxba, greet our guest.”
“Good morning, Sir Max,” the sad giant repeated obediently.
“Well, all right. Go to your trader, boy. Only remember—we need six horses. Six, not twelve! As far as I’m concerned we don’t need them at all, but since you have your heart set on it. But not a dozen! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Father! Goodbye, Sir Max. You’ve brought me luck!” And the giant, already cheerful, bounded out of the room.
“My eldest, Sir Max,” Sir Manga said with evident disbelief. “A child of ‘youthful passions,’ as they say. I can’t fathom how I produced something like that!”
“You are truly a man of passion, Sir Manga,” I smiled, and poured myself some kamra. It was as good as the kamra from the
“I can’t believe it myself. Besides Baxba and Melifaro, which would be more than enough to break a father’s heart, I have another, middle son—Sir Anchifa Melifaro. I’m embarrassed to admit that he’s a pirate. And one of the most cutthroat, if I’m to believe the dockside rumors. Although he’s quite as homely and diminutive as I am myself.”
“That’s good for a sailor,” I said. “It’s best to travel light, and insofar as it’s hard to leave one’s own body at home, it should be as compact as possible.”
“You no doubt bonded with my youngest,” Sir Manga grinned. “You’ve both got the gift of gab.”
